the number of the beast

My birthday is in November and people who are born in that month have two very clear, but different, destinies. They either rule at school because the are the eldest or they are the youngest (and the smallest and the weakest).

I belong to the second group...

I was in junior high from the age of 11 to 14 (instead of 12 to 15 years). I had masculinity problems back then. I was not only small and thin, but my body also developed slower than the rest of my colleagues. Imagine: My biggest dream when I was 14 was to have beard, mustache and hair on my armpits (axila in Spanish and Achsel in German). I have very clear memories of me dreaming of a magic lotion which could accelerate the hair growth. I think it is similar to what soon-to-be-bald-men experience when they start noticing their destiny.

Do you know the Italian football player del piero? I don’t like football, but I know that in the early 90's he was the one to be blamed for institutionalising a beard fashion. Maybe you remember men shaving their beard almost completely, but they left a thin line on the cheeks, around the mouth and finally joining a thin mustache-line. You may remember the name of this beard, it was the “del piero-style beard” also known as the “stupid beard”.

On Saturday, I was in the pharmacy and behind me at the cashier, there was a guy wearing the stupid beard. But the funny stuff was, the product he was buying.

Do you want to picture him? Austrian guy, late 30's, black hair, artificially tanned (fanta skin syndrome), body-builder-type and not so tall. He was buying a deodorant in spray.

The deodorant was called “beast”

Yes...the deodorant was called “beast”

The can had a number written on it “8x4”. I had to force myself to stop looking. But could not get this mathematic calculation out of my mind. It was obvious the result was 32...but 32 what?

I had to google “beast deo” and learned more about the product. Apparently “Beast” has lots of musk and other stuff in order to attract women.

After reading this, my question was still not answered: 32 what? Does the deodorant smells like 32 male elephants ready to mate? Does it smell like a donkey that hasn't taken a shower in 32 hours?


I am happy I don't need to spray the scent of 32 wild beasts over my body everyday in the morning...and I am happy that my masculinity issues were solved last year.

This is the moment when I come to a conclusion or simply re-write the blog's title

Some weeks ago, Kathrin wrote me an e-mail saying that in my last blog entries, she could felt I am worried because of my age and asked me to stay cool.

...Am I getting old too fast? 
...Have I failed in reaching socially-well seen goals like owning something big, like a house or a car? 
...Have I missed trends because I am over 30?

I think I am really caught in the middle. I am experiencing weird feelings. I know I am seen as an old-guy for the people in their 20s and people in their 30s see me as unmature (lately, Carol told me she saw the move "Submarine" and told me the main character was just like me. I streamed the movie just to realize that the move is about a sad teenager - but it was still a very nice movie).

Today I cried in the office because my friend Orlaith and her daughter are moving to Vienna this week. It was very hard to accept that I won't be seeing Inés Helena very often. Inés, if you can read now and manage to see my blog: “I miss you!”

...Was this my biological clock ticking like the beats of a bad eurotechno song?
...Is my estrogen telling me I should have a baby?
...maybe this explains the two problems I have on my chest.

Last Friday my mom called me and asked me if my mobile had “what's app”. I replied I had no idea what that was. She answered me “it is a little programme I have in my mobile and in my iPad and it would allow us all (she meant her, my sister, my brother and myself) to communicate very easy”. She also told me that the biggest present I could give her in christmas was to buy smart phone.

This is the end of the entry and the moment when I come to a conclusion or simply re-write the blog's title: I may not be prepared to have a child, but I am prepared for "what's app": Technology, here I come!

Eka, I am sorry...

This summer, when I was living in Georgia I went once to a swimming pool with Maka and Eka. They are twin sisters and they are two of the seven people I met in Tbilisi. Yes, i am not very social when I am abroad.

Maka and Eka are very sporty. They have been swimming for ages, they even knew the staff from the sport club by name.

After swimming for over 5 minutes that day, I had to take a break and went to the club's veranda and placed my pale body on a laying chair under the shadow. As usual, when I am on my bath trunks, I was a little bit ashamed of my body – mainly because all the people round had work-out bodies. And there were a lot of them; but I think this is usual in sport clubs.

When complaining about my couch-potato silhouette, Eka told me that I had potential to look better. She told me that if I worked out for some weeks, instead of a funny belly, I could be the proud owner of a six-pack. I was so motivated, that I promised her and myself to work out to transform my jelly-bean-belly into an iron monster. Deadline: November 14th, 2012. That way the date of my 34th birthday...

I do pilates every Tuesday and last week I was highly motivated to accomplish my goal. I worked out hard that day and truly hoped to reach my dream: Celebrating my birthday with a titanium abdomen. I really felt like I could make it.

I am 34 years old and two days. I just had two huge plates of magnificent gnocchi, I am drinking my 5th glass of wine and I have been sitting in front of th ecomputer for the last two hours. Eka, I am sorry...



P.S. I thought of adding a pic of my tummy, but after five seconds of reflection, I decided not to provoke you unwanted nightmares

The return of The Manster OR the pfirsich-melba situation

If you live in Innsbruck you surely know the „Pfirsich-Melba“ yoghurt from Tirol Milch. If not, let me tell you it is the only sweet yoghurt I like. As a child I always said I did not like yoghurt and I still remember the last time I tried it. It was a strawberry one from danone which I completely disliked. We were living with our grandparents back then, so I was maybe 8 years old or.

Last year in summer I tried the Pfirsich-Melba (Peach and Raspberry) and I was very sceptical about it, but she told me that this yoghurt was special; and indeed it is. This one lacks the sour taste of milk (I also don't like butter milk).

Some weeks ago, I was on my desk having a Pfirsich-Melba just before lunch and my mouth started to produce lots of saliva. I really felt like drinking pure lemon juice (when we Mexicans see lemon juice our mouth start to water), but it was quite strange: Salivating so by having yoghurt in my mouth. I thought to myself “This yoghurt is very good, but come on! Why am I salivating so much?”

My working colleagues came for lunch some minutes after that and while eating, I started to feel strange, my left cheek started to feel warm and I kept on salivating. Then, I got my little mirror from the desk drawer (I know it is very gay to keep a small mirror in your drawer...) and I did not see Oscar reflected I saw the Manster...

Are you know wondering what a manster is? Are you wondering how a manster looks like?

...The manster is a creature which is half man, half hamster. People turn into mansters when they have a salivary gland problem becasue of eating Pfirsich-melba when there is full-moon.

Here is the proof that on October the 10th 2012, I, Oscar Germes, a normal guy from Mexico...turned in to a Manster!!!

My 100th entry - OR - The coolness and the aftershave

I started to write my blog almost three years ago. When I started, I thought writing was only a way to deal with the sorrow and loneliness of my stay in Nicaragua. I never thought I could be ever writing my blog entry number 100...yes, this is entry number 100!

Here are some statistics:

• My blog has been visited 9,353 times. Out of those, at least 1,500 was me unsuccessfully looking for comments,
• There have been only 24 Comments in the entire blog's history (that includes my answers to the comments)
• The most read entries were:
  1. A fish soup, a Latin-music gig and the trip planned for tomorrow (547 times), maybe because people googled “Latin Music”
  2. My first blog entry (175 times)
  3. The final countdown (159 times). People were surely looking for the lyrics of the 80's song 
  4. When you think a situation cannot get any worse...it gets (121 times)

The least read entries was “The dance floor” (6 times) and I visited the page at least 4 times...

Right now, I can think of some highlight among the happy entries

• When you think a situation cannot get any worst...it gets 
• When two independent things, leading to the same object, occur at the sametime we have to pay extreme attention! 
• Iwish my name would have been Oscar Lowenstein

And an emotional one about friendship: a smiley in the title :-) OR Männer im Wasser  

Thank you for reading my sad, my funny, my nostalgic, my familiar, my prosecco, my friendship, my culinary entries...and the other ones.  Here is my entry number 100: 

The coolness and the aftershave 

My high school prom night was in early summer 1996. I drank Gin & Tonic that night. During that period, most of my friends drank whiskey on the rocks. Now, 17 years later, I sincerely don't understand why we did this.

I don't know at what point children (because we were children, we were 17) like to imitate their fathers. I think, we thought it was cool to do things older people did, maybe we felt we were cool because we were ahead of our time...

Years later, when I was around 20, I suddenly felt that people over 30 were uncool. I did anything to avoid looking like them. I stopped drinking Gin and I grew my hair long (very uncool now and also very uncool back then, but I thought it was cool). I thought drinking canned beer and cheap red wine and having long hair was very cool. This was for me an anti-30-year-old-attitude.

I am about to turn 34 and it was two years ago that my German flatmate told me she couldn’t understand why I still had no wife and no kids.

And now, after 17 years, I am slowly doing things that older people do:

• I love Gin & Tonic...again,
• I have a moustache (which makes me look disgusting and cool at the same time),
• and the coolest thing of all: I used Old Spice after shaving last week.

Do you know Old Spice? I know it from the time we were living with our father - that was before 1986 – and since then, I haven't lived in a household with a bottle of Old Spice.

Last weekend, I was visiting my cousin Larisa and I shaved while I was there. When I asked for some aftershave to cool down the irritated skin, she handed me more than an aftershave, it was a bottle full of memories. Since I was 4 or five years old, Old Spice stands for recently shaved men over 50. It was great using it...it smelled great (not “great” in the pure sense of great, but “great” in the pure sense of “cool-retro” great). 

I do not know if using Old Spice last week felt wonderful because for me, it is cool to do stuff older people do, or because maybe once, when I was younger, I had the desire of imitating my father...

My new smooth-ageing strategy

For me, Sundays are nice days until 16:59, right after that, they are slowly surrounded by a strange nostalgic feeling which reminds us that it is almost over: We will be in the office soon and five long days will have to pass until we can celebrate the next weekend.

Today, it is Sunday, and it has been a sad day from the very beginning. What I usually do when I am depressed is to write a blog.

On Friday I went to the doctor to finally have a health check up! The results were not bad:

• Blood pressure: OK
• Lungs: OK
• Kidneys: OK
• Eyes: OK
• Liver: ...surprisingly OK!
• Cholesterol: 309, should be 300
• Body mass index: half a kilo away from overweight

On my way from the doctor's practice to my office, I brainstormed to create a strategy in order to make my ageing smoother. I already use anti-ageing body lotion, but this is not enough. I think I have to do more pilates and consume less cheese and milk-chocolate (the main reason for my slightly high cholesterol). This plan has only three points, so it is sureyly not hard to accomplish.

I was thinking about this new smooth-ageing strategy on my bike, when the wind on my face was moving a moustache-hair and this little guy was scratching my nose. The feeling was very annoying! Then, I remember that the last two nights I woke up suddenly thinking that a spider was walking around my nose. Back then, I desperately scratched and rubbed my nose until the feeling was gone. I really thought it was a spider, but on the bike I knew it was my moustache.

Later in the office, I wanted to put an end to this annoying feeling. So I took my scissors and a pocket mirror and then I saw them...

...there was indeed a rebel moustache-hair growing in the wrong direction (towards my nostrils), but, there was a second hair. It was the longest nose hair I ever saw on someone younger than 80. I cut it immediately and added on e more thing to my smooth-ageing strategy:

1. Continue using anti-ageing body lotion
2. Do more sport
3. Eat less dairy products and chocolate
4. Buy a nose-hair trimmer

Mein Halbes Leben OR "my life's to do list"

About three years ago, my good friend Maria recommended me to watch an Austrian documentary called „Mein halbes Leben“ something I, as a non-native speaker in neither English nor German, would translate as „Half of my life“. The film is about a guy in his mid-30's suffering of a late quarter life crisis...or an early mid-life crisis.

When I was in Georgia, I started to feel like the guy in the movie...

Sometimes, I have the feeling my life goes so slow, that I don't have to hurry, and that gives me the security to take things easy. But that cosy secure feeling disappears each time I take a look at my life. it is horrible, years have passed and I have done little.

Just imagine, on my last medical check-up, I was diagnosed with lightly high cholesterol. Maria, who is also a very good dietitian, told me my HDL (the good cholesterol) was high, but there was not much to worry about, however, on that day I promised to myself to have a medical check once a year...that was four years ago, and it was also the last time I went to the doctor.

Being depressed for being passive with life - and in combination of having a hangover on Saturday - gave me the strength and courage to erase things from my life's to do list. In the past 72 hours, I have been achieving incredible things:

- Appointment with the dentist: Checked! (wanting to do so since May)
- Built the kitsch-frame with deer-horns I wanted so much: Checked! (wanting to do so since 2011)
- Three loads of laundry: Checked! (wanting to do so since 2 weeks)
- Opening a savings account: Checked! (already happened in December, but was pending since 2005)
- Doing pilates at home: Checked! (wanting to do so since 3 weeks)
- Call Electrolux and ask why the refrigerator drops water: Checked! (wanting to do so since summer 2009)

Maybe those things listed above don't see like much to you, but doing that last weekend was a giant step.

I should not claim victory, there are still things do: 

- Make the appointment for the medical check (4 years delay), 

- Call the carpenter and ask him once more about my bed (5 months delay), 

- Hang the mirror lying on my bedroom (10 months delay), 

- Finish my Ph.D. (10 months delay)...

- If I continue, I will start crying...

Mariela, the transformers, my father, Bauhaus and the Georgian vines

Mariela isa  good friend of mine. She has a very interesting way of seeing things, but I will tell you about architecture. Many years ago, she told me that everything that she designs - she is an Architect - fulfils at least two tasks: It is not only aesthetic, but it is also functional (or the othe rway around). My nerd childhood memories remind me of the transformers’ theme (more than meets the eye).

Friends of mine related to the collective columbosnext designed and constructed last summer a wardrobe for me. When my father saw it via webcam, he was fascinated by its blend of design and practical use (My father is also an architect). Then he said something that reminded me of Marielas’s theory “All architectural designs must have a functional use, otherwise they are not worth” and I think the guys from Bauhaus or Le Courvoisier have a similar philosophy, but really don’t know because I am neither an architect nor and art/urban historian, but I remember my father telling me of the Bauhaus influence on his faculty in the Instituto Politécnico Nacional.

I think it was in 2005 when Mariela did a course on low-impact architecture - or something like that - and this is exactly the link to what I want to show you: how Georgians re-engineer nature to produce a functional organic-synthetic symbiosis. These natural shades provide fresh air, fruits in autumn and look great.

Society could easily consider this night as a ladies night...but there are no ladies

It is Saturday night and I am sitting in my room listening to sad music and writing these lines. Saturday is the favourite day of many people I know because one can wake up late and stay up as long as one can.

In Hollywood teenager movies, pyjama parties (the mother of all teenager parties) are always held on Saturdays. There, girls sit on their bed all night, watch cheesy romantic movies, eat chocolate and hear to love songs and drink white wine.

Today I woke up late, had breakfast, cleaned my apartment, did Pilates, took a shower and went out to the restaurant area of Tbilisi. As a starter, I had thin cheese-slices filled with homemade yogurt and mint; then I had a trout with green and red bell peppers served with pomegranate sauce and lemon.

Then I headed to a wine bar had two glasses and a bowl of rosemary olives, then, I went home...at 8 p.m.

I think I easily cover all areas to qualify for a ladies night:

• I am wearing my pyjama,
• I have been sitting on my bed for the last five hours,
• I watched a romantic movie (Clerks II),
• I ate a whole package of chocolate-covered wafers,
• I am hearing sad songs,
• I am drinking red wine (shortly ago, I could not open a white wine bottle, and this is slowly developing into a serious masculinity problem),
• By the way, is it legitimate to feel less masculine for not being able to unscrew a bottle with a Swiss knife? Is having a masculinity problem related to hormones?
• Is it stupid and chauvinist to ask?

Since this night has all of the elements above, I think society could easily consider this night a ladies night, only without the ladies…

…shit, this is not a ladies night; it’s Bridget Jones' opening scene.

Instead of focusing on the audit, I started to work on my telepathic forces

I first heard about whisper interpreters about 6-7 years ago. It was 2003 or 2004, and two Spanish friends of mine told us about it, well actually, they told Hannes and he told me.

Since Sunday I am in Baku, Azerbaijan. It is very nice here; I love communist architecture and Muslim food and tea culture, and Azerbaijan has both: It was part of the USSR and its inhabitants are Muslims.

Even though I have not been for more than one day in many Muslim cities, but being in Baku feels good, and it is a women-friendly Muslim city: There are no hundreds of men bothering, or intimidating women. I remember how hard was it for me and my brother to cope with the dozens of men bothering my sister in Aswan, or all men at the bazaar in Istanbul making pseudo-jokes about women, or the most sad incident: some weeks ago at Tahir square in Cairo, women were demonstrating against the social tolerance of sexual offences on women, when a group of assholes went deliberately to the square to molest and touch the women demonstrating.

Soviets prohibited religion during 71 years and the result is a very tolerant city with a Muslim majority, but Christians, Catholics and some Jews live also here. Women wear skirts on the streets and no one grab their intimate parts, and women don’t receiving public physical punishment for provoking bad thoughts on men.

The other Soviets legacy in Azerbaijan is Russian. I am in Baku because I am joining my Georgian colleague in a 4-day quality audit. The audit is in Russian, so we had to hire a whisper interpreter.

On the audit’s first day, I felt important: The director, some of his co-workers, the Georgian auditor and I were in the room. We were only waiting for the interpreter. He arrived 10 minutes late, sat next to me and immediately began to translate.

Elmar, my interpreter is from Azerbaijan. Azeris are Eurasians, and many Asian men are (for our western culture) very touchy! They hug other men and even held hands as a sign of friendship.

Have you ever wish you could have the power of telepathy?

Elmar was sitting behind me translating and every time he came closer, he suddenly put his hand on my chair’s back, then right besides my leg. It was uncomfortable! But this was not the only thing: Elmar had bad breath! Do you know how it is to be whispered by a man with bad breath? I hope you don’t…

After some time, we were offered black tea and caramels. Instead of focusing on the audit, I started to work on my telepathic forces “Please drink the tea and have a caramel, please drink tea and have a caramel, please!!!” They were the worst 10 minutes this year, a living hell... Elmar finally reacted to my message, he took a sip of tea and had a caramel and with this, his bad breath disappeared.

Then I started with my telepathy again: “Please move away from me, please don’t touch my hand with yours, please!!!” But that did not work…

The substantial changes

My life in Tbilisi is nice:  I wake up, take a shower, take the subway, reach the office, start working, drink a cup of tea, continue working, have lunch outside, go back to the office, fight the desire of taking a nap and continue working.  At around 7 or 8, I take the subway back home, buy peaches or strawberries or cherries, do some facebooking, read news online, eat the fruit I bought earlier and go late to bed.

This has been my life in the last 2 and a half weeks, however, there have been some substantial changes. During the first days in Tbilisi:

   - I had nice meals not only at noon, but also at night, now I barely have dinner.

   - I had 2-3 glasses of wine at night, now I get drunk very fast! Last Friday it took me
     only one bottle beer to party alone all night and on Saturday I went wild from a Gin &
     Tonic and a Martini Rosso.

I am not sure if my body is asking me for these eating and drinking issues (I don’t want to write “drinking problems”), because it need a break.

This is the story:
The day I arrived at Tbilisi, I was waiting for my luggage in the airport when I saw a huge electronic scale. I took my jacket and shoes off and hoped for the best.

Well, of course “the best” did not happen. Actually, what appeared on the scale after I stepped on it was a number I considered impossible for me to reach…Eighty bloody kilos.

What I like now is that I am eating lots of good & fresh vegetables and that I am having 4 wine glasses per week…instead of per day.

I hope my body likes this, and it gives me back what I want the most: the weight I had in 2007.

P.S. Attached you can see some pics, one of the street where the office is, two from my flat and one of me with a green polo shirt.

The newly renovated Marjanishvili-street, where the office I work is  

 My bed and the hall that leads to the exit, bathroom and kitchen

My bedroom from th eopposite perspective

Me in the corridor, wearing a olive-green polo shirt

If you are expecting a funny blog, you will be dissapointed!

When I was studying political sciences in Innsbruck, I had to combine my field of study with a second one. I chose media studies, there I learned about Monsieur Jacques Lacan.

Lacan was a French psychoanalyst and psychiatrist. Amongst many things, he developed the theory of the Mirror-stage. As I have it in mind, it states that around the age of 2, children begin to perceive themselves as a single person (before that, they think they are an “extension” of their mothers). Also at this stage, children begin to perceive their fathers (or father figures) as something new, as a stranger who does not belong to his/her “mother-child universe”.

Lacan talks about things like mother, home and paradise and differentiates them from other things as father, the unknown and earth/society. He also talks about doors, things that allow us to switch from the safe indoor to the dangerous outdoor.

In a lesson, I used Lacan for a presentation about “The last tango in Paris”, but right now, I am not in Paris, but in Tbilisi, and here there are beautiful balconies everywhere.

I personally have no idea how architects see balconies. Maybe for Lacan they could have been a way to experience the wild outside and stay safe at the same time. Contrary to doors, which leave you outside on your own and unprotected.

Friends of mine built in 2008 the biggest balcony I ever saw. It was a wooden structure that allowed people to get closer to the dangerous Inn River (people in Innsbruck call it wilder Bach – wild creek).

I will stay with my interpretation à la Lacan. A balcony may be a safe place which gives you enough freedom to hear cars passing by, feel the wind and get wet if it rains, but in Tbilisi, balconies are more than that. They are aesthetic and give character to all houses, the old, the modern, the poor and the rich. Here some pics.

      

 

my fingers smell like the most delicious strawberries

It all happened so fast: I had loads of documents to finish, many e-mails to send, a film festival to organise, three bands to attend (and hear), luggage to prepare, a brunch to cook for my friends and finally, to take the plane to Tbilisi. That all happened within 8 days. I arrived 36 hours ago to Georgia.


While in Innsbruck, I heard only good things about Georgian food, and even though I have been here for less than two days, I can already say that all my friends were not exaggerating when they told me Georgian cuisine was the best in the Caucasus. What they forgot to tell me was the wonderful agricultural products you can get on the streets.

Today I bought fruits and vegetables from a “store” in a garage. AMongts many things, I also bought strawberries….the best I have had in my life.

For me, it was always a mystery why strawberry-flavoured lollipops and chewing gum tasted so different from fresh strawberries; and then I tried wild strawberries from the Mountains around. Only then I tasted what food scientists were trying to imitate. They wanted to synthetically replicate the flavour of wild strawberries.

The artificial flavour is similar to the one from wild strawberries, with the difference that the natural ones are more intense and fresher and have an incredible texture that no analog candy can ever recreate - even though their flavour’s molecules are identic to the natural’s.

Wild strawberries are very small and very intense in flavour, but for me, they lack something: Juice. The strawberries I just had were perfect. They tasted very similar to the wild ones, but had the size of a common strawberry; they smelled like heaven and were so juicy that my fingers still smell like strawberries.

I also bought tomatoes, cilantro, cucumber and eggplants…I can’t wait to make a tomato-cucumber salad with lemon juice and cilantro topped with fried eggplant cubes…

I will be in Tbilisi for six more week and I can’t wait to discover more street markets, visit the thermal spas, swimm in the black sea...and eat more, much more.

The ones I got, are the straberries in the left front side of the picture. The ones behind (middle and right part) are sour cherries, normal cherries and white cherries

My fingers smell like these strawberries right now :-)

Every time I wear my old blue socks, I think of mid-September 1996

Last week, I was looking for clean socks, then I found my old blue socks...and story begins: it all started many, many years ago.

In mid-September 1996, I  paid my aunt Maluli and my uncle Miguel a visit to say goodbye, baceause I was about to leave to Austria. After chatting and saying goodbye, my aunt handed me 20 USD, she told me it was not much, but they could be useful.

A day (or two) after that I was in El Paso, Texas (My first flight to Innsbruck started here) and went shopping. I wanted to be prepared for the Alpine weather. I bought shoes, sunglasses and my first pair of non-white socks. You may not know it, but when you are a teenager and you get your first pair on coloured socks, you feel like you are on your way of becoming a responsible and productive member of society. With my aunt's money, I bought three pairs of socks: Blue, gray and bordeaux

Fifteen years later, I still wear my blue socks; the other two pairs got lost, because as everybody knows,  getting lost is the favourite activity of socks. Nobody knows why, it just happens, and we all accept it, because there is nothing we can do about it.

Last week, my aunt past away. She was the closest family member who died while I was in Austria. I talked to my father and to my grandpa. It is hard for him. I cannot imagine how empty can one feel after loosing your own daughter, your own son.

I haven't had a chance to talk to neither my cousins, nor my uncle, but when I see them, I will tell them that every time I wear my old blue socks, I think of mid-September 1996.

it is my dopamine system which has just been activated.

Early this year, Diana I. Tamir and Jason P. Mitchell, two psychologists from the University of Santa Barbara, California, published a paper in which they state that humans really enjoy telling about themselves. According to their paper, we devote almost half of our time informing others about our own experiences. They also quote other studies which even link “self-disclosure” to a triggering of the dopamine system. It is the system in the human body that gets activated when people eats chocolate, gets sunlight or use dope.

Tamir and Mitchell conducted an experiment with people and came to the conclusion that adults would be prepared to resign to a percentage of their salary (between 10 and 20%!!!), if they could talk more about themselves at work!

If you are a facebook friend of mine, you may notice that I frequently write quotes from the sitcom „Seinfeld“ on my wall. If you are note a facebook-friend of mine, now you know it: I am a Seinfeld fan.

I re-discovered Seinfeld some months ago and it has developed into my second best leisure activity (number one is preparing a Gin&Tonic before watching Seinfeld).

Some minutes ago, I was watching a Seinfeld episode in which Seinfeld is sitting in his car scratching the right side of his nose, when suddenly, his girlfriend sees him from the left side, and because of the perspective, she thinks he is picking his nose. Later in the episode, she broke up with him because of that.

As I saw that, I started to recall if I have experienced something similar (I love finding links between the sitcom and my life). I couldn’t think of something, so I continued watching.

Today is so nice and warm outside, that as soon as I came back home from the office, I changed my working clothes for a t-shirt and shorts. I had dinner in bed and I was so full, that I unbuttoned my shorts – an activity that proves that my body is changing (this started when I turned 30).

Well, my stomach was full, the atmosphere in my room was relaxing and watching the sitcom was so entertaining, that without thinking about it, my right hand started to move by itself. It suddenly landed right below my belly button, above the bladder. Then it happened: My flatmate entered my room without knocking and the first thing she sees is Oscar lying on the bed, watching something on internet with his right hand moving inside his shorts.

It all happened so fast that I could only say “Veronika, it is not what it looks like”.

She said “I am sorry” and left the room immediately.

Even though it was very embarrassing, I am writing down this story, I will publish it in the coming minutes on my blog. I already feel happy, I assume it is my dopamine system which has just been activated.

To my little friend

Normally, I get good along with my ex-girlfriends, but there is this one which is actually crazy. She was the first girlfriend I had in Innsbruck, that was back in 1997. I was younger than she was (18 vs. 23) and I was literally doing everything for her. She once prohibited me to see three of my best friends...and I did! I stoped seeing them, could you believe how dumb I was? Not that I stopped doing stupid things, but at least the stupid things I do now are funny, and stop seeing your best friends because your girlfriend asks you to do so is everything but funny.

Last summer I got a call from her, she was in Innsbruck and she wanted to meet me (She is also from Chihuahua and has been living in Chihuahua since we split in 1999). I did not want to be an idiot and accepted her invitation.

We met at a terrace, I had a salad and a slice of pizza. We were talking about this and that when she asked out of the blue “Which is the most beautiful thing you remember from our relationship”. Without hesitating, I automatically answered: “The knife we bought at the 10 Schilling shop” (a bargain store, now called “90 Cent shop”). First, she thought I was kidding and laughed, then she repeated the question and I told her “Alejandra, the only good thing of our relationship was the knife we bought at the 10 Schilling shop, I still use it until now”. She started crying...

I love this knife, it is small, and it never lost its sharpness, never in almost 15 years. My sister told me once she has a favourite knife ans when she cooks without it, she gets nervous. When I heard that I was relieved to hear I was not the only person on the planet sweating when chopping garlic cloves with a knife I am not used to.

On Wednesday, April the 17^th 2012 at around 17:50 my beloved blue knife passed away...

It was the best knife I ever had, and the only good that happened to me in a tormenting and long lasting relationship (20 months).

Little blue knife, I will keep you in my heart, and will remember you every time I chop garlic cloves and onions.

Oscar

 I will never forget you, you were the best...

I wish my name would have been Oscar Lowenstein

I once read some chapters of the bible because I wanted to know a little bit more about one of the most famous (and funniest) books in history.

The weirdest thing I read was in the old testament, it was a sort of rules for the readers - since jesus was not born - I assume the readers were Jews. This list was like the 10 commandments for food. The “readers” or “users” of this list were not allowed to eat, among others: Veal prepared with dairy products (so no cheeseburgers); meat from animals with a paw without division (so no pork, but deer for example), and “animals from the sea with no flakes” (no mollusks, no oysters…and if this is to be taken seriously no tuna).

In 2009 I had flatmate who worked for AirFrance for many years in London, and she once told me I should ask for a special meal when booking a flight, because these “special-meal-people” always get what their food, and they get it first than anyone. Most of us have experienced that when the flight attendant gets to our row with the food-cart, we cannot select between pasta and chicken anymore, because what we would have liked to order is finished, and we have no option but to eat whatever they give us.

When my brother and I flight together, we envy the Indian passengers, the Moslems, the Vegans because their plates always smell better than our chicken or pasta.

Yesterday I took a plane and when I booked, I did what my flatmate told me. People, I had a huge selection of meals to choose from: Gluten-free, Ovo-lacto-vegetarian, Buddhist…and I choose the coolest: Kosher-meal

In Chihuahua, I don’t know any Jewish, actually, I know no Jew at all. In Austria, at least in Innsbruck, it is hard to find them, maybe because – and this is well known - Germans and Austrians haven’t been very nice to them. However, in Chihuahua, I know some people with the last name “Lowenstein”, and apparently, that is very Jew – I learned that in Innsbruck.

Now back to the plane: There I was, falling asleep, when the flight attendant comes and tells me that my meal is on board and it will be taken out from a box, but they will not open it. As soon as she finished her sentence, I started to freak out.

Next: 10 minutes later, she shows up with a huge cardboard box with big letters written in Hebrew. Most of the passengers who saw me (or my kosher meal box) were staring at me, either because:

- the huge size of the meal box,

- I got my meal first than anybody on the plane and they were all very hungry,

- of the nice smell coming out of the box (my brother and I always stare at special-meal-boxes)

- or because one thing…and that was the thing I feared the most: I was not behaving like a Jewish person.

In this moment, I was under so much pressure, that I decided to act like a Jewish man (it was a pity I know no Jewish person at all), So, first, I did pretend I was inspecting if all food was really kosher, and then, the most difficult part started: I closed my eyes and pretend I was praying. In that moment, I really thought of making myself a Kippah out of my Lufthansa napkin and fixing it on my head with the toothpick, but, luckily I didn’t.

I was about to start eating, when the girl on my side asked me if I wanted her salad because she was not eating it, and I accepted, but when she was giving it to me I saw shrimps on it, so I had to reject the salad an told her “Sorry, I am Jew and I am not allowed to eat shrimps because shrimps come from the sea, but have no flakes”. I hope the Talmud really states that.

Last night was so interesting I wish my name would have been Oscar Lowenstein.

Please, don't try this at home

This is surely not the first time I write about prosecco, but it may be the first time that I write something negative about my party drink par excellence.

It is known that sparkling wines, like Champagne, Cava or in this case, Prosecco, are used to celebrate  among friends. The pearls in sparkling wine makes you smile, I actually feel very happy after the second prosecco glass.

Well, last Friday night I was home on my own and started to play the piano while enjoying a glass of chilled prosecco. This is for me - and I think I don't have to mention it - the best way to start the weekend. I was in the middle of my creative phase (this usually happens after 10 minutes of playing, when my fingers begin to ache) when I got a text message from Sylvain, a friend of mine. He and some other friends were in a bar (a place they own) having dinner.

I finished my prosecco and decided to join them.

When I got to the bar they were finishing dinner and they offered me a slice of quiche, but I was not hungry at all. So I had a glass of white wine and after half an hour it happened: I got incredibly hungry.

Sylvain, who went to the supermarket before, offered me some of his groceries. I took some red onions, Emmental cheese, eggs and rye-bread. I had the last sip in my glass and went straight to the bar's kitchen to cook dinner...under the funny influences of prosecco.

On Saturday night, I was on my bed enjoying an episode of Seinfeld, when I got hungry and decided to prepare something nice for dinner. So I opened a bottle of French wine and treated myself with  mushrooms on chilli, oil and vinegar and focaccia baked with potato slices and rosemary.

You probably have no idea where I am heading to. But it is OK, I am about to reveal everything, so this blog entry becomes clear to you. 

Prosecco puts peiple in the perfect mood to celebrate and makes them happy...but too happy to cook. Dear blog reader, if you ever have to cook for friends, or only for you, please avoid prosecco. Have red wine or fresh lemonade instead. Because even though the second glass of prosecco will make you feel like the best cook ever, it won't be true. It will be simply an illusion.

Do you want to see facts?

Four pieces of toasted rye-bread, a whole red onion fried with one cup of Emmental and two fried eggs...I swear I had nightmares that night and had to burp like jabba the hut!

Matured Manchego cheese, potato-focaccia, mushrooms vinaigrette and French wine, oh man! I slept like a baby after this!

Gin and tonic

I have a very good friend from Scotland and some time ago, she introduced me to Hendrick's (Thank you Lindsey!). Hendrick's is one of the few gin's distilled is Scotland and it was once voted “best gin in the world”.

In the last few months, it happened that I was in several airports, and something I always do at airports it's to check the duty-free stores. It is very funny to see how tourists from all over the world are tricked: I Have seen Martini bottles at 12 USD (the price in the supermarket around the corner is 7 USD) or Toblerone chocolate bars at 4 USD (they normally cost 1,5 USD).

The regular price of a 0,75 litre bottle of Hendrick's is 35 Euros, and in Cairo, the price was 17 for the 1 litre bottle...I got two.

Hendrick's has such a nice and smooth flavour you can drink it plain. I like it on the rocks with cucumber and lemon peel, but, my favourite is still the gin & tonic with cucumber, lemon and, very important: good quality tonic water.

Schweppes tonic water is available everywhere, and it is not bad, but for Hendricks it is simply not good enough. It is like preparing a sangria with fanta instead of using fresh fruits...or using garlic powder when cooking.

Today, I wanted to be home and enjoy a good gin & tonic. In my apartment I have plenty of Schweppes, but I did not want to waste my Hendricks with it, so I bought a bottle of normal gin. There were three bottle sin the supermarket: Gordon's, Beefeater and Sapphire Bombay...I always wanted to be a bobo - bohème bourgeois - ever since I hear about them, so I bought the Sapphire Bombay...the bottle looks more classy (Click here for the bobo definition in German, English andSpanish)

At the cashier, I asked to get a paper bag (I heard that bobos care about the environment), then I took my bike and rode home. Two minutes before arriving, I drove over a bump and my paper bag showed me why most people buy plastic bags: It felt apart and everything landen on th efloor. But I was lucky, only 2 of my organic eggs (it is bobo to buy organic products) were destroyed, but the rest of my groceries, including the sapphire bottle, survived the accident.

I got rid of the crushed eggs, put the survivors back in their box and started to put the groceries on my fake-leather bag (yes, I still posses accesoire whcih are not bobo at all). I started by picking up my weekend-highlight (the Sapphire bottle), then the rucola (rocket salad), the Kettle Potato Chips, the bresaola (am I a bobo or what?), and then, my nightmare came true: The gin bottle felt from the fake-leather bag and exploded in front of my eyes. It was sad...yes, it even hurted to see how my Friday entertainment broke into million pieces in front of me.

Now I am sitting in front of my PC, hearing sad songs and wasting the incredible flavour of Hendricks by drinking it with Schweppes...truly said: I can't wait until it is warm enough to start drinking prosecco - with 5 Euros, you are in heaven!

Acoustic pollution

First of all, I have to announce that this blog entry will not attempt to be as funny as the last one, which was - based on some of this blog readers - the funniest I have written. Today, I will once more write about food.

As an introduction: I am writing this while drinking a gin and tonic prepared with Scottish gin (Hendricks), Italian tonic (Stappj) topped with lemon and cucumber slices. I am not exaggerating if I write this is the best tonic and gin I've ever had.

Have you had the experience of sitting on the bus next to a teenager with no respect to his own ears? To be more precise, a guy with no music taste at all, hearing the worst techno beats ever on his headphones at such a high volume that one actually fears his head could explode. I have.

Yesterday, I took a plane from Cairo to Vienna and next to me, a woman on her 50s was next to me. I was incredibly tired from work (In Egypt, I co-organised and attended a workshop on new technologies and education). On the plane, I only wanted to have a glass of red wine and sleep. That was not possible because the woman next to me listened to music on her iPhone...and yes, she had no music taste and paid no respect to her ears and to us, the people surrounding her. Yes, she was a woman on her fifties hearing very bad heavy metal. The music's volume was so high that I recognised a song by Pantera. Can you imagine that? On the bus you can sit next to one of this guys for 5, maybe 10 minutes...I sat three and a half hours next to Mrs. Ozzy Osbourne

When I think of a woman on her 50s, I automatically think of my mom, her friends and the mothers of my friends. Actually, my mom is closer to her 60s than to her 50s, but I still make that link.

Now I will start writing about food:

Last time I spent time time with a woman at least 20 years older than me was four weeks ago in Barcelona, I was invited for lunch by Loli, the mother of a friend of mine. Loli is one of the best cooks I know, and that day, she prepared the following:

- Aperitivo: Olives and a glass of Spanish red Vermouth.

- Starter: Freshly sliced Jabugo (the best cured ham in Spain...and Spain produces the best cured ham in the world)

- Salad: Celery and winter tomatoes (the tomatoes had a thick skin and a very, very sweet flavour) with lemon juice and olive oil

- Side dish 1: Fried artichokes.

- Side dish 2: Chicken and ham croquettes

- Main course: Lentils with tomato, garlic and loads of olive oil

I am happy that Loli doesn't like Pantera and that her mobile phone has no headphone-connection, but I am sad because she was not next to me on that plane, we could have talked three and a half hours about food.

Here some pics from Loli's culinary art:

 cutting the jabugo

 Vermouth and jabugo

Artichokes 

 Chicken and ham croquetas

 Table for two :-)