Meet the new oscar, a well-performing and efficient unemployed

I haven´t been working on an office desk since April 3rd, which means tomorrow I would have experienced 8 months of waking up late, skipping breakfast in favor of lunch (or sometimes even skipping lunch and have only dinner). Yes, I am a lazy bastard.

What people doesn´t know about us jobless lazy-bastards, is that we are well-performing and efficient people. Even though I go to bed at 2:00 a.m. with no worries of being late for work. But let me tell you about my performance (and we all know that performance is something very important nowadays).

Environment: At the moment I consume less groceries as usual, apparently because I am living on a permanent stand-by-modus in which I move so little around the apartment that I also require less energy, and therefore less fruits, vegetables, bread and dairy products. Yes, mother earth is surely thankful with me for requiring not so many of her ressources

Energy: Since I am living on this “stand-by-modus”, my muscles need to perform less movement as normal (I used to ride my bike to work every day) and this lack of sporty-activities have a positive impact on my energy consumption, and therefore on the water-heating costs. This is how it works: Since I sweat less, I require less showers a week. I will not tell you the exact number, but the amount of weekly showers has decrease; to that we can add the amount of saved chemicals (shampoo and soap).

Cognitive-performance: even though I am not working, I cannot tell my mind hasn´t been occupied, I recently saw all five seasons of Breaking Bad in only 2 and a half weeks. Oh yeah! That is what I call performance!

Meet the new oscar: environmentally friendly, up to 25% more energy saving and complex-media consumer, just like a champion.

The better life

Let me be clear from the very beginning: I am writing this under the influences of three  four gin and tonics

Some minutes ago I turned 35 years old. I still remember that on my second or third blog entry I wrote, I narrated my 31st birthday celebration in Nicaragua and how I spent it with dozens of children in the morning - and then I went to eat Mexican food with Erika (whose boyfriend threatened me weeks after that).

Well, here I am in front of my computer at two in the morning, searching for statistical data that would make me feel better about being 35 years old. During my search, google suggested me a website I knew from before: the better life index.

In 2011, the OECD (organisation for economic cooperation and development) launched together with the French government and Amartya Sen (the guy on whose theory my PhD thesis is based on (by the way, I haven´t finished it yet)) a multidimensional indicator which measures wellbeing. They called it the “better life index”. On their website one can retrieve different kind of wellbeing data of the 34 OECD members; this data varies from income, health or education to life expectancy...and this is where my present situation plays an essential role.

According to the information I got from the better life website, the life expectancy of men in Mexico is 71 years, and 78 in Austria. And that just triggered an identity problem in me...

Just seven weeks ago I celebrated my 17th year in Austria, that was a special date because since that day I have spend half of my life in Innsbruck. That would make me half-Austrian...BUT, which expectancy rate should I take as valid when calculating my age?

If I take the Mexican life expectancy, it would mean I just started to live my half life (statistically seen; I have lived already 49,3% of my life), but if take the life-expectancy data from Austria, I have just lived 44,9% of my life. That is a difference of 5%, but believe me, I want to be on the younger side of that calculation. I have the feeling that the “better life” is on the first half. Being on the first half of life gives me the feeling of going upwards, having lived already 50% of my statistical life expectancy would mean nothing but heading downwards.

My Mexican friends may hate me, but I will stick to the Austrian life expectancy data, that makes me statistically younger.

About the term “better life”, well, I can only say I am unemployed, I go to university twice a week and since last April, I haven´t woke up before 10:00 a.m. I think in that sense, I may have been living the better life this year...oh yeah!

Boston, the consulting group and Oscar - part II

First of all, I apologize for writing this second part of the blog after so long; but it was a legal decision, now I am free to write.

I already told you how my thesis lead me to start writing about the financial crisis and how my cousin works in Boston for one of the banks which originated the crisis.

Well, now let me tell you about the first person I meet from the boston consulting group. It was last year, she was from Madrid, not older than 23 and came direct from College to work for the boston consulting group. I could see in this girl eyes that she had no idea about life and no idea about work. Have you seen “Up in the air”?, remember that ambitious young girl with the evil "glocal" idea? Well, the one I met was the same but in blonde.

She and her colleagues (all same size, same age, same laugh, same suit, same laptop) conducted a “study” in my former office. After some months of “work”, they presented the organisation managers pre-prepared results during a nice presentation. But let´s go back to coincidences, because there is one between the boston consulting group and me: a movie I saw while researching for my thesis in Nicaragua: "Up in the air"

 

Some weeks ago I was fired "glocally" via telephone, yes! just like in the movie. While the people on the phone was telling me I was loosing my job, I could´t stop thinking of two womens: the ambitious girl in the movie and the ambitious girl from the boston consulting group, I really hated them at that moment!

Two weeks ago I was thinking how to write this blog, and back then my mom was visiting me in Innsbruck. One evening I went to a bar with Christian and Matteo and when a girl who apparently wanted to flirt asked me something, I suddenly realised how cool it was to be in my situation. My answer to her was "My name is Oscar, I am 34 years old, unemployed and I live with my mother". How cool is that? Eh? For making me so cool, I no longer hate the young ambitious girl from the boston consulting group.

Boston, the consulting group and Oscar - part I

NOTE I: As announced on my last blog, this entry will be long. To have a clear idea of the whole story, at least two entries will be necessary.

NOTE II: This series of entries will only explain the items that appear on the title. 

Between 2009 and 2010 I lived in Nicaragua to collect data for a research study. While in Nicaragua, my social isolation led me to start writing this blog. Three years later, I took a sabbatical leave to continue writing my thesis. This leave is about to end, my thesis is not finalized, but that is another story…

The original idea I had for my thesis evolved and now, it focuses on the obligation of the State in supporting the wellbeing of its citizen, and if anyone wants to talk about wellbeing this years, one has to talk about the financial crisis, and so did I.

In the introduction, my thesis deals with the global crisis and it quotes a report by the US government which lists the crimes and mistakes committed by banks and that eventually lead to the financial crisis. The Bank of America is one of these banks. 

The first time I got acquainted with Boston was in 1988 when my uncle Manuel was invited by the firm he worked for to spend a year at the headquarters there, so my cousins, my uncle and my aunt Lola moved there. 

Now, the coincidence arises: My oldest cousin, the son of Manuel and Lola, moved back to Boston some years ago, and now, he works for the Bank of America.

This entry is now long enough, the story will continue in the next one.

"Im Westen nichts Neues“ means „ All quiet in the West front“

This title comes from a German book I intend to read in the coming months. I fancy the title and apparently the content might be quite interesting as well; it is about the physical and mental stress of soldiers during World War I.

In the last weeks I have been doing well all in all. Most people would think this is an optimal status, but it is sad for me and for the sake of my blog…actually, as I write this lines, I am slowly realising I am a life masochist. I kind of enjoy suffering and also finding the funny side in my accidents, weird situations and heartbreaks.

But not everything is lost (I never thought I would quote Coldplay in my blog), there is a hidden secret I will reveal in the next two entries (I feel like Peter Jackson announcing two films at once).

Dear reader, think of this entry as a signal saying "I am blogwise boring as a pair of old socks", but also as a sort of press conference announcing that even though all is quiet in the west front (Baja California is the West in this analogy), I will write news of myself facing the worst physical and mental stress...oh yes...there will be blood*

Please wish me bad luck, truly yours,

Oscar

*if you are not a film nerd, “there will be blood” is the title of Paul Thomas Anderson´s fifth movie 

fishing buttons

Three weeks ago I flew to Innsbruck for some days. I interrupted my educational leave to train people from DHL and SOS on a method for collecting oral data. The workshop went well and I used the occasion to meet my friends, eat cheese and enjoying Grüner Veltliner (a wonderfully refreshing Austrian white wine).

After all this eating, meeting friends and work colleagues and getting slightly drunk on Gru Vee (I always wanted to write “Gru Vee”, that is the way New Yorkers call the Grüner Veltliner), I travelled back…but as usual, I experienced some situations during my trip.

It all started in with the transatlantic flight: Out of 44 rows in the plane, I got the worst one ever. Towards the end of the plane (it was an Airbus 340), each row no longer has the following number of seats 2 – aisle - 4 – aisle – 2, but it has one seat less: 2 - 3 – 2. My rwo was the worst because my seat was not right behind another seat, but between two seats. This means that the entertainment system (the small tv) was not in front of me but to my left…so, after watching the first half of “The Hobbit” my neck was already aching as hell.

Imagine how my neck felt after three movies

Then the food…yes, it is very often about the food. I completely forgot to tell the Lufthansa guys that I wanted a Vegan, Halal or Gluten-free meal. So, when they offered me “Beef or Pasta” I said pasta without hesitating - not because I don´t meat, but because I have serious doubts on the quality of airplane meat, even if it is from Sky Chefs, the guys who prepare Lufthansa´s meals. Long story short: I got for the first time in airplane history “pasta with beef-sauce”.

Menu 1: Beef, menu 2: Pasta with beef! Great idea Monsiuer Sky...

When I take long-haul flights, I always ask for an aisle-seat, so I can stretch my legs nicely: one to the aisle, the other one below the seat in front of me. This time, there was a metal box below the seat in front of me. I don´t know what it was, but it was as big as a Sony Playstation. When I got off the plane, I carefully watched all the seats I could to see who else in the plane could not stretch his/her legs because of this metal box: Nobody. I was the only one out of 300 passengers who had to stand up every 30 minutes to do pilates in front of the restrooms! And dear reader, believe me, people stare at you like if you are from other space when you do pilates in front of the plane´s toilette.

My weird seat and the f*cking metal box below the front seat

The cherry on top of the pie appeared just after landing…I will not narrate the happenings in that airport toilette, please judge only by what you see…trust your eyes. Let me tell you only two things: I really loved the trousers I was wearing; they have a special cut and I bought them last year in Buenos Aires, second thing: Before the button was on my fingers, it was somewhere else…a place you can see perfectly in the photograph.

Enjoy the picture…I can´t…I simply can´t…

Don´t you ever ask me about this buttos...ever!

I feel like being three things: old, nerd...and something else I forgot

Opening statement: This week I am starting to feel old, but I a way I always knew I was kind of a nerd.

I decided to work on my thesis at the faculty´s library. If you are one of the eleven readers of this blog you should know that- I am not kidding, on the left side of this age you can se there are 11 members in this blog and 8 out of them are not afraid to show their identities! RES-PECT!

Well, at the University, I have lately experienced two very awkward things:

1. The students at the University don´t look like the younger girls and guys I am used to see in the bars I usually go, they students at the University look like kids. I really mean it, they all look like teenagers. I have the constant feeling I am surrounded by dozens of Doogie Housers. Has the education system improved so much that now 16 year olds are college students? 

2. They call me “Señor”. Nobody ever called me Señor. That is freaking weird. They also talk to me saying “Usted” instead of “Tu” - Which is the German “Sie” instead of “Du”…and in English…is something like a polite “You”, but normally people dont respect me, it feels weird! They should stop respecting me!

The second adjective in the blog´s title is “nerd”. Yes, I went to pilates today and if you don´t know pilates, let me tell you it IS NOTHING LIKE yoga, it may look similar, but it hasn’t the meditative part, there is also no incense and at pilates courses they don´t play Enya (I hope Kathrin is not reading this…she is a yoga instructor).

Once more, if you are one of the eleven readers of this blog, you may remember what Matteo taught me about touching things: It is physically impossible to touch things! We can only feel a magnetic shield around them. The charge on our hands has the same value as the magnetic field around the things on our hands, like a pencil or a mobile. So, we actually cannot touch things, we only feel magnetic poles of the same charge which reject from each other.

Well, today, our pilates teacher went very, very esoteric. Instead of starting the lesson by exercising our backbone, she asked us to walk around the room “feeling our feet touch the ground” and also “the ground touching our feet”. The nerd part of me started to talk in my head saying “well…as a matter of fact, my feet are NOT touching the ground and the ground is also NOT touching my feet”, but I remained calm.

Then, the instructor asked us to touch the walls with our hands and asked us “Can you feel the wall? Can you feel the wall touching your hand?” This is the point when my nerd part almost went berserker. I just wanted to tell the instructor “I am sorry Lucia, but you are saying lots of bullshit! The wall is not touching my hand and my hand cannot touch the wall! It is all a magnetic poles rejecting each other!”I did not know how irritating it could be to know some basic physics on a pilates lesson.

There was a third thing on the blog´s title, but I forgot what it was. Maybe it was today´s backpack incident at the library. You may know this photo from facebook but if not, take a look to it: It summarises the relationship of my life with that thing people call “good luck”.

I realised I was traped at the very moment I wanted leave the library

Am I a chicken?

This is my third week of educational leave and I have only written one e-mail to my professor telling her about what I pretend to do in my thesis. She answered this morning saying she liked my idea. I did want that to be today´s only achievement, so I immediately headed to the library to start working on the first chapter.

By the way, I own no laptop, so I borrowed one to write my thesis.

The library where I am right now offers free wireless internet, but since I am not good with computers, I cannot connect this laptop to the World Wide Web (it is not my fault that this computer has windows vista…yikes!). And even though my recently Galaxy III works again (the damage caused in the toilette incident was repaired), I forgot the USB cable home, so I cannot download the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and send it to my laptop. I know…apple users may probably be laughing about this right now.

So, instead of working on my PhD thesis, I will tell you a scary story

My sister and I always make fun of my brother because he is afraid of birds. We would understand his fear if he would have seen Hitchcock´s “the birds” when he was a little boy, but this is not the case. The bird that Tomás fears the most is the chicken.

Some days ago, I went to a very good restaurant, but more than a restaurant, it is a farm where two people cook. These two guys grow the products they use in their restaurant. So, they produce meat, eggs, vegetables and fruits to make their own chutneys, main courses, bread, desserts and even liquors.

This restaurant serves food outside.

There were five guests that day (they only serve lunch twice a week) and this day only one of us had bad luck…

We were enjoying a fabulous cilantro-mayonnaise on freshly baked bread (outdoor wood-oven!) when I felt something painful on my right elbow. I screamed immediately and as I turned my head, I saw the beak of a horrible and giant flying hen. I don´t know where she came from, but she flew to furiously attack me. After thinking about it, I know that the only reason for this attack was violence. This was the most brutal chicken I ever saw.

Since that very moment, I share with my brother the fear of birds…the fear of chickens…

do you also see the evil in this bird?

P.S. I am not telling the name of that wonderful restaurant, because the owner bought my silence with a bottle of home-made limoncello.

I use this limoncello to forget that day

Black Sabbath - "Black" because of a tea and "Sabbath" because of a sabbatical

The reason I started to write this blog in 2009 was the social vacuum I had to experience when I moved to Nicaragua to do field research for my work and for my PhD thesis. Now, three years and over hundred blog entries later, I am ready to finalise my thesis…and I am doing this in Latin America.

Before leaving Innsbruck last Thursday, someone recommended me to order halal food in the transatlantic flight (halal is the way of preparing food according to Islamic law).

This year, Easter Monday (which is a public holiday in Austria) was also April Fools’ Day…and it all started that very Monday…I was cleaning my room and doing the laundry when the kitchen flooded. The water from the laundry machine was coming out of the sink. I called the plumber and after repairing the pipeline I heard him saying “shit”. That is the last the word you want to hear from a technician repairing your drainage. The plumber said that because he lost some tool in the pipeline and he had to again to get it out. 

Tuesday was supposed to be the first day of my “PhD-sabbatical” and I was looking forward to sleep until late, but the plumber rang at 7:50. It took him two hours to find the cable he lost…120 minutes of the most abstract and loud mechanical noises.

 

After the plumber left, I tried to sleep again…in vain, so I tried to do the flight check-in. I flew with Iberia, but my ticket was issued by American Airlines, so I couldn´t order my halal-meal.

 

I was very disappointed because I knew I was going to eat either chicken or pasta, instead of halal or kosher. But when I was in the waiting room in Madrid, I realised the transatlantic flight was a code-shared flight with  the airline “El Al”…and “El Al” is Israel Airlines.

So, there I was, two Jews sitting in front of me, one on the back, a whole family in the centre row and two rabbis 150 centimeters behind me. All of them eating from their sealed kosher-meal boxes (by the way, they do not meditate before eating). I was relieved to have a nice old French-speaking lady next to me.

When that old lady told me she was from Morocco, I understood I was lucky for ordering pasta instead of kosher or halal.

However, the bad luck continued when I arrived: none of my two bags arrived. When my baggage arrives late, I kind of like it, because I enjoy shopping for free with the voucher you get. However, this time was different; I was worried for something illegal I had in one of my bags: queso…yes, lots of queso.

My bags and the cheese stayed overnight in Miami, and the average temperature in April in Miami is 28ºC and that is not good for cheese.

After claiming my bags, I went to the city centre and tried to relax with a cup of black tea. I went to a wonderful old-fashioned café. The waiter got me all this on a silver tray: An empty cup with a tea bag in it, a small pitcher with hot water and an extra steel-glass with more hot water to refill the pitcher. Everything looked so nice! …until the moment I discovered the tag of an old teabag inside the small pitcher. I thought…ok, this can happen… but then, I found a second tag of an even older teabag (that means even more brown) inside the extra steel-glass.

But that was on Friday, today is Tuesday and nothing shitty has happened today. I think my Black Sabbath just turned into a normal sabbatical.

the plumber said shit right after I took this picture

this galaxy does not irradiate any kind of light anymore

Matteo, my flatmate, knows what he says when talking about physics - He is writing his PhD in Astrophysics.

Once, Matteo told me that we cannot really touch objects. That the feeling we experience when we press our fingertip towards a surface is only the feeling of two electric charges of the same value (negative or positive) repealing each other. Like magnets.

If we could really make contact with objects, we would “mix” with those objects. The molecules of our fingers would combine with those from a ring, from a mug, from our gloves. We would stick to objects. The electric charges around all objects come from the atoms and prevent objects of this weird interaction with everything around them.

Some weeks ago, I wrote of me being not ready to have children, but mature enough to switch to a smartphone. Well, 5 weeks ago I got a Samsung Galaxy III. Once Hannes told me his first smartphone “was not a mobile phone, but a temple”. I started to discovery my dual-core-mobile-temple last week. Everyday, I went to bed with my new mobile and after turning the room light off, I had a final check on my social-media updates.

Facebook: Check!

Whatsapp messages: Check!

SMS Inbox: Check!

Only then I was ready to close my eyes fall asleep.

The next step of this infatuation was to take my mobile to the restroom and perform this check while in the toilette.

Facebook: Check!

Whatsapp messages: Check!

SMS Inbox: Check!

Put mobile on the water tank: Check!

Flush the toilette: Check!

Wash my hands: Check!

Then, it happened: SMS received...vibration mode was ON...mobile vibrated...

...and there was only one place around the water tank where my smartphone could fall.

According to physics, my mobile did not touch the water, but this galaxy does not irradiate any kind of light anymore.

When I was 17, I was the un-coolest guy in the whole universe

One of the things you should now before reading this blog, is that my mother drinks no alcohol...really, no alcohol at all.I

In the summer of 1996, just before I traveled to Austria. I had a situation with my mother: I was cruising with my friends on my mom's car until 11 o'clock, even though I had only permission until 10:30 p.m.

At some point I called my mother to tell her I was going to be late, but she wouldn't listen. She was more than mad. She yelled at me screaming I should drive home immediately, and so did I. Then she drove my friends to back to the party we were before.

If you are a teenager driving a car with your friends and suddenly your mom steps in the car and drives all of your friends back to a party, then you are the un-coolest guy in Chihuahua, no! You are the un-coolest guy in the whole universe...

I am 34 years old. I have lots of gray hair. I left home 16 years ago and I am economically independent since 2005.

My mom called me today, but I was at a concert, so I texted her back and wrote the following “Sorry mom, I am at a concert and couldn’t hear the phone ringing. How are you? What are your plans tonight?”

I still cannot understand why I asked that. First, my mom drinks no alcohol, second, I don't talk ofter with my mom about her night life.

She surprisingly answered this “Hi! I will go for a walk and then I am meeting your aunt Ana and we are going for a drink”

Back in 1996, asking my mother about her social life was a “no go”, but now it is so weird it is almost cool. Is being un-cool, kind of cool now?

Relax while your estrogen-excess slowly fades away

In the early 2000's many of my female friends were crazy about Bridget Jones. They read the bestselling book and saw the movie several times. I like the movie because after it, Colin Firth became the recognition he deserved and filmed a single man.

Back to Bridget: In Germany, an idiot from an editorial house translated the “Bridget Jones's Diary” as “Schokolade zum frühstück”, which literally means “Chocolate for breakfast”. I wonder if that translator got another job after that felony...

Back to the book: A friend of mine detested the book because it was a compilation of clichés of women in their 30's. The fear of never marrying, the eternal quest for loosing weight...

Abut now, 12 years after the movie was premiered, Oscar Germes, 34 years old, tell you: These clichés are real, and the also apply to men.

It all started some days ago, on a late Saturday night. Matteo (my flat mate) was working in the living room and I was streaming bored to death when I went to the kitchen to get something. I had nothing specific on my mind, I just knew I wanted to eat something.

On my way to the kitchen I saw Matteo and asked him how he was doing, he answered “Sad, Oscar, I am sad”

...then, out of the blue it appeared to me. Clear as water. I knew exactly what I was looking for! Bridget Jones in German. I wanted chocolate.

I asked Matteo if he wanted some pudding. Within milliseconds he was standing in the kitchen with a smile on his face saying “Yes, chocolate pudding is exactly what I need”.

Here the recipe:

• 2 cups of milk (skimmed if you are facing problems like mine or like Bridget's)
• 3 full spoons of cocoa
• 3 spoons of maizena (or other brand of corn starch)
• 2 full spoons of sugar (or 1 ½ of agave sirup)
• a pinch of salt
• seeds of 1 cardamom piece (if you don't have cardamom, use 3 pinches of cinnamon and 1-2 pinch of chili)

Put all ingredients but the spices (Cardamom OR cinnamon and chili) on a saucepan, set at medium temperature, whisk until it cooks. It is hard, but it pays: don't stop whisking.

As soon as the mixture boils, it will turn into pudding. Take the saucepan immediately out of the cooking plate. Add the spices, stir and serve while hot. Top with thin banana slices, berry marmealde or tangerine pieces.

Sit on a couch, eat the pudding and enjoy while your estrogen-excess slowly fades away...

No matter how bad they play, never let a band think you are laughing at them (specially if you are in the front row)

Ten days ago, I visited a bar in Los Cabos. Immediately after crossing the bar's entry, we headed straight to the bar with one main purpose: try my brother's favourite drink: Absolut Peppar on freshly squeezed orange juice. We headed to the bar and asked for it. Barista's answer: No absolut peppar

if you don't know it, this is absolut peppar

Second attempt: Draft beer. Bar tender "Sorry, no draft beer today"

Then, the last  attemp:
Me - Flor de Caña? (my favourite rum)
Barista - Yes we have
M - One mojito please
B - We have almost no spearmint, let me check...yes we have some left
M – nice
B – here you go!

- 5 seconds later -

My brother - and? How is it?
Me - Not enough spearmint, only 4 ice cubes and not crushed, only one part of flor de caña instead of 2 and lots of soda water at room temperature: Summary – not good

We all saddly sat with our sad drinks to hear a band of three: Excellent bassist on his early 50's, jazz lover, wrong band and of course long hair. Singer on her mid-twenties, wearing a very short lycra-tiger dress and platform high-heels with lots of spikes (yes...lots of spikes). Guitar player also on his mid-twenties, excellent left hand (the hand performing tricks) and the worst right hand ever, he played touched the guitar strings the same way he scratches the back of his neck when it itches.

There were three tables with people. One with friends from the singer. The other with a second long-haired jazz-lover (friend of the bassist). The guitar player had no friends watching him play that night (I know why). We were the only real guests and we were on the first row.

After some songs, we left and even thanked the band.

15 minutes after having left the bar, I realised I left my bag with my mobile and my wallet on our first row table. We drove back to the bar, but found nothing. Even the band have left...most probably with my bag. I had 50 pesos on my wallet (approx 3 Euros), an almost new disposable camera and my good old mobile phone (3 and a half years old). I talked with the barista and the waitress, but they saw nothing. 

My cousin is sure it was the bassist.

Maybe it was not the band, but I can really picture them dancing around my burning bank cards, my sony-ericsson and my undeveloped photos. And they surely bought the gasoline to burn everything with my 50 pesos.