Pick me up

Green Eyes (teaser) --- Germans playing Monopoly

Apologies, apologies, this has nothing to do with the Green Eyes, except that we played Monopoly once, with Sacha, the model for Jack Horn in the novel, and it ended in tears like this (I was Karl Marx)  (click to enlarge):


(find a few lines from the Jack Horn chapter underneath)

Monday matinée

(I listened to this, in Horowitz's interpretation, perhaps 500 times, so there you have it. My Horowitz was a studio recording; this is a bit slower, and it is somehow even more gripping.)

San Francisco (11) --- Camp Meeker(2)

More from Redwooood Country north of the Bay Area where we are staying during the weekend, thanks to an invite of Karen, our landlady in San Francisco, to her cabin in Camp Meeker.

Karen's cabin in Camp Meeker

Connubial bliss inside Karen's cabin

Sunday morning gif picture

"Let me help you!"

The caption as punch line

We borrowed this from our sister-blog, but we have an excuse, since it's also about writing techniques (see header).

Here goes:  Pinocchio is fed up with the complaints from his wife --- "every time we make love, I get splinters" --- so he goes to see Gipetto the Carpenter, his maker, for advice.
"Sandpaper," says the carpenter, "sandpaper, that's what you need," and hands Pinocchio some sandpaper.

A few weeks later, they bump into each other. "How are you getting along with the girls now?" Gipetto asks.

"Who needs girls," Pinocchio replies

Sex and the camels: how the scene was shot

And here is the link. Topical! Timely! Director has a campy voice! They used "blond" camels from Egypt, because the local ones looked too "stingy(?)"!

Dominique Strauss-Kahn stark naked (1)

A former minister of finance of France, he had been married to one of the most beautiful, intelligent, and richest women of the country: Anne Sinclair, who ran her own prime time talk show before they tied the knot. Nicolas Sarkozy, upon taking office, got him the top job at the International Monetary Fund, evidently to rid himself of a dangerous future rival for the second term of his presidency,  but failed, as DSK grew in stature abroad and was topping the French polls in anticipation of the presidential elections of 2012.

Dominique Strauss-Kahn (DSK)	"We have our spies"

And then, around 13:00 local time yesterday, a chamber maid entered Room 2806 of the Sofitel New York, 44 W Street — believing it unoccupied. The suite, which costs $3,000 a night, has a foyer, a conference room, a living room, a bedroom — and also a bathroom, from which a starkly naked Domique Strauss Kahn emanated and "attempted to sexually assault" her. "He grabs her [according to her account] and pulls her into the bedroom and onto the bed." Then, according to NYPD's Deputy Commissioner Paul Browne, he locked the door to the suite. (We think something is wrong with the sequence of events here, but never mind). "She fights him off, and then he drags her down the hallway to the bathroom, where he sexually assaults her a second time."

The woman breaks free, however, flees, tells another maid in the hallway who calls the police. When the police arrives, DSK has left, apparently in a hurry, since he left his cell phone behind, next to other DNA-relevant evidence, as the NYT darkly reports.

It quickly transpires that DSK is on an Air France plane. The plane is held at the gate, and an officer of the New York Port Authority arrests the IMF president in the First Class section of the plane (10,000 USD for a one-way ticked to Paris).

DSK was to meet Chancellor Angela Merkel today in Berlin, but the meeting has been cancelled.

The Rolling Stones in the Waldbühne in Berlin

Rohleder's new home in Berlin

Die Neue Zürcher Zeitung has a feature about Alexandra Rohleder. You've heard of her? You didn't? But it's the usual story. She can't trust here eyes. My God, the place is cheap. Isn't a digit missing? And it's in Berlin, Germany. Near the Olympic Stadium, where Hitler opened the Olympic Games of 1936 (we mention this, because it plays an important role in Carl Sagan's novel Contact---the opening is the first TV broadcast in the planet's history, aliens pick up on it, and contact is made).

The usual story. You can get the property for a song. But...if you want to rebuild, there should be grass on the roof, and timber on the walls, since it's also close to one of Le Corbusier's signature buildings. And the existing structure, sorry, we'll have to destroy it. But we can get this young architect. It's the habitual interplay between "we have no money" and "no money spared," that we know so well from our own attempts at home improvement.

Olympic stadium in Berlin

Now, located next to these structures (Olympic Stadium, Corbusier building, Rohleder's dwelling), we have the Berliner Waldbühne, also built by Hitler. It was a wooden structure, an amphitheater built into the woods. Very pretty, with room for an audience of 25,000 people. Good acoustics.

Come 1965. Come the Rolling Stones, and their first concert in Berlin. They are scheduled for the Waldbühne, the largest venue short of the Olympia Stadium itself, where the acoustics would be impossible. 

Now, you need to understand Berlin during the age of The Wall. Berlin was split into an western section (a geographical western island in a communist sea), and the eastern section (separated from us by the wall, but united with the rest of communist Eastern Germany). The wall had been built 4 years before, and there were still all sorts of communal arrangements for the city, including the fast transit system, possibly the first fast transit system in the world, built during the late 19th century. It's called S-Bahn ("S" for "schnell" = fast), and in those days, it was owned and operated by the East (the communists).

Berlin's S-Bahn

Now, you also need to understand that in 1965, 20 years after the war, Germany was still relatively poor, and adolescents typically would not own cars, perhaps not even scooters. Also, Berlin is one of the largest cities in the world geographically, and your scooter would simply not get you to the Waldbühne in time. So you use the S-Bahn.

It's 1965, the concert will start in 2 hours, and you climb onto the communist S-Bahn. And you are not the only one. In fact, there are 25,000 more of you.

So, we get on the S-Bahn, and we are in a good mood. Very good mood. Somehow, people have already started to probe the sturdiness of the S-Bahn accommodations. The seats are wooden, and very solid. And yet, it's amazing what 25,000 adolescents can do when the animal spirits rise.

The planks on the seats come loose. More planks come loose (we're on the way to the Waldbühne now). Other items that had defined the interior of the S-Bahn for 70 years also come loose, all this while we are practicing our understanding of Rolling Stones' songs ("I can't get no satisfaction"---notice the double negation). Upon arrival at the station (the Waldbühne has its own S-Bahn station), not much is left of the interior of our car, or any other car in service.

We enter the Waldbühne, and Mick Jagger comes on the stage. He is in a good mood, his band is in a good mood, and we are in a good mood. The Waldbühne, remember, was a wooden structure, and we had just practiced on such structures. The spirits rise, and while the Stones get going, we get going as well. 

The Rolling Stones at the Waldbühne

Two hours later, nothing is left of the Waldbühne. Nothing. It was rebuilt 30 years later, after the re-unification, in concrete.

I am not making this up.

The Waldbühne rebuilt after reunification

PS: here's a brief period clip from the local TV news:

The MoosAlpFest 2010

Today, at the Moosalp, up 400 meters from Bürchen (us), located at a saddle point between two local mountains, with views of the Matt-tal (Zermatt). In the background, the Dom, 4,500 meters high.

And here a life clip taken by our visting friend Maarten Marx, the famous nonstandard logician:

Sex on the beach

Well, not quite, but you can call it formal foreplay (perhaps better: formalized foreplay?)



There they come.



When we showed these pictures to Lesley (yes, it's on the beach of Hilton Head), she shared some thoughts with us, and we, bitchy gay Europeans, couldn't agree more.



Will she say yes?



Will he say yes?



We'll never know.

Charleston, South Carolina (preview)

Waiting to be seated for brunch at Jestine's in Charleston (@ a cool 95° F (34° C))

LustralBoy

We had met him the day before at dinner with Cliona, our neighbor, and Yael, a friend of Cliona. We are all invited over for drinks at his place and will have dinner later at l'Air du Temps, which is halfway between his house and the mansion of Pierre Cardin on the water.

Clockwise: Michael, Pierre Cardin's place, Michael's place, outside, with Yael and Chang

Michael ran a few advertising agencies and is now in charge of his own brand-positioning shop, London, Sydney, the works. The pacific rim is indispensable. The living room is pictured below, including Cliona.

mezzanine	candelabra in the kitchen

The place was a bergière. The shepherd would sleep on the mezzanine, and the sheep would sleep below. The fire place is new. The house is not as old as you think. It was built in 1942.

Michael is asked about brand positioning. It's about trends, preferences, worldwide, he replies. His left brain works and his right brain works, that's important. He gets a lot of vibes from Facebook and other internet sites. Trends, preferences, people are young.

His lovers are young, too. While we are taking in the view of Cannes, he relates the story of Yomin, this guy whom he met on the internet, 17.99 years old. The next day they would meet physically,  and Yomin's birthday wish would come true, and his virginity would be gone.



Michael knows about straight life, too. At university, he had been president of the historic society, the student's newspaper, and the nightclub. You meet people. He bedded at least 15 straight men, utterly straight men. I ask whether I can relate this on FF. Sure. Should I use a pseudonym for him. Why? 

Together with his present boyfriend, he runs an internet site, Lustralboy; have a look.

À propos internet: while dating on the internet, one of Michael's friends, a raving queen, finds his own picture used by another guy.

Lavender not in our garden

Dirk informs us by email that our lavender picture represents the lavandula stoechas, which blossoms March - June. Sadly, he continues, it is often mistaken for the common lavender of the Mediterranean area, ie. the lavandula officinalis and the lavandula angustifolia, which blossom June - August.

lavandula stoechas	lavandula officinalis

lavandula angustifolia	The bard

While I am putting Dirk's helpful comments into this blogpost, Chang is looking over my shoulder. "you've got the wrong lavender," he says. "We could have had the official lavender. But we didn't. They f@#ed us again." (He means Rubinio, the local pépinieriste where we buy the wrong plants). "Ask our money back," he continues, "call them, they sold us frass." That's what he always says, but he has a point. The lavandula stoechas not only isthe wrong plant, it also sounds the wrong plant. Compare that with lavandula officinalis, which looks terrible, but surely enlivens the popal, I mean, papal gardens, and blossoms from June through August, while Benedictus naps in the sun and enjoys sweet lavender dreams. Didn't the bard already sing in his famous sonnets "Here's flowers for you: Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram." "Yes, he did," Chang intersperses, looking over my shoulder again, "but not in his sonnets, it's from A Winter's Tale."

I disagree, of course, so we have to google (in the past, you had marital disputes, but now you have googles; not you, not yet?...we provide marital google advice at competitive rates).

Google, Shakespeare, google, Shakespeare & lavender, google. And there it is. Chang is right. A Winter's Tale. But that's not all. The thing that jumps off the page is the lavendula spica. What is this? Shakespeare's lavender is not the angustifolia, not the officinalis, not the stoechas. Yet another lavender, the lavendula spica. What now?

Stay tuned.

The economist and the lightning rods

Mark Twain died (or was born) today, a thousand years ago (OK, yesterday). This is the home where he was born, with the fence that opens Tom Sawyer, and a lost tourist that resembles Chang. (In fact, Becky's place (Becky, Tom's love interest) is just opposite the street. Samuel Clemens had a crush on her)



Here's a condensation of Twain's short story Political Economy.


[The first person is writing:] Political Economy is the basis of all good government. The wisest men of all ages have brought to bear upon this subject the---

Here I was interrupted and informed that a stranger wished to see me down at the door. I went and confronted him, and asked to know his business, struggling all the time to keep a tight rein on my seething political-economy ideas [...] He said he was sorry to disrupt me, but as he was passing by he noticed that I needed some lightning-rods. I said, "Yes, yes---go on---what about it?" [...]I am new to housekeeping; have been used to hotels...[...]I try to appear (to strangers) to be an old housekeeper; consequently I said in an offhand way that I had been intending for some time to have six or eight lightning-rods put up, but---The stranger started, and looked inquiringly at me, but I was serene. [...]