Fieber Reloaded

To whom it may interest

I never deleted my Twitter account before. I joined Twitter for the first time in 2009 when I was still living in Germany. Back then I started following the entire German Twelite and got tired of it after a couple of months when I realized it’s not about making real contact but about ego-masturbation.

Germans use Twitter completely differently than Dutchies, at first blush. They mainly use it as a platform to express a thought in a 140-artsy kind of way. This is very nice and entertaining, but also very nerve breaking once you discover the massive vanity behind it. People are focussed on nothing else but on the amount of “Favs” they have. It’s about being popular, creative, adored and “loved”.

I never gave a shit whether a TwIP followed me or not except for some very few moments of bêtise. I am interested in nice people and those come from everywhere. They can have 12 followers or 112.000.

So what you actually have on Twitter generally speaking is a bunch of kings and queens and a big mass of adorers. If you dare to break the rules that build this virtual micro-cosmos you can end up as Paria. Breaking those rules can result in speaking out your mind on crap written by the kings and queens. When you do this, they will mock and dismember you while you will receive private messages from people confirming what you said. This applause however wont ever appear in the open timeline. Breaking those rules can also result in a seemingly harmless step: Unfollowing the kings and queens. You are lucky when you don’t stick out in a tweetland, but if you do, they will react. Either by quietly unfollowing you themselves once their unfollowing alert informs them. Which is perfectly fine as well as perfectly ridiculous since it shows their amazing lack of character and self-esteem (I like you as long as you like me). Or by commenting on it to everyone. Or by bashing you. Which is entirely not fine.

Yes, dear great-grandfather – the new communication channels of our modern world can result in a matchless kindergarten. It was created to interact. But it is mainly used to act.

This is how it works in the German Tweetlands. And I recently understood it is the exact same thing in the Dutch Tweetlands.

“So what?”, would my great-grandfather say “Are you seriously worrying about what a bunch of self declared kings and queens behind their computer screens think of you when you stop reading them?”

“Well yes, dear great-grandpa, I do. Because those people are real life people who will destroy your reputation if their egos and vanities are only big enough.”

“Oh my Goodness, thank God I am dead and don’t have to deal with this”, would my great-grandfather respond. And he would ask me, how the heck I ended up in the company of kings and queens.

In the course of my cutting the cord with Germany and turning towards Holland I stopped following the Germans except for three of them, who will always touch my heart. I explored the Dutch Tweetlands with grand enthusiasm. Think of a triple enthusiasm when imagining my emotional state of being back then. EVERYTHING coming from the Hollands was better, nicer, sweeter und wonderfulliger. I followed every Dutch Tweep crossing my way – not understanding most of what they wrote – and loved them.

Same happened in my real life. I knew a bunch of people in Amsterdam that I had met during my short retreats in Amsterdam and I convinced myself that they were the better people.

But once I finally moved back to Holland for good in late summer of 2010 the deconstruction of this myth started taking its course.

First I had to understand that 98% of the sparkling Amsterdam people made of Dutchies as well as from NonDutchies I knew, totally didn’t fulfil my requirements of what I call a friend. I underwent a matchless hell when I understood that they were not there for me when I needed them while I was ill. Due to an extremely misbalanced thyroid, I suffered from many physical symptoms as well as from a fear and panic attacks from October until December 2010. Horror trip. During this time I understood who was my friend and who wasn’t. I understood that people don’t like you when you are not doing fine, when you are not funny, nice, charming, doing well – thus – when you actually really need a person the most. Except for my old Amsterdam friend V. and a hand full of new people I had met there was a hell of a vacuum in this city.

Tweeps will then realize that you are missing. Some will write you an email. But none of them will meet you for a coffee or give you a hug. For quite a while I was convinced this is because I am not lovable. Bullshit. I am the same lovable creature I have always been. And it happened not only to me but also to other people. One of them said “Trust me. They simply dont want to know a freaking nothing about you and how you are doing.”

Once I had recovered, this hell of a void turned back being the virtually kissing and hugging community it had been before. So amazing: No matter who – the people I knew in real life acting on Facebook as well as the virtual and semi virtual contacts on Twitter – most of them are incredibly sweet and virtually cuddling. But woe betide you meet them in real life! And that was o.k. for me. I was doing fine again, so instead of the sharpness of my eye that censoriously divulged the air-pumps, a generous perspective grew along not taking this seriously anymore.

By the way: This is what many people will recommend you once you start criticising the superficiality on virtual platforms as Twitter: “Don’t take Twitter seriously. Its just meant to be a harmless distraction.” Interesting. Interesting to see, how an enormous amount of people spends enormous amounts of time and energy with something they themselves declare to be an unimportant distraction.

So once I had recovered, I realized that I had built up Fata Morgana like a child thinking that all will turn into paradise here in the Hollands. I realized that I was blessed with the people I always had in my life and that there wasn’t the slightest need to worry. I realized that in the course of moving I wanted people to become my friends here, which is of course wrong to do. So I leaned back and realized that things and people will cross my way all by themselves like they always did in my life. And that of course all that was necessary was to take care of myself. Nurturing myself inside myself by myself and to take care of my old friends spread all around the world.

I understood that moving to a new country is not a walk through the park and requires a lot of energy. I understood that despite a lot that is way more difficult in Holland I don’t regret the step I had taken. I love my new home, a lot. I understood I will always carry myself with me, no matter where I move, but I knew this from the very beginning.

And most importantly I subconsciously also knew that I was naive to think that people are better here. They are way more easy and sexy from the outside, yes. But behind they are all the same. People are the very same everywhere. You can easily make this experience in Amsterdam since you will meet all the cultures of this world in this one little beautiful city. Peripheries can be amazingly different. This is the beauty of it. This is why we can get lost in amazement visiting other countries cultural differences.

But the very core of human nature is the very same everywhere. “The world” is made of those people. Their ethics. Their backbone, character and size of their testicle. And I know very well which kind of people I appreciate and which I absolutely don’t appreciate. It has always been the same: I am only attracted by purity, heart, brain and backbone. And big time testicles.

I live in Holland since 1,5 years now. And now I am facing another caesura:

My Dutch is much better and I almost understand every word I hear and read now. Including what I read on Twitter. I understood that there are actually huge ignorants and assholes also in the Dutchlands.

I am not a person that can accept shades of grey: Once I discovered that a person lacks character, I am gone. Irreversibly. But for more than one year I thought I cannot do this in the Netherlands because its a small country. That it is dangerous. That everybody knows everybody, that you will always cross your ways. And each time I thought this, I didn’t recognize myself anymore feeling stomach aches. And nevertheless I still thought I will have to live with this shade of grey which results in accepting the presence of people in my life that I don’t like.

I very recently understood it kills me to leave people in my life I cannot respect and that I had to get rid of them. It is much easier to put this into action in real life. You simply don’t meet those people anymore. Basta. The person wont realize if they don’t want to. They can always believe its probably due to stress and loads of work that a person disappeared from their life. Or whatever they want to believe.

In virtual life this is different. “Unfollowing” a person often is the same like telling them into their faces that you don’t want to see them no more and actually find them completely irrelevant. Some wonder and stay quiet, some will ask, some will write cynical open comments about it and others will be busy with what they are busy with most of the times: Bashing you in front or behind the curtains by telling lies.

Due to the awakening of my “triple enthusiasm over all Dutchies raised to the second power” including my freshly born ability of being able to understand every freaking Dutch word I can read in my timeline, I understood that the German Twitter phenomenon I initially described can be found back in the Dutch Tweetlands as well.

Whereas the Germs create 140-artsy tweets to gain favos, the Dutch Kings and Queens invade your timeline by commenting everything that passes their minds or happens. The Kings and Queens keep themselves busy by commenting on other Kings and Queens or things that happen in our world while the masses following them consume this.

For the majority it’s not about dialogue or real contact. Its all about themselves, virtual pseudo contact and monologue.

Maybe this is part of their jobs, I don’t know. I am not going to interpret or judge this. I describe what I see and state: This is not for me.

And since this is not for me, and since I am not willing to start any discussion about unfollowings, I created a new account that follows those I like to read because they offer me what I call meat.

I like beauty. I like to read a carefully written reflection, same as I like to express myself. I like a sweet insight in your inner world as well as a funny reflection of every day absurdity. I like a dialogue. And sharing depth. I like to help a person when they need someone and I like getting help myself when I am in need of something. I am a dialogue-person and a caring person that never changes at all only because she is online. Fill in the rest yourself.

Depth doesn’t grow by spitting out a random thought with 140 signs in the first second, that fades away in no man’s land in the very next second. It lives and grows in a blogpost written with effort by concentrating on this one thought. It lives and grows by transferring a thought into real contact, in real life with a real cup of tea on a real table you are sitting at.

I don’t exclude myself from spitting out random thoughts. Feel free to unfollow me when you see me doing the spitting constantly. I will be glad to realize then, that I lost track. But I most definitely exclude myself from being 100% vain and interested in talking about other people or boring incidents. Never liked it and won’t ever like no matter if this was in the offline 80ies or in the Germanlands or in the Dutchlands or in the Takatukkalands.

My “unfollowings” concern people I actually like, but who simply write too much or who continously write about other people and/or contain negativity.

I would love to hear you sitting in front of me in a pub, concentrated, in a dialogue, having a glass of wine or a cup of tea. But I cannot continue see my timeline exploding by this content on this virtual communication platform I highly appreciate in our new modern world. If you are not interested in having a cup of tea with me – totally fine. I am pretty sure you aren’t interested at all, otherwise you would have asked me out for a tea already in the course of the last 2 years. But hey – why follow each others then in the virtual? Nonsense to me.

I have seen many flirting with the idea of leaving Twitter, because it’s such a messy place full of ego-masturbators. Most of them continuously came back. Some of them keep on leaving and coming back. I don’t leave. I love the benefits it brings. Twitter et al. is not the issue. It’s how we use it, that is crucial.

Lauwarmer Kartoffelsalat (schwäbisch)

Aus der Reihe: Deutsche Entwicklungshilfe zur Wiederbelebung regionaler Küche in den Niederlanden (heute speziell für den armen Hans de Goeij alias @Henzel)

Ich stand heute unter Zeitdruck. Deshalb sind mir zwei Fehler unterlaufen.

1. Muss man Pellkaroffeln machen. Das heißt, man wäscht die Kartoffel, kocht sie mit Schale und wenn sie weich ist, tropft man das Wasser ab und schält die Kartoffel.
2. Bitte keine roten Kartoffeln nehmen, sonder eine gute, mittel- bis festkochende helle Kartoffel

Mach Du die Kartoffeln daher bitte nicht wie auf den Fotos, sondern wie unten im Rezept beschrieben

Das sind die Zutaten, die man braucht:

Die Kartoffeln waschen und mit Schale kochen. Aber im GANZEN und nicht wie hier geschnitten!

Eine Pfanne mit Speckwürfeln ansetzen.

In der Zwischenzeit die Schalotten schälen und fein würfeln
Wenn der Speck knusprig ist, das ausgelassene Fett wegschmeißen.

Dann Speck in der gleichen Pfanne mit den Zwiebeln und etwas Sonnenblumenöl garen bis die Zwiebeln glasig sind.

Eine ganze Salatgurke schälen und hobeln und in eine große Salatschüssel geben

Den Zwiebel-Speck Mix in dieselbe Schüssel geben und mit ordentlich Apfelessig (bio winkel), Maggiekraut, Salz, Pfeffer und Sonnenblumenöl und einem ordentlichen Schuss heißer Fleischbrühe würzen (man kann die Gurke hier fast nicht mehr sehen, aber sie ist da.)

Die garen Kartoffeln schälen und in die Schüssel fein schnibbeln (ACHTUNG! Feiner schnibbeln als auf dem Foto und OHNE Schale)

Alles umrühren und zugedeckt noch ein Weilchen ziehen lassen. Der Salat muss feucht sein und glänzen. Lauwarm servieren. Was übrig bleibt tags drauf kalt essen.

Heimweh

Ich glaub, ich hab Heimweh (( GANZ SCHLIMM SOGAR!!! ((( Alle sind so lieb in dem Laden in dem ich arbeite, alles ist ordentlich mit meinen deutschen Kunden, alles aufgeräumt und ein bisschen streng aber auch so lieb. Ich guck nur doch deutsches Fernsehen und heul bei den Filmen!!! ICH WILL DURCHS WALDLAUB SPAZIEREN! ICH WILL WALD! Es richtig kalt haben und STUNDENLANG RUMLAUFEN! Und dann in ein Städtchen gehen und alle 200 Meter einen Bäcker sehen! Ich will MOHNBRÖTCHEN AM SONNTAG! Und Sachen bei Tchibo kaufen! Alle 300 Meter eine Apotheke sehen, reingehen und den Leuten zugucken, wie sie ihr Rezept abgeben und ihre Medizin bekommen. Leise, ohne dass irgendjemand etwas mitbekommt. Ich will in ein Café gehen, einen Kaffee bekommen und richtigen Kuchen. Ich will das Brotkörbchen zum Salat mit Putenbruststreifen ohne 3x danach fragen zu müssen. Und einen sauberen Tisch. Ich will, dass es nach Laub und Tanne riecht. Ich will spießige Wohnungen sehen, von der Straße aus und durch Städte laufen, in denen es Omis gibt mit richtigen Omamützen auf dem Kopf, die nach Seife riechen und sonntags langsam spazieren gehen mit ihrem Hut, ihrer Jacke und dem Rock, alles in grau-beige auch die weichen Schuhe. Ich will donnerstags die ZEIT lesen MIT DEM MAGAZINTEIL DRIN! Ich will, dass Menschen zuhören und auch mal ernst sind und richtig reden, über alles. Und bleiben. Ich will unbedingt zu meinem Gabelchen und zu Silke und wünschte, es wäre schon Dezember, dann nämlich fahr ich zum ersten Mal nach Deutschland nach einem Jahr und drei Monaten in denen ich keine Sekunde Heimweh hatte. Ich will frische Luft. Ich will nach Hause.

Oh Gott.

Killing the mean myth

Vandaag heb ik in de zon met @mayralouise heel hard gelacht. Heel hard zonder pause voor 15 minuten. En dat kwam zo:

Ik: “Praat gewoon Nederlands, hoor, ik moet het echt oefenen.”
Zij: “Maar je praat het toch!”
Ik: “Ja maar zodra ik een woord niet kenn switch ik gewoon naar het Engels. Doe ik altijd, moet ik echt mee stoppen”
Zij: “Doe rustig, komt goed”

[praat praat, klets, klets over talen en culturen en het schrijven in vreemde talen]

Ik: “Dutch people are very well in English, this much is sure. Germans don’t know the language as well as you guys do. It’s not even comparable”
Zij: “True”
Ik: “It’s a disaster actually”
Zij i: “Ja. And all this dubbing of films. They synchronise everything on German TV because of all those illiterates in your country, right?”

20 minutes later I was able to breathe again. She explained me, that somebody had told her this bullshit she actually had believed.

Since I felt the urge to let Mayra feel and know that we all live with those myths not knowing at all that they are myths I told her my “illiterate story”.

One or two years ago, I don’t remember to whom I talked, I had the following dialogue:

I: “Yes, it’s true. PMS and menstruation isn’t always easy to handle.”
Man: “It can be quite painful …”
I: “Can be, yes. But you guys suffer too ….”
Man: “What do you mean?”
I: “From your erections”
Man: “From our erections?”

I was 20 and very very much in love with my first boyfriend who constantly wanted to make love to me. Which was fine, but also quite tiring, especially in the mornings. One of those mornings he told me “It’s ok when you don’t want to have sex. But I am telling you, it does hurt.” I didn’t understand what he meant, so he explained it to me. He told me, that MEN suffer from PAIN when they don’t find no way to get rid of their morning erection through sex.

This is 20 years ago and God knows that I had quite some occasions to reveal this impertinent lie. But for some reason it never happened. I cannot count how often I thought to myself “What a brave and dear man. He leaves me alone having my coffee and doesn’t bother me, even though he is having pain now”

Tja.

The Merry Gentleman

Girls who love the furrowed brow of Michael Keaton are the best.

Why I love Amsterdam: The Jeans

One of the biggest prejudices people have against the Dutch has been disproved for the umpteenth time last Monday when I was on my way to get some fresh air and sun close to the water at my secret place in my beloved home and city of Amsterdam.

Leaving the city centre behind me and entering one of my very most favourite areas – a very cute, calm and special street – I and my bike stopped at a red traffic light. In front of me stood a woman, also on her bike. She was beautiful! Black, curvy with a very nice blazer and super sexy dark blue, tight Jeans:

I: “Sorry, but those Jeans you are wearing are SO pretty”
She: “Thaaaaaaank youuuuuuuu! And guess what: They were only 10 Euro!”
I: “Whaaaat? Wow! Were did you get them?”
She: “At Dappermarkt! You must go to the very very very end of Dappermarkt. You know were Dappermarkt is?”
I: “Yes I do!”
She: “Good! Go to the end nearby the water to the Pakistanis! They sell them! And they have them in YOUR size TOO!”

The lights turned green again, we waved each others goodbye. I still followed her a bit and could tell – she was exactly as happy as I was. A WinWinWin situation just had taken place: Win for her, because she got reminded how pretty she is. A WinSituation for the PA-KI-STA-NIS (that’s how she called them. She almost sung it) because they will get me as their customer. And a WinWinWin situation for me.

Win, because I loved to speak to this woman.
Win, because I will find a sexy pair of jeans for no money.

And Win because the people in my city again embraced me.

I know that many think it’s rude to directly refer to my curves, that surely are even more curvy than this woman’s curves. The truth is: It’s not rude at all. The contrary is true. People here simply name things, when there is nothing wrong with the subject. They don’t hide what everybody thinks behind false politeness. By doing this, I feel accepted, a sheep that belongs to the herd, not an alien, but accepted and actually loved.

You don’t want to know about the freaking pain I still carry inside of myself after a lifetime in a country that deals with normal subjects differently. They don’t deal with them differently because they are mean. They do it, because they are afraid. They are afraid of everything that is different. And they are afraid to hurt people. Paradoxon.

Nee, jullie zijn niet rude, lieve mensen. Jullie zijn gewoon normaal.

Kuchen für Holland

Baked a very simple German fruit cake the other day and took it with me to work. German colleagues cried a bit and gave me little kisses and hugs. All the other nations (especially the Dutchies) asked me for the recipe. Here it comes (rough English of course).

For one baking tray you need:

For the pastry
Yeast (check instruction on package for amount)
50 gr. Sugar
250 ml. Milk
480 gr. Flour
1 Pack of Vanilla Sugar
A pinch of Salt
50 gr. of Butter

Fresh Fruit cover
1,5 kg rhubarb, or apples, or plums …

For the finish crumble cover
3 big spoons of Sugar
250 gr. Flour
175 gr. Sugar
175 gr. Butter

Heat 100 ml milk and 50 gr. butter carefully at small flame until butter melts a bit and the milk is a little warm. Turn off fire, put milk-butter-mix into a big bowl, add 1 big spoon of sugar, mix with hands and then let it alone for 15 minutes at room temperature.

Then add the flour, rest of sugar, vanilla sugar, butter and milk, mix with hands till it’s a nice pastry. Cover it and let it alone for 30 minutes at room temperature. Kneat it again for a minute and roll it on the baking tray equally (works fine with your hands too).

Wash and peel rhubarb and cut it into 2 cm pieces. Sugar the rhubarb and arrange it on the pastry until its fully and generously covered. (Alternatively peel and cut apples, but don’t sugar them. And if you use plums, you don’t need to peel them but cut in little moons and sugar them depending on how sweet they are. The fun about German cake is, that its not too sweet and definitely way less sweet than Dutch pastry – so please dont exaggerate with the sugar)

For the crumble mix 250 g flour, 175 g soft butter and the sugar in a bowl. Mix all with your hands until crumble develop. Arrange them on the fruit cover.

Put baking tray into the pre-heated oven at 200 °C and bake for 35 minutes. Cool cake before eating it.

Never close ze window in woede …

Subtitle: Cultureele samenleving HAHA!

I am happy in my hood. Happily living among 188 nationalities and crazy people, I dont care, I am fine. But I am not going very much d’accordo with the ambushing species I already wrote about. I have one living in my backyard, Arschloch Nummer 1 aka klootensackbuurman. And I have one in the front. I call him “die dumme Kackwurst”

They both almost look the same.

Die dumme Kackwurst, in is early 4oies, believe it or not, has two women, both in their early twenties. They are at home the entire day, clean the windows and curtains on a weekly basis and watch a lot of TV. Sometimes they leave the house. Then die dumme Kackwurst waits outside in his car and they step in. After a short while they come back with bags from the supermarket. For the rest the women stay at home. Another hobby of theirs is vacuum cleaning. Sometimes die dumme Kackwurst walks the street up and down, preferably at night, peeking into his own living room.

And sometimes he does things with his car. He then opens the hood, does things with his motor, then goes into the car, turns it on and makes “Bruuuuuuuuum brummmmmmmmmmmmmm brummmmmmmmmmmmmm”. Each time he does it, I get pissed and close my window. Sometimes the dumme Kackwurst even does this RIGHT in front of my window.

Today, due to circumstances that already broke my balls so my nerves werent the strongest, he did his brummmmmmmmmmmm brummmmmmmmmmmm shit again. That was around 21:00 u. I jumped from my couch and closed the window. In woede.

When the guy from the glasherstel came, I immediately confessed everything. He laughed and told me, I dont need to feel guilty. He just left, the angel.

And this is how my window looks now and probably until friday (when I am lucky) otherwise until next week.

Die dumme Kackwurst very well knows that my window is broken because of his shitness. Curious about his face next time I encounter him on the street.

Hoffnung makes the world go round

Man muss immer ein bisschen etwas haben, das man sich wünscht. Etwas, auf das man hofft, das man möchte. Sonst stirbt man. Eine unheimliche raffinierte Sache, die man sich da ausgedacht hat: Der Motor, der das alles hier auf dieser Welt am Laufen hält, sonst würde alles sterben. Mancher möchte nur “seine Ruhe” haben und “die schönste Zeit des Jahres” erleben – seinen Urlaub. Andere wollen ein Stück der Welt verändern. Jedes Tierchen, egal wie groß oder klein seine Hoffnung ist, bewegt damit diese Welt und hält sie am Laufen.

Relaxation routines by Tara Stiles

Easy and very effective, yummie routines to calm down your nervous system. No sports, just relaxation.

Again to relax yourself: Classical Hatha Yoga stretching routines. All hip openers, giving you a super nice feeling.