Sartre alors, drôle comment un nom fait une impression, rencontrant des gens en le lisant, ils sont tous impressionné. Moi, je suis sûr que les ouvrages philosophes de Jean-Peaul Sartre sont difficile et complex, L'Âge de raison n'a pas été trop dur à comprendre. Je ne comprends toujours pas tous (au niveau des mots), mais je me débrouille quand même et j'espère que en lisant plus j'arriverai sur un niveau de français plus acceptable.
Le bouquin soi-même a été très agréable. C'est l'histoire d'un professeur de moyen âge (35 je crois), qui s'appuie sur sa indépendance, sa liberté, même s'il l'imagine plus qu'elle existe. Il apprend que sa mâitresse est enceinte au même temps qu'il se rend compte qu'il n'aime plus. Mathieu (son nom) est foutu, il ne réussit pas à faire rien de ce qu'il voudrait (dès draguer quelqu'un d'autre jusqu'à trouver de l'argent pour un avortement).
Pourquoi je l'ai bien aimé alors? Je ne sais pas trop, je trouve sympa les histoires sans espoir comme celle-là. Je peux sympathiser avec un mec qui souffre sous ses anciens décisions, qui n'est pas tout à fait heureux avec sa vie, sa façon d'être. Bien sûr que (j'espère au tout cas) je tire des autres conséquences, mais j'aime bien ce Mathieu quand même. Un peu froid, un peu trop intéressé à ses études parfois, un peu du mal à ce que les gens ils pensent grâce à un cynisme profond, c'est une décription de moi aussi à un certain degré.
À la fin, la vision de Satre des gens, de la communication inter-humaine me plaît. Elle est aussi negative que la mienne (ou aussi réaliste?), les gens, ils se malcomprennent, ils se font du mal et ils ne le réalisent pas ou ils sont en fou. Et non, je ne me suiciderai pas maintenant, mais il faut admettre, que cette vision a plus de raison qu'on ne le voudrait.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Jubelpatriotismus
Ach bin ich froh, daß die Deutschen gestern verloren haben, diesen Partypatrotismus, der sich in Deutschlandfarben auf der Wange und hawaiianisch anmutenden Girlanden in der gleichen Farbkombination niederschlägt, finde ich einfach nur furchtbar. Da setzen sich in eine Bar (oder auf stehen auf einer Fanmeile, einem Public Viewing Event (whatever the fuck that is supposed to mean, about as intelligent as Handy)) eine Gruppe von Leuten, die sich nicht für Fußball interessieren, keine Ahnung haben mit welchem Verein Michael Ballack zum ersten Mal Deutscher Meister wurde (um nur ein relativ simples Beispiel zu nehmen), stehen zusammen, stöhnen zusammen, schreien zusammen, jubeln zusammen, brüllen zusammen. Das Gehirn schaltet sich ab (Alkoholkonsum ist hierbei natürlich hilfreich, aber eine alkohollose Grundsubstanz ist leider meistens gegeben), jede negative Entscheidung des Schiedsrichters ist grundsätzlich falsch, jede vergurkte Defensivaktion ein Riesenapplaus wert, jeder schöne Übersteiger des Gegners wird kommentarlos übergangen.
Ich habe ja schon prinzipiell eine Abneigung gegenüber jeglichen Ausdruck von Massenekstase, dem überbordenden Ausdruck von Gefühlen in Gruppen, aber gerade in Bezug auf die deutsche Fußballnationalmannschaft kann ich diese nicht nur nicht teilen, sondern finde sie sogar abstoßend. Habt Ihr denn nichts aus der Geschichte gelernt? Seid Ihr Euch denn nicht darüber im Klaren, daß das schöne, das lobenswerte, was sich andere Länder ruhig abschauen könnten, eben dieser mangelnde Patriotismus ist, diese leidvolle Lehre der Vergangenheit, daß jede Form von Patriotismus eine Art von Nationalismus und damit eine Ausgrenzung der (oder des) Anderen ist? Nein, ich stehe hier nicht mit dem Moralhammer und sage: "Ihr Deutschen dürft nicht, weil Ihr den Holocaust verursacht habt." Aber warum muß man dies tun? Die anderen doch auch sagt Ihr. Natürlich, aber macht es das besser?
Das, was ich aus der Geschichte gelernt habe ist eindeutig, ich brauche keine Identifikation mit einem Staat, mit einer Nationalität, ich will sie auch gar nicht erst. Ich bin zuallerst ein Individum, ich denke, ich entscheide für mich selber und renne nicht blind wie ein Huhn vom Sommer- zu Winter- und wieder zurück zu Sommermärchen. Meine deutsche Kultur prägt mich, klar, aber gerade deswegen will ich ja dieses Nationalitätsgefühl nicht haben. Schließlich stellt sich die Frage, welcher Natur diese deutsche Kultur ist, Goethe, Schiller, wer hat die schon gelesen in meiner Generation? Was verbindet mich mehr mit einem Stoiber, als mit französischen Freunden von mir, welche ähnliche kulturellen oder sozio-ökonomischen Interessen besitzen?
Jedwede Selbstidentifikation ist nichts anderes als eine Exklusion der anderen. Das will ich nicht. Ich will keine Trennlinie zwischen mir und einem Polen, zwischen mir und einem Österreicher ziehen. Das ist (oder soll ich sagen war?) das schöne, das bestaunenswerte am Deutschland der Nachkriegsjahre (wohl erst ab 68, aber das ist ein anderes Thema), es brauchte diesen dumpfen (und niederen Gefühle weckenden) Patriotismus nicht. darauf bin ich stolz nicht auf eine Rumpeltruppe die glücklich gegen die Türkei gewinnt um im Finale unterzugehen.
Packt Eure Flaggen weg, fangt an zu philosophieren!
Ich habe ja schon prinzipiell eine Abneigung gegenüber jeglichen Ausdruck von Massenekstase, dem überbordenden Ausdruck von Gefühlen in Gruppen, aber gerade in Bezug auf die deutsche Fußballnationalmannschaft kann ich diese nicht nur nicht teilen, sondern finde sie sogar abstoßend. Habt Ihr denn nichts aus der Geschichte gelernt? Seid Ihr Euch denn nicht darüber im Klaren, daß das schöne, das lobenswerte, was sich andere Länder ruhig abschauen könnten, eben dieser mangelnde Patriotismus ist, diese leidvolle Lehre der Vergangenheit, daß jede Form von Patriotismus eine Art von Nationalismus und damit eine Ausgrenzung der (oder des) Anderen ist? Nein, ich stehe hier nicht mit dem Moralhammer und sage: "Ihr Deutschen dürft nicht, weil Ihr den Holocaust verursacht habt." Aber warum muß man dies tun? Die anderen doch auch sagt Ihr. Natürlich, aber macht es das besser?
Das, was ich aus der Geschichte gelernt habe ist eindeutig, ich brauche keine Identifikation mit einem Staat, mit einer Nationalität, ich will sie auch gar nicht erst. Ich bin zuallerst ein Individum, ich denke, ich entscheide für mich selber und renne nicht blind wie ein Huhn vom Sommer- zu Winter- und wieder zurück zu Sommermärchen. Meine deutsche Kultur prägt mich, klar, aber gerade deswegen will ich ja dieses Nationalitätsgefühl nicht haben. Schließlich stellt sich die Frage, welcher Natur diese deutsche Kultur ist, Goethe, Schiller, wer hat die schon gelesen in meiner Generation? Was verbindet mich mehr mit einem Stoiber, als mit französischen Freunden von mir, welche ähnliche kulturellen oder sozio-ökonomischen Interessen besitzen?
Jedwede Selbstidentifikation ist nichts anderes als eine Exklusion der anderen. Das will ich nicht. Ich will keine Trennlinie zwischen mir und einem Polen, zwischen mir und einem Österreicher ziehen. Das ist (oder soll ich sagen war?) das schöne, das bestaunenswerte am Deutschland der Nachkriegsjahre (wohl erst ab 68, aber das ist ein anderes Thema), es brauchte diesen dumpfen (und niederen Gefühle weckenden) Patriotismus nicht. darauf bin ich stolz nicht auf eine Rumpeltruppe die glücklich gegen die Türkei gewinnt um im Finale unterzugehen.
Packt Eure Flaggen weg, fangt an zu philosophieren!
New York Times Ramblings
- Most of you will know that I leaned towards Clinton in the Democratic primary mainly because the Obama craze made me feel uncomfortable (not that this matters since I will never be able to vote in the US anyway). Now I am of course mentally supporting the Democratic candidate against McCain (as much as I prefered this guy over his Republican competitors). Anyway, what always intrigued me was the kind of ground-support that Obama received. Here is another wonderful example of it.
- I always knew that Dylan was the most influential musician of the 20th century. Here is some proof.
- Finally, for all of you UNC students not in North Carolina or not follwing the news. An update on the Eve Carson trial made it into the New York Times.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
USA
So, I've been in Boston for two weeks, I've had my ups and downs (socially and professionally). I like the town. Too expensive, too fancy for my taste, but very chill anyway. Highly international, I was sitting in a coffee place yesterday with some Syrians (speaking Arabic) on one side, some Bulgarians on the other and me talking French with a Haitian girl on my phone. I like these things, this conglomerations of people from all over the place. Today, I played ball with three Iranians (who were pretty good, but some skinny white motherfucker from Germany killed everyone on that court) and some Spanish-talking guy. Sitting in a park yesterday, I noticed the amount of Americans walking by who most obviously have somekind of an ethnic background. While none of this really is anything new I just figured I should point it out again.
The United States is easily (becoming in any case) the only non-ethnic society of the world.
I saw a little league game yesterday, with both teams being Hispanic, black and white. I had a conversation with nice black British gentleman the other day who has been living here for 20 years is married to a white American and in a very evident manner has been accepted by his white step-son as the surrogate father. Please don't get me wrong, I realize that the US has a long way to go, that blacks and hispanics earn less, are less educated, less represented in power positions. But at the same time, the irrelevance of race has moved further here than any other place in the world that I know of, especially among children and with an eye towards the future isn't that all that really matters?
Just to piss of this Texan dirt farmer I know, the United States from my point of view is a post-modern society based on modern sentiments (Europe I would argue is the opposite, a modern society based on post-modern sentiments). As a disclaimer I should say that the definitions of post-modern and modern I use here are really personal, I am not up to date on the discussion of the concepts, I make up my own meanings so to speak. Anyway, what I mean is that the in the United States race is not as relevant as in Europe (Germany in any case, but with some exceptions in regard to France I think this is very generally applicable), making it a post-modern society not dominated by one homogenous people. The ironic thing about all this is that this society is based on concepts of nationalism of a pride in one's country that is far less existent in Europe (because of reasons of size, history, whatever), a very modern concept in the end that really should have left any validity with the Second World War.
But maybe the American society is schizophrenic in general, making this combination less bizarre than it seems at first glance (and one could of course argue that these two interact supporting one another (again, look at France)). Look at this country after all, I have never seen a place where truly gigantic (fat) people at least outwardly portray less shame at their weight (and why would they, I like that they do), yet at the same time I know no other place where more guys clearly take drugs to bulk up. A country where certain events are broadcast on TV with a three second delay in order to prohibit another nipplegate, but where girls going out might as well wear no top at all considering their cleavage. A country that has produced Jefferson, Hamilton, Madison, Franklin, Twain, Faulkner, Hemingway, Auster to name just a few, but where intellectualism is seemingly frowned upon. A country where the beer is light in order to preserve one's looks but one whose traditional food sources are greasy as fuck. Amazing the contrasts one can find here really.
Again, please don't misunderstand me. There a massive problems to deal with here, just bike along E Berkley anytime in the evening, go to the basketball courts of Dorchester, check out the bums on Newbury (and anywhere else), yet this racial post-modernity I find intriuiging, that's all I'm saying really.
The United States is easily (becoming in any case) the only non-ethnic society of the world.
I saw a little league game yesterday, with both teams being Hispanic, black and white. I had a conversation with nice black British gentleman the other day who has been living here for 20 years is married to a white American and in a very evident manner has been accepted by his white step-son as the surrogate father. Please don't get me wrong, I realize that the US has a long way to go, that blacks and hispanics earn less, are less educated, less represented in power positions. But at the same time, the irrelevance of race has moved further here than any other place in the world that I know of, especially among children and with an eye towards the future isn't that all that really matters?
Just to piss of this Texan dirt farmer I know, the United States from my point of view is a post-modern society based on modern sentiments (Europe I would argue is the opposite, a modern society based on post-modern sentiments). As a disclaimer I should say that the definitions of post-modern and modern I use here are really personal, I am not up to date on the discussion of the concepts, I make up my own meanings so to speak. Anyway, what I mean is that the in the United States race is not as relevant as in Europe (Germany in any case, but with some exceptions in regard to France I think this is very generally applicable), making it a post-modern society not dominated by one homogenous people. The ironic thing about all this is that this society is based on concepts of nationalism of a pride in one's country that is far less existent in Europe (because of reasons of size, history, whatever), a very modern concept in the end that really should have left any validity with the Second World War.
But maybe the American society is schizophrenic in general, making this combination less bizarre than it seems at first glance (and one could of course argue that these two interact supporting one another (again, look at France)). Look at this country after all, I have never seen a place where truly gigantic (fat) people at least outwardly portray less shame at their weight (and why would they, I like that they do), yet at the same time I know no other place where more guys clearly take drugs to bulk up. A country where certain events are broadcast on TV with a three second delay in order to prohibit another nipplegate, but where girls going out might as well wear no top at all considering their cleavage. A country that has produced Jefferson, Hamilton, Madison, Franklin, Twain, Faulkner, Hemingway, Auster to name just a few, but where intellectualism is seemingly frowned upon. A country where the beer is light in order to preserve one's looks but one whose traditional food sources are greasy as fuck. Amazing the contrasts one can find here really.
Again, please don't misunderstand me. There a massive problems to deal with here, just bike along E Berkley anytime in the evening, go to the basketball courts of Dorchester, check out the bums on Newbury (and anywhere else), yet this racial post-modernity I find intriuiging, that's all I'm saying really.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Plateforme
Une copine m'avait donné Plateforme de Michel Houellebecq et je le dois avouer je l'ai trouvé fascinant. Je ne veux pas dire, que je l'ai trouvé très fort, mais fascinant, plutôt dans une façon negative que positive parfois, mais intéressant en tout cas. Seulement la dernière partie du bouquin m'a fatigué un peu, parce qu'il devient trop répétitif à la fin.
La première moitié du livre est très fort, un fonctionnaire d'une quarante d'année, qui n'a aucune intérèt à rien, ni dans sa vie, ni dans son travail, il n'a même pas d'ami. Ayant reçu un héritage considérable il se met en voyage en Thaïlande. Ses obsérvations sur la vie occidentale, sur la société moderne en général sont super cynique et d'un humour sec que j'aime très bien. Quand même (en vue de son cynisme et manque d'intérèt) il tombe amoureux d'une fille et ils sont heureux dans la deuxième partie du livre. Je ne veux pas raconter trop de l'histoire parce qu'elle n'est pas trop surprenant où même intelligent.
Ce que m'intéresse sont les observations sur la société de Michel qui, je crois, est plus ou moins représentatif de l'écrivain soi-même. Lui, - ou les deux à mon avis, parce que même si Michel n'est pas Michel, il, l'écrivain, donne l'impression de s'identifier avec son caractère - il montre des convictions complètements repoussants et hypocrites. Les decriptions de Michel baiser quelqu'un ici, être soufflé là et lécher sa copine dans une troisième endroit devient très ennuyant. Sa accentuation sur l'importance du sexe est ridicule à mon avis. Oui, c'est important, oui je l'aime bien aussi moi, c'est quelque chose très spécial entre deux gens, mais premièrement je ne dois pas parler du sujet toujours et en plus même si je baise comme un fou je peux bien être malheureux. Michel se moque des films pornos, mais ses descriptions sont exactement la même chose (avec des gens qui voient lui et sa copine en train de baiser quelque part et décide de les joigner tout de suite). En plus je trouve l'importance qu'il donne sur la fellation ridicule. Oui, je l'aime bien aussi moi, je ne vais pas mentir, mais son obsession avec ça me fait mal, surtout parce que il parle toujours de donner plaisir et que ça aurait été tué dans la société moderne parce tous se concentre sur soi-même aujourd-hui, mais cette plaisir est toujours par des femmes, alors que lui montre beaucoup moins d'enthusiasme enthousiasme. Sale hypocrite.
Son défense du sexe tourisme aussi est déplorable (pour manque d'un mot plus fort), il donne l'impression que les filles dans tous ces pays attendent seulement pour que il se peuvent prostituer. L'argent contre le sexe, comme si cettes filles ne feraient d'autre chose s'il le pouvaient.Il cite un arabe pour pouvoir dire que il n'aime pas (de nouveau, manque d'un mot mieux) l'islam, je trouve ça lâche. Les Ivoiriennes sentent le sexe à son avis, alors il est rassiste aussi, sympa. Et à la fin, il trouve rien quand un mec d'une quarantaine d'année commence une relation sexuelle avec une fille de quinze ans. En fait, sa description de cette fille est comme si elle a 20 ans au moins, dans sa façon de se donner et tous, peut-être ce mensonge (ou cas peu représentatif) lui fait se sentir mieux.
À la fin, écœurant, complètement. Oui, c'est bien écrit. Mais les raisons pourque je l'ai trouvé intéressant à lire ont été presque tous lier à ma aversion de ce qu'il dit.
La première moitié du livre est très fort, un fonctionnaire d'une quarante d'année, qui n'a aucune intérèt à rien, ni dans sa vie, ni dans son travail, il n'a même pas d'ami. Ayant reçu un héritage considérable il se met en voyage en Thaïlande. Ses obsérvations sur la vie occidentale, sur la société moderne en général sont super cynique et d'un humour sec que j'aime très bien. Quand même (en vue de son cynisme et manque d'intérèt) il tombe amoureux d'une fille et ils sont heureux dans la deuxième partie du livre. Je ne veux pas raconter trop de l'histoire parce qu'elle n'est pas trop surprenant où même intelligent.
Ce que m'intéresse sont les observations sur la société de Michel qui, je crois, est plus ou moins représentatif de l'écrivain soi-même. Lui, - ou les deux à mon avis, parce que même si Michel n'est pas Michel, il, l'écrivain, donne l'impression de s'identifier avec son caractère - il montre des convictions complètements repoussants et hypocrites. Les decriptions de Michel baiser quelqu'un ici, être soufflé là et lécher sa copine dans une troisième endroit devient très ennuyant. Sa accentuation sur l'importance du sexe est ridicule à mon avis. Oui, c'est important, oui je l'aime bien aussi moi, c'est quelque chose très spécial entre deux gens, mais premièrement je ne dois pas parler du sujet toujours et en plus même si je baise comme un fou je peux bien être malheureux. Michel se moque des films pornos, mais ses descriptions sont exactement la même chose (avec des gens qui voient lui et sa copine en train de baiser quelque part et décide de les joigner tout de suite). En plus je trouve l'importance qu'il donne sur la fellation ridicule. Oui, je l'aime bien aussi moi, je ne vais pas mentir, mais son obsession avec ça me fait mal, surtout parce que il parle toujours de donner plaisir et que ça aurait été tué dans la société moderne parce tous se concentre sur soi-même aujourd-hui, mais cette plaisir est toujours par des femmes, alors que lui montre beaucoup moins d'enthusiasme enthousiasme. Sale hypocrite.
Son défense du sexe tourisme aussi est déplorable (pour manque d'un mot plus fort), il donne l'impression que les filles dans tous ces pays attendent seulement pour que il se peuvent prostituer. L'argent contre le sexe, comme si cettes filles ne feraient d'autre chose s'il le pouvaient.Il cite un arabe pour pouvoir dire que il n'aime pas (de nouveau, manque d'un mot mieux) l'islam, je trouve ça lâche. Les Ivoiriennes sentent le sexe à son avis, alors il est rassiste aussi, sympa. Et à la fin, il trouve rien quand un mec d'une quarantaine d'année commence une relation sexuelle avec une fille de quinze ans. En fait, sa description de cette fille est comme si elle a 20 ans au moins, dans sa façon de se donner et tous, peut-être ce mensonge (ou cas peu représentatif) lui fait se sentir mieux.
À la fin, écœurant, complètement. Oui, c'est bien écrit. Mais les raisons pourque je l'ai trouvé intéressant à lire ont été presque tous lier à ma aversion de ce qu'il dit.
Boston
I have been here less than 48 hours so just a few notes on my first impressions:
- My first conversation with a Bostonian showcased ... nothing really, but it was pretty funny. I was sitting on the bus going downtown with my bags, when this guy sitting across the aisle from me asks what the ZRH on my bags stood for. Response: Zurich, where I had come from. Bostonian: "Where is that? Africa?" And no, I don't think he was kidding.
- Boston makes a very clean, very European city. Lots of white people with suits on the buses, little parks, community gardens, the houses not too big. Me being me (aka dumb) I decided to walk home from work yesterday though and, having had no map, got completely lost somewhere in the project area of South Boston. Basketball courts, toothless black men that greet you when you walk past, hispanic women sitting on the porch yelling to each other across the street. Some cops stopped me at some point figuring a white dude with a nice shirt and pants was in the wrong area, but I never felt threatened or anything. As far as my experience is concerned Americans tend to exaggerate the danger of these parts anyway.
- As a side-note, this phenomena of older (especially but not exclusively), poor black men greeting you with a 'how's it goin' or something similar without prompt nor any desire on their part to bum anything off you is something I have never quite figured out. I kind of like it actually, I figure it is a respect thing of some sort, but it is very much restricted to a certain socio-economic group.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
España
Having spent 10 days in Spain now (I got back to Berlin yesterday evening only) I believe I can consider myself an expert on the Spanish mentality per se and thought I should share my insight on this. Yeah, ... right. Well, I wanted to get a few things of my chest in any case.
I had never been to Spain before (geographically and culturally that is, I had spent some time in secluded German areas of Puerto de la Cruz, Tenerife as a teen), did have some preformed opinions (mostly negative) based on the overwhelmingly (and lame) positive perception of everything Spanish (party, sun, beach, party (including 'exotic' music and latino dansers/lovers/whatever, nothing else really) by my compatriotes. So, I went to Madrid and Barcelona staying with friends in both places (Spanish in the former, American in the latter, my experiences logically having been tainted by these different circumstances).
In comparing these two cities I like to invoke the similar distinction between New York and Chicago. One is better known, more popular, on first sight more attractive maybe, and more touristy, the other more low-key, less well-known, more quiet and less beautiful on first sight. In the end then I cannot really pass judgements on two cities as different, Madrid was fun (thanks to my knowledgable tour guide (Q: Who is Alonso XIII? A: The Son of Alonso XII!), I liked its tranquility while being alive at the same time. Barcelona is a completely different story, overrun by tourists (French and German mainly it seems), strikingly beautiful with a historic center right at the beach and with its streets (in that part of town anyway) crowded at all times (I personally feel like one could call it Kreuzberg with older houses, a beach, and a massive amount of tourists (profound comparison, I know)). Honestly, as much as I liked being in Barcelona, the touristy aspect is painful at times, also because my lack of any (active as opposed to passive) Spanish knowledge made me feel this even more so. I also feel that Madrid's beauty is undervalued, in its central district it showcases an impressive array of beautiful apartment and governmental buildings. Thus, go to both, not just one of them, if you can and get yourself some Spanish friends before you do.
The latter mainly because the Spanish (in general, there are no exceptions, no, really) for some reason that I couldn't quite discern are enviably proud of not speaking any other language. Asking someone in Spanish whether they spoke any of my three languages just produced a proud: 'No! Espanol!' The fact that I was aware of a) us being in Spain and b) of him/her being Spanish and included both aspects in my decision to start asking in Spanish in the first place seemed to make no difference here.
What else? Spanish women wear no tops at the beach (and are accordingly and continously assailed by men twice their age when sun-bathing). People don't go swimming in the ocean (and I always felt kind of dumb for actually doing so when everyone else obviously was only working on their respective tans). Spain is a lot cleaner than I had though, less Italian so to speak. Starting conversations with 50 year old men who speak no foreign languages is surprisingly fun and easy. Stereotypes about Southern European effectiveness are true (I missed my plane back home because the trains didn't run (a fire in some station), there were no buses (well, like one every 20 minutes with a queue of maybe 300 metres) and the cab drivers were striking). No one thought an anouncement on any of this (even in Spanish) would be necessary of course. There is bad-ass, super comfortable and fast train connection between Madrid and Barcelona, just a tad too expensive though. For some inexplicable reason Spanish males think that mullets constitute an attractive hair cut.
Yeah, Spain. Good fun I have to admit, just don't give me those dumb stereotypes as a reason please.
On a last note (and this is nothing new, I know), I hate not being able to speak a country's language. I abhor it in fact. No possibility of properly conversing with locals, always staying at this sad tourist level. It makes me feel really uncomfortable honestly. Think I am made to live in other countries, even to visit friends there, to learn languages (I need to finally start a fourth one), but not to be a tourist only.
I had never been to Spain before (geographically and culturally that is, I had spent some time in secluded German areas of Puerto de la Cruz, Tenerife as a teen), did have some preformed opinions (mostly negative) based on the overwhelmingly (and lame) positive perception of everything Spanish (party, sun, beach, party (including 'exotic' music and latino dansers/lovers/whatever, nothing else really) by my compatriotes. So, I went to Madrid and Barcelona staying with friends in both places (Spanish in the former, American in the latter, my experiences logically having been tainted by these different circumstances).
In comparing these two cities I like to invoke the similar distinction between New York and Chicago. One is better known, more popular, on first sight more attractive maybe, and more touristy, the other more low-key, less well-known, more quiet and less beautiful on first sight. In the end then I cannot really pass judgements on two cities as different, Madrid was fun (thanks to my knowledgable tour guide (Q: Who is Alonso XIII? A: The Son of Alonso XII!), I liked its tranquility while being alive at the same time. Barcelona is a completely different story, overrun by tourists (French and German mainly it seems), strikingly beautiful with a historic center right at the beach and with its streets (in that part of town anyway) crowded at all times (I personally feel like one could call it Kreuzberg with older houses, a beach, and a massive amount of tourists (profound comparison, I know)). Honestly, as much as I liked being in Barcelona, the touristy aspect is painful at times, also because my lack of any (active as opposed to passive) Spanish knowledge made me feel this even more so. I also feel that Madrid's beauty is undervalued, in its central district it showcases an impressive array of beautiful apartment and governmental buildings. Thus, go to both, not just one of them, if you can and get yourself some Spanish friends before you do.
The latter mainly because the Spanish (in general, there are no exceptions, no, really) for some reason that I couldn't quite discern are enviably proud of not speaking any other language. Asking someone in Spanish whether they spoke any of my three languages just produced a proud: 'No! Espanol!' The fact that I was aware of a) us being in Spain and b) of him/her being Spanish and included both aspects in my decision to start asking in Spanish in the first place seemed to make no difference here.
What else? Spanish women wear no tops at the beach (and are accordingly and continously assailed by men twice their age when sun-bathing). People don't go swimming in the ocean (and I always felt kind of dumb for actually doing so when everyone else obviously was only working on their respective tans). Spain is a lot cleaner than I had though, less Italian so to speak. Starting conversations with 50 year old men who speak no foreign languages is surprisingly fun and easy. Stereotypes about Southern European effectiveness are true (I missed my plane back home because the trains didn't run (a fire in some station), there were no buses (well, like one every 20 minutes with a queue of maybe 300 metres) and the cab drivers were striking). No one thought an anouncement on any of this (even in Spanish) would be necessary of course. There is bad-ass, super comfortable and fast train connection between Madrid and Barcelona, just a tad too expensive though. For some inexplicable reason Spanish males think that mullets constitute an attractive hair cut.
Yeah, Spain. Good fun I have to admit, just don't give me those dumb stereotypes as a reason please.
On a last note (and this is nothing new, I know), I hate not being able to speak a country's language. I abhor it in fact. No possibility of properly conversing with locals, always staying at this sad tourist level. It makes me feel really uncomfortable honestly. Think I am made to live in other countries, even to visit friends there, to learn languages (I need to finally start a fourth one), but not to be a tourist only.
Le rouge et le noir
En préparent mon séjour en France je essaie de découvrir la litterature francais maintenant. Mon coloc (pas vraiment, mais oauis...) m'a donné son exemplaire de Stendhal Le rouge et le noir. Après Dumas mon deuxième oeuvre ancien en francais. Honnêtement j'ai du mal à m'exprimer sur les bouquins comme ca, je les aime bien (celle-là aussi), mais les discussions ne sont pas les miennes, il y a plus de difficulté à s'identifier avec les charactères.
Stendhal parle d'un homme qui essaie de se lever de sa position basse dans la vie à l'aide de intélligence et en travaillant dûr (une thème americaine si on veut, sauf que...non, je ne le dis pas, mais peut-être vous pouvez déviner la diffèrence quand même). En tout cas, ce monsieur (Julien Sorel) et décrit profondement, ses amours, et ses tentatives de se lever. Il y en a une mélange de la politique, la mobilité sociale, l'amours. Quoi d'autre peux-je dire? Beaucoup, mais je suis trop fatigué honnêtement, il reste trop de chose à faire avant que je parte demain. Alors, lisez-le, il vaut la paine, vraiment.
Stendhal parle d'un homme qui essaie de se lever de sa position basse dans la vie à l'aide de intélligence et en travaillant dûr (une thème americaine si on veut, sauf que...non, je ne le dis pas, mais peut-être vous pouvez déviner la diffèrence quand même). En tout cas, ce monsieur (Julien Sorel) et décrit profondement, ses amours, et ses tentatives de se lever. Il y en a une mélange de la politique, la mobilité sociale, l'amours. Quoi d'autre peux-je dire? Beaucoup, mais je suis trop fatigué honnêtement, il reste trop de chose à faire avant que je parte demain. Alors, lisez-le, il vaut la paine, vraiment.
Monday, June 09, 2008
La Peste
Je suis à Barcelona pour l'instant et je crois que je ferai une poste sur l'Espagne avant que je sois parti d'ici, mais jusqu'à maintenant il faut attendre.
Je viens de finir mon deuxième livre de Camus La Peste il y a quelques jours. Mon français n'est toujours pas assez bien pour être capable de juger les œuvres litteraires comme celle-ci je trouve, alors je vais me garder de dire grande chose là-dessus. J'ai bien aimé Camus, il est capable d'ouvrir des sujets très complexe dans une façon facile à accéder. La seule chose que j'ai trouvé bizarre dans La Peste est que j'ai eu l'impression qu'il (Camus) ouvre une pléthore de sujets sans y rester ni les résoudre. Il parlent de l'amour et les effets de la séperation là-dessus (un sujet que moi je connaîs plus que je n'ai jamais voulu, croyez-le-mois), la désintegration sociale au cas d'une situation critique, des gens qui cherchent une dédications pour leurs vies... On le pourrait continuer, je ne critique pas que Camus l'essaie, j'ai trouvé bizarre seulement qu'il reste avec tous sujets pendant quelques pages seulement avant qu'il se concentre sur quelque chose d'autre.
En fin pour tous entre vous, qui réalisent pas encore la génie d'un certain écrivian. Savez-vous que Camus a traduit Requiem pour une nonne d'anglais. Je le vous dis seulement :)
Je viens de finir mon deuxième livre de Camus La Peste il y a quelques jours. Mon français n'est toujours pas assez bien pour être capable de juger les œuvres litteraires comme celle-ci je trouve, alors je vais me garder de dire grande chose là-dessus. J'ai bien aimé Camus, il est capable d'ouvrir des sujets très complexe dans une façon facile à accéder. La seule chose que j'ai trouvé bizarre dans La Peste est que j'ai eu l'impression qu'il (Camus) ouvre une pléthore de sujets sans y rester ni les résoudre. Il parlent de l'amour et les effets de la séperation là-dessus (un sujet que moi je connaîs plus que je n'ai jamais voulu, croyez-le-mois), la désintegration sociale au cas d'une situation critique, des gens qui cherchent une dédications pour leurs vies... On le pourrait continuer, je ne critique pas que Camus l'essaie, j'ai trouvé bizarre seulement qu'il reste avec tous sujets pendant quelques pages seulement avant qu'il se concentre sur quelque chose d'autre.
En fin pour tous entre vous, qui réalisent pas encore la génie d'un certain écrivian. Savez-vous que Camus a traduit Requiem pour une nonne d'anglais. Je le vous dis seulement :)
Friday, May 23, 2008
Being Bush
If it wasn't so sad, and horrible for the world, it would be kind of funny how delusional Bush still is (NYT):
How does one spell miserable failure again?
“Success will be when Al Qaeda has no safe havens in Iraq and Iraqis can protect themselves,” he said. “Success will be when Iraq is a nation that can support itself economically. Success will be when Iraq is a democracy that governs itself effectively and responds to the will of its people. Success will be when Iraq is a strong and capable ally in the war on terror.”
How does one spell miserable failure again?
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
L'étranger
Albert Camus m'est été connu par nom depuis quelque temps mais je n'avais jamais réussi à lire quelque chose de lui, surtout parce que j'avais un peu de peur de le lire, grâce à ma conviction qu'il serait difficile à comprendre. Après ayant lu l'étranger, je dois avouer ayant eu tort. Il est en fait très facile à comprendre, ça, bien sûr, est vrai seulement sur un niveau de langue, son histoire est une chose differente.
L'étranger raconte l'histoire d'une pied-noir habitant à Algier pendant la colonisation qui s'est montré incapable de s'adapter à la société complètement. Il ne montre pas d'émotion précisément, ni pendant l'enterrement de sa mère ni envers la fille qui l'aime. Bien sûr, la société étant ce qu'elle est, quelqu'un qui essaie de défier ses regles dois payer et il le fait.
De nouveau, j'ai été très surpris comment facile j'ai trouvé Camus, et aussi dans un certain sens, comment ça a été que de la joie, sans être dur à me motiver comme pour ma lecture quotidienne du Monde parfois.
L'étranger raconte l'histoire d'une pied-noir habitant à Algier pendant la colonisation qui s'est montré incapable de s'adapter à la société complètement. Il ne montre pas d'émotion précisément, ni pendant l'enterrement de sa mère ni envers la fille qui l'aime. Bien sûr, la société étant ce qu'elle est, quelqu'un qui essaie de défier ses regles dois payer et il le fait.
De nouveau, j'ai été très surpris comment facile j'ai trouvé Camus, et aussi dans un certain sens, comment ça a été que de la joie, sans être dur à me motiver comme pour ma lecture quotidienne du Monde parfois.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Der Schimmelreiter
Eines der Bücher die mehr oder weniger zufällig bei mir gelandet sind (in diesem Fall frage ich mich mehr wie die Person, die mir dieses Buch gab darauf gestoßen ist). In diesem Fall auch noch klassische deutsche Literatur (ein Bereich der fraglos zu meinen vielen Bildungslücken gehört). Theodor Storms Schimmelreiter hat mir sehr gut gefallen.
Die Geschichte handelt von einem Mann der sich durch Intelligenz und hartes Anpacken auf die höchste Stelle seiner Umgebung hochzuarbeiten, er beginnt aber wegen dieses hohen Zieles sein eigenes Glück (und das seiner Familie) aus den Augen zu verlieren (und das Ende kann sich bei dieser Art deutscher Literatur jeder selben denken). Eine schöne, kurze Novelle.
Ungewohnt war die Sprache des Buches in zweierlei Hinsicht. Erstens wurde zeitweise in Platt gesprochen, was ich dann doch nicht immer verstanden habe. Zweitens spielt das ganze in Friesland, direkt am Meer und die Deiche der Gegend besitzen eine entscheidende Rolle. Viele der Fachtermina sind insofern für mich als Landratte und Großstadtkind kaum nachvollziehbar.
Die Geschichte handelt von einem Mann der sich durch Intelligenz und hartes Anpacken auf die höchste Stelle seiner Umgebung hochzuarbeiten, er beginnt aber wegen dieses hohen Zieles sein eigenes Glück (und das seiner Familie) aus den Augen zu verlieren (und das Ende kann sich bei dieser Art deutscher Literatur jeder selben denken). Eine schöne, kurze Novelle.
Ungewohnt war die Sprache des Buches in zweierlei Hinsicht. Erstens wurde zeitweise in Platt gesprochen, was ich dann doch nicht immer verstanden habe. Zweitens spielt das ganze in Friesland, direkt am Meer und die Deiche der Gegend besitzen eine entscheidende Rolle. Viele der Fachtermina sind insofern für mich als Landratte und Großstadtkind kaum nachvollziehbar.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Native Son
I had never read anything by Richard Wright before but knew him to be one of those Afro-American intellectual figures from the early 20th century. I had also read a reference to him somewhere right before I left the US, so when I found his book Native Son standing in my room back home (the shelfs (and the room really) having been occupied by my parents) I decided to pick it up and read it. Powerful stuff, that's for sure.
It is the story a small-time criminal who is faced with his lot in the racist American society (Chicago in the 1940s). At some point his instinct for survival leads him onto a path of violent crimes (which are disgustingly blunt in their descripton). To some extent he is far too self-reflective, intellectual and articulate for a man in his station of life, but while this might be an internal flaw of the story-telling it does the novel good as the United States' society's problems are exposed indirectly (through Bigger Thomas' deeds, thoughts and importantly the way he perceives actions of whites). Later on, Wright tries to blend his Marxist beliefs of a class struggle with some kind of a black nationalism, a black struggle against oppression, which I have to admit to find appealing at times. Apparently Wright was basically forced to leave the Party because of this personal mixture of his, but a communist lawyer's solliloquy on race, class and their impact on American society and the repression of blacks left me with few counterarguments.
It is the story a small-time criminal who is faced with his lot in the racist American society (Chicago in the 1940s). At some point his instinct for survival leads him onto a path of violent crimes (which are disgustingly blunt in their descripton). To some extent he is far too self-reflective, intellectual and articulate for a man in his station of life, but while this might be an internal flaw of the story-telling it does the novel good as the United States' society's problems are exposed indirectly (through Bigger Thomas' deeds, thoughts and importantly the way he perceives actions of whites). Later on, Wright tries to blend his Marxist beliefs of a class struggle with some kind of a black nationalism, a black struggle against oppression, which I have to admit to find appealing at times. Apparently Wright was basically forced to leave the Party because of this personal mixture of his, but a communist lawyer's solliloquy on race, class and their impact on American society and the repression of blacks left me with few counterarguments.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Erich Honecker and the German population at large
So, I found this out completely randomly while reading the Stauffenberg book and I feel it is highly indicative of how much Hitler and his fellow cronies managed to control the German population (whether through violent repression, by instilling a deep and profound belief in the Nazi-ideology. How much the German population finally was broken whether morally (because of their belief system) or physically (through a combination of hunger, allied bombings and (most important in this regard) Nazi-terror).
Erich Honecker (yes, that Honecker) at the time just one of many imprisoned Communists (and thus in posession of sympathy on the part of the reader, as the common enemy of one's enemy, as one of the few good (and brave) guys in a Germany that was sorely lacking them) fled his prison in Brandenbuerg-Goerden in early March 1945. So far so good. The incredible thing is that he decided to return to his prison, to return to his work unit because he had to realize that attempting to organise resistance against the Nazis even at this point in time was doomed to failure and would only lead to his almost assured immediate death, which considering the imminent Soviet invasion would have been a futile course of action.
To repeat this, he went back into imprisonement because the German population didn't even feel it worth trying to become active against the NSDP-dictatorship in 1945! Apparently he wasn't even the only one that did this either. What a fuckin' sad state of affairs.
Erich Honecker (yes, that Honecker) at the time just one of many imprisoned Communists (and thus in posession of sympathy on the part of the reader, as the common enemy of one's enemy, as one of the few good (and brave) guys in a Germany that was sorely lacking them) fled his prison in Brandenbuerg-Goerden in early March 1945. So far so good. The incredible thing is that he decided to return to his prison, to return to his work unit because he had to realize that attempting to organise resistance against the Nazis even at this point in time was doomed to failure and would only lead to his almost assured immediate death, which considering the imminent Soviet invasion would have been a futile course of action.
To repeat this, he went back into imprisonement because the German population didn't even feel it worth trying to become active against the NSDP-dictatorship in 1945! Apparently he wasn't even the only one that did this either. What a fuckin' sad state of affairs.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Can I Keep My Jersey?
This definitely was a disappointment I had read Paul Shirley avidly during his time on ESPN and even afterwards on myspace for a while (where he dvelved too much into weird white rock bands for my personal taste though), so my expectations for his book were higher than for the regular, run-of-the-mill basketball one. Sadly, Can I Keep My Jersey? 11 Teams, 5 Countries, and 4 Years in My Life as a Basketball Vagabond did not keep its promise. Not only was I familiar with most of the later material already as he simply reused his blog entries from the season he played with the Phoenix Suns to some extent. His other material also wasn't as strong, or maybe his writing just doesn't work for anything longer than an amusing internet entry, which one reads through in a few minutes only.
Whatever the reason, I thought I would get a fast, enjoyable, fun read and in reality I only got a fast read. Sadly enough, even the gossiping material (who was fighting whom in the locker room) was censored in a John Doe fashion. Maybe I have gotten too used to his writing (which kind of happened with Bill Simmons as well), or maybe his writing doesn't work that well in a book format. Read it if you are a basketball nut only, but then you won't even pick up the book or know who Paul Shirley is in any other scenario.
Whatever the reason, I thought I would get a fast, enjoyable, fun read and in reality I only got a fast read. Sadly enough, even the gossiping material (who was fighting whom in the locker room) was censored in a John Doe fashion. Maybe I have gotten too used to his writing (which kind of happened with Bill Simmons as well), or maybe his writing doesn't work that well in a book format. Read it if you are a basketball nut only, but then you won't even pick up the book or know who Paul Shirley is in any other scenario.
Stauffenberg
Gerd R. Ueberschärs Stauffenberg und das Attentat vom 20. Juli 1944 ist erfolgreich darin dem Leser ein genaues (oder oberflächliches, je nach dem wie man will, das Buch hat nur knapp mehr als 200 Seiten) Bild des wichtigsten (weil am besten geplanten) Putschversuches, inklusive eines versuchten Mordes an Hitler zu, anzugedeihen. Ich war leicht überrascht durch Ueberschärs essayistische Form, jedes Kapitel kann letzten endes unabhängig vom Rest des Buches gelesen werdem, aber er ist sehr erfolgreich darin verschiedene Winkel der Ereignisse zu beleuchten, ob diese die Sippenhaft der Attentäter, eine minitiuöse Aufbereitung des Tathergangs, die Rekationen im Reich seien.
Vieles war mir nicht neu, wie in Bezug auf das gescheiterte Attentat oder den verzweifelten Versuch den Putsch dennoch durchzuführen, doch das Ausmaß des Verschwörungskreises, der Operation Walküre war mir nicht im Detail bewußt gewesen. Ich kann das Buch also auf jeden Fall empfehlen, das einzige leicht nervende sind die ellenlangen Namenslisten, welche Ueberschär ab und an einbaut. Ich weiß zwar zu schätzen, daß diese Leute ihr Leben (zum großen Teil zumindest) geopfert haben, aber sich ähnelnde Absätze voll von Namen, vons und zus und Offiziersgraden sind nicht unbedingt nach meinem Geschmack.
Vieles war mir nicht neu, wie in Bezug auf das gescheiterte Attentat oder den verzweifelten Versuch den Putsch dennoch durchzuführen, doch das Ausmaß des Verschwörungskreises, der Operation Walküre war mir nicht im Detail bewußt gewesen. Ich kann das Buch also auf jeden Fall empfehlen, das einzige leicht nervende sind die ellenlangen Namenslisten, welche Ueberschär ab und an einbaut. Ich weiß zwar zu schätzen, daß diese Leute ihr Leben (zum großen Teil zumindest) geopfert haben, aber sich ähnelnde Absätze voll von Namen, vons und zus und Offiziersgraden sind nicht unbedingt nach meinem Geschmack.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Grundzüge des politischen Systems der Bundesrepublik Deutschland
Ein wahrer Knüller und Seitenumblätterer (sad translation from the appropriate English word)? Naja, zumindest habe ich das Ding in zwei Tagen gelesen. Das aber auch nur weil ich es für mein Auswahlgespräch von heute morgen gemacht haben mußte. Um ganz ehrlich zu sein, bis gestern abend wäre diese Kritik furchtbar ausgefallen. Das Buch ist ganz klar an ein halbakademisches Publikum gerichtet, ich fande es zum Teil sehr langweilig und oberflächlich, viele Aspekte wiederholend welche, für Politikwissenschaftler, zum Allgemeinwissen zählen. Aber dann quälte ich mich durch ein Kapitel über das Bunderverfassungsgericht in der S-Bahn gestern abend und was wurde ich heute morgen prompt gefragt? Wie funktioniert das BVerfG!
Also, wenn Ihr eine kurze, schnelle, harmlose und nicht besonders tiefsinnige Einführung in die deutsche Politik und Geschichte haben wollte, fahrt zum Anhalter Bahnhof und holt Euch Kurt Sontheimer und Wilhelm Bleeks Werk von der Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung.
Also, wenn Ihr eine kurze, schnelle, harmlose und nicht besonders tiefsinnige Einführung in die deutsche Politik und Geschichte haben wollte, fahrt zum Anhalter Bahnhof und holt Euch Kurt Sontheimer und Wilhelm Bleeks Werk von der Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung.
The Town
The second part of the Snopes Trilogy (read my review of the first part) allowed me to delve deeper into Faulkner's universe, into Yoknapatawpha County. Cross references in other books make more sense now, especially Chick Mallison and his uncle Gavin Stevens who both appear again in one of my favorite Faulkner novels Intruder in the Dust become more well-rounded characters. I enjoyed the book thus as a Faulkner enthusiast, I was happy to welcome back Ratliff and the indomitable Flem Snopes, yet I would refrain from recommending this work to anyone looking for an introduction to Faulkner.
Granted, his prose is once again of course magnificient, his sentences are wonderfully convoluted and the occasional re-reading is a necessity. The story also runs along smoothly, and offers enough suspense (not in outcome, Faulkner rarely provides that, but in how things arrive to be that way) to keep to reader attached to the book (except of course if he has as much work as me). Yet, for some reason that I cannot pinpoint quite well, The Town will not be one of my favorite Faulkner novels, easily being beat by The Sound and the Fury, the aforementioned Intruder in the Dust, Go Down Moses, and Absalom, Absalom.
Granted, his prose is once again of course magnificient, his sentences are wonderfully convoluted and the occasional re-reading is a necessity. The story also runs along smoothly, and offers enough suspense (not in outcome, Faulkner rarely provides that, but in how things arrive to be that way) to keep to reader attached to the book (except of course if he has as much work as me). Yet, for some reason that I cannot pinpoint quite well, The Town will not be one of my favorite Faulkner novels, easily being beat by The Sound and the Fury, the aforementioned Intruder in the Dust, Go Down Moses, and Absalom, Absalom.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Exorbitant Privilege
I wrote an economics paper on the side this semester, dealing with the United States' (or the dollar's) benefit accrueing through its position in the international monetary system. Very interesting subject I found out, check it out.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Money and Security
Hubert Zimmermann, a German author, wrote Money and Security. Troops, Monetary Policy, and West Germany's Relations with the United States and Britain, 1950-1971 in English, even while focusing on a part of German history I had been embarassingly unaware of. I will not focus too much on it, as I plan on using it in my master thesis and an economics paper that I have to write.
Let it suffice to say that Zimmermann, shows in a very conscise and convincing manner how Germany came under pressure from the United States (and to a lesser extent Britain) because of the foreign exchange surplus that foreign troops in Germany created for the mark. Because these troops had to be paid in German money, Germany ran a balance-of-payments surplus for years on end (not only because of that though, but this was responsible for a large part of it).
The United States continously during the 1960s tried the German government to offset this deficit (for the US), succeeding increasingly less over the course of that decade. Highly interesting stuff, the foreign troops in Germany thus directly contributed to the end of the Bretton Woods system. Economy and security as two sides of one and the same coin. Read it. (I am too tired for better posts tonight, sorry)
Let it suffice to say that Zimmermann, shows in a very conscise and convincing manner how Germany came under pressure from the United States (and to a lesser extent Britain) because of the foreign exchange surplus that foreign troops in Germany created for the mark. Because these troops had to be paid in German money, Germany ran a balance-of-payments surplus for years on end (not only because of that though, but this was responsible for a large part of it).
The United States continously during the 1960s tried the German government to offset this deficit (for the US), succeeding increasingly less over the course of that decade. Highly interesting stuff, the foreign troops in Germany thus directly contributed to the end of the Bretton Woods system. Economy and security as two sides of one and the same coin. Read it. (I am too tired for better posts tonight, sorry)
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