[a d v e r t i s e m e n t]
It was later on in the evening that I remembered that there was a strange backpack left in the stairwell since about the same time as we had our midnight visitor.
I fetched it and looked inside.
No camera. But what I did find got my heart beating…
My camera has been stolen.
Last week, on a night where I stayed over at my girlfriend’s, my roomie woke up to find some guy hovering around in the room in the dark.
“Sorry,” said guy, “your door was open… I just wanted to see if everything was alright.” exeunt.
That weekend, it snowed blankets.
“Damn,” said I, “It’s Mother Russland. I’m gonna take me a picture.”
That didn’t happen. After searching the pad furiously for sometime, retracing my steps and everything, it dawned on me that my camera had moved upstate to a nice farm where it can run around and take pictures of snow all winter long.
It was a long while before I fell asleep that night, wondering what kind of jerk would pull that kind of thing on a guy like me and what else he might have done had my roomate not woken up.
stay tuned…
Only calmness will reassure
the bees to let you rob their hoard.
–from a sensual, beautifully written poem about beekeeping,
Honey by Robert Morgan. Go read it.
I just got word back today from the jury:
Congratulations!
Your film, BEES, has been selected for screening at the 2006 EarthDance Short-Attention-Span Environmental Film Festival. The Awards Committee will announce the Festival Winners at the Premiere on April 7th.
If anyone happens to be in Frisco at that time and wants tickets, I hook you up.
So today work was scattered showers, but interesting.
First stop: Plauen, to do some voice work at the Studio Musik & Reklame…
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It’s easier than you thought — but I haven’t tried it myself so I don’t know: how to rip a phonebook in half
expat slang of the day
For today’s expat slang we bring you two and a half:
Sp?ti or Sp?tshop (shpaytee) n., from sp?t (late) and shop (shop)– a convenience store open from 7pm to 2am. Also called Sp?tkauf.
This is actually what they’re called in German, but as far as I know they are a Dresden speciality. “Stores” are supposed to close at 8pm, but some enterprising lads have somehow found a loophole where they pretend to be bistros — albeit sans tables and chairs. Basically it’s the place to go when in need for beer, smokes, rubbers or dogfood. But the prices are lower than those of proper drinking establishments, making them a kind of coffeehouse for punks and the otherwise unemployed.
hol (hole) v., from holen (fetch, go get) — to go get. eg: I’m gonna hol me some smokes.
Almost every English speaking expat I know who can speak German (so that’s about three (?) people) let’s this one slip into his everday language. They can’t help it, it’s just too easy and fun.
K’hohlen v. from Kohle holen (fetch coal) — to fetch coal from the cellar.
Actually I just made this one up yesterday as I passed my roomie, Kolbe (coalba), on the way to the cellar. He was busy k’hohlben himself, which means Kolbe goes to get coal from the cellar.
The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the
intelligent are full of doubt. – Bertrand Russell