If it's not Raven, it's crap...

Seriously, Penny Markt sells just about anything you can think of...hella cheap I recently got back from my brief mini-vacay in Altona where I kicked it old school style with Wonfuzius for a 2-day morale building seminar. Sometimes it's just nice to get away from the hectic hustle and bustle of the city, while sleeping in someone's kitchen/living room/dining room/laundry room. Ok, so Wonfuzius only lives about 4 bus stops away from André ...but I do sleep in his kitchen when I stay over there. It's actually quite nice and I give the place 4 out of 5 stars. Excellent host and hospitality, there's always beer, I get free reign over the remote control, and the sport facility is top notch (did I mention he lives on the 5th floor? Well, in Germany it's only the 4th floor). My only "complaint" is his lack of ability to make a shopping list. This is the reason why he's got more cake and ice cream than you can shake a stick at, but when we arrive back at hi

No, no, it's not you, it's me, but I still hope we can be friends... On Saturday, I went out with some peeps to watch Germany play Sweden. Unfortunately, the only "watching" that I did was limited to the back of the heads of damn near everyone standing in front of me (curse this country of giants!!!). By the time news of a goal made it's way down to me, there was really only time for a brief, half-hearted "woo!" on my part. On the upside, I did get a nice look at the ZDF (tv station) logo and sometimes the countdown clock, so at least I was aware of just how much longer my torture was going to last. The saddest part of all was that not even the beer helped. Not. Even. The. Beer. [ Feel free to shake your fist at the skies and scream, "NOOOOOOOOO!" ] For what it's worth, the beer did what beer is supposed to do (i.e. taste good and get me drunk). However, the magical quality of making me forget that I don't like this game had dissapeared

1.) So I had an interview earlier this week and I took out my nose-ring so that I could make a decent optical impression. In hindsight, this was a crap idea, because after I got home I could not get the ring back in. The hole hadn't closed, I'm just an uncoordinated jerk when it comes to these things. I poked and prodded at my left nostril and now it's all sore and shit, so I just left the damn thing out. By the time it feels better, it definitely will have closed up. I'll probably end up getting it re-repierced. Which sounds retarded and it probably is. But hey, I guess I can be glad that my tattoo's not going anywhere. Hooray! 2.) Hey, Futurama's coming back! I know this because people keep writing me emails to let me know. Don't get me wrong, I appreciated it. It was just funny how four different people sent me links to four different stories. [Edit: If this were a contest and I had to declare winner, Miss Fee would be thy name. Good lookin' out, h

It's a fact: Pirates are hot and they got the best booty. About every hour, on the hour, André asks, "Hey, Brooks, when are we gonna be pirates?" Actually, he screams (in manner of Lil' Jon), "WHAT?!" and then, "NEIN!" and then he asks the pirate question. Why does he do this, you ask? Well, because he spends most of his day looking at shit like this: Note: If you are a nerd that understands what in the holy hell this crap is, then please (PLEASE) refrain from nerding up my blog with your nerdocity or else you will be spanked with moon rocks . Obviously, this is going only going to lead a man to do one of two things: A: Drink heavily B: Long to trade in his big-ass workbook about aeroelasticity for an eye patch, wooden leg, and a parrot. And of course...booty galore. My answer to the pirate question is always, "The day after tomorrow, dude." Which usually shuts his cry hole for about 60 minutes...then we start again from the top. The o

Say it with me now: "To alcohol, the cause of and the solution to all of life's problems." I "officially" turned 25 yesterday. Or is that unofficially? Ok, what I mean is that I turned 25 about two months ago, but I'm just now getting around to the celebrating part. André promised me a birthday party and then his roommate, Prof. Dr. Ahlers , and I spontaneously decided on Thurday that Saturday would be the big day. It was short notice for a party, but he pulled it off in classic André -style. What more can you ask for? He arranged for the beer, invited the guests (who also brought beer) and provided the music. I didn't have to lift a finger...unless you count the fingers I need to raise a beer bottle to my mouth. Well, that, and I also had to sober up from a party that I went to on Friday at Buche's , which was not as easy as it sounds. I was very intoxicated and apparently did a lot of dumb shit that I don't remember...but people have been kin

"To Hell in a Picknickkorb" From Wikipedia : About 70% of church revenues do come from church tax. This is about €8.5 billion...The church tax is historically rooted in the pre-Christian Germanic custom where the chief of the tribe was directly responsible for the maintenance of priests and religious cults. During Christianization of Western Europe, this custom was adopted by the Christian churches... A taxpayer, whether Roman Catholic or Protestant...will pay additionally between 8% (Bavaria) and 9% (rest of the country) of his income tax to the church or other community he or she belongs to. Ok, this is not to say that I didn't know that Germany had a church tax, because I totally knew that. What I didn't realize is that getting out of the church tax isn't always as easy as writing "no religion" on your registration form. Now, all this stuff doesn't really matter to me, but André doesn't want to give up any more of the sweet, sweet duckets tha

I've said it once and I'll say it again, Cupcake tickles me to no end. I don't know if I've actually said it out loud...but I do think it a lot. Anyway, go read the whole thing, people: ...this is the perfect time for me to announce that from now on, I will not be calling that sport "soccer"...everyone has soccer on the brain, so I decided this is a good time to bust out this new rule. No more "soccer". Most of the world calls it "football." What shall we call football? Well, I've been calling it "American Football", although if you feel like being French about it, I suppose you could call it "Football American"... ...What? Right, because "soccer" is the natural abbreviation for "associated football". Say it with me, real fast. "Associated Football." No! Still nothing. Where is the "r" sound in "associated football"? ...Seems to me like the organic shortening of &quo

I love this game! (Except change "love" to "tolerate" and squeeze in the phrase "after a six-pack of Jever" between "game" and "!") Yesterday, Won and I watched Trinidad and Tobago pound Sweden into teeny little bits that will later be made into particle board, which will be used to make "put-it-together-your-own-damn-self" furniture and sold in Ikea stores all over the world. And by "watch" I mean that Won and I sat in front of his TV for 45 minutes looking at a little round ball NOT go into a net, which -- and I'm not an expert here -- I thought that was the whole point of the game. And by "pound" I mean that since neither team actuallly made any goals, the final score was 0:0. Apparently, however, this is a very, very good thing . It's just like winning, except ignore that whole part where you were told all your life that the person with the most points is the winner. In fact, I think I like it

Today is the opening game of the World Cup (i.e. insane soccer lovefest) in Germany. If I made a list of things that I don't really care about at all, soccer would probably be right up there with...um, I don't know...just looking at what's around me in this room...let's say, wooden japanese swords...and the "Optimization of Lightweight Structures". Sure there are people in existence who care a great deal about the aforementioned things (soccer included), but I am not one of them. The sport's only redeeming quality -- nay, the redeeming quality of just about every spectator sport ever -- is that you can get shit-faced drunk and run around screaming like a maniac and it's really no big deal (until, of course, someone gets hurt). In fact, you could probably get on any bus or train in this city, start singing "Football's coming home...it's coming home" (and so forth). Guaranteed, before you get to your stop, you've got more than half

I am directing you to the blog of the Cupcake Mafia. For those of you who don't know, Cupcake is a former Smithie who currently works for Germans in NYC. Like at a bank or something. Anyway, there's an exchange program at her place of business and, among other things, Cupcake is responsible for taking care of the Deutschies that come over in month-long increments. It's amusing...in a fish-out-of-water kind of way. So, now that I've given you the setup, you should be properly prepared to read Cupcake's Guide to Understanding Your New German

I've got a raging cold, it's great. I think I picked it up Saturday night on the way home from Won's birthday party . So now I've got all this nasal leakage which isn't at all attractive, especially when one is trying to make an ultra-cool first impression on one of your best friend's significant other. Anyway, I pulled myself together as best as possible last night so that I could meet André's special lady friend. Turns out we've got a lot in common and it wasn't half as painful as I had imagined it would be. In fact, one could say that it went very well. She even took pity on me and my disgusting cold and concocted this horrible drink consisting of vodka, garlic, black pepper and honey. She was straight up with me when she said, "This is gonna taste like shit, but it'll help" It was a pretty foul mixture, but it cleared the sinuses for a bit and made my sore throat go away. In other news, I finally learned how to open a beer bottle wi

For some reason, the last few days I've been going to bed later and later...and thus, waking up later and later. After months of a fairly tight schedule, I've suddenly found myself with ability to sleep in. Take this morning for example, I was dreaming that I had slept in until 4pm (I think it was my body subconsciously chastising me for my laziness or something). Anyway, I started to panic because it felt like I had really been asleep for too long. Then I rolled over and looked at the clock only to see that it was actually only like 8:30am. So basically I was like, "Fuck it" and went back to sleep for like 2 more hours, but now I'm awake and ready to face the day...right after I finish this entry, and brush my teeth, and shower...and have some coffee... Last night, I met up with Toby for dönerlicious good times. Then we headed off to this park where we sat around pretending to be trendy hipster faux-bums...which is basically where you're young and beautiful (

I'm writing this entry from the floor of André's room. It's kind of an uncomfortable typing position, so I'll try to keep this brief. As you can see, I made it to Hamburg in one piece (which I guess, you can't actually "see", so you will have to take my word for it). Currently, I'm residing in André's room and having a grand time of it. It's like the friggin "room o' fun" up in here (I'm lovin the whole movie-projector-on-the-wall-thing, dude...good call on that purchase). It's a bit bizzare because I've actually spent a lot of quality time in this room, but at the time it belonged to Buche . I mean, the place where I'm sleeping now used to be like the bookcase/empty beer bottle/miscellaneous cardboard and paper corner. Good times... On a side note, I think I thoroughly underestimated what the weather would be like at this time of year. Well, the rain wasn't so much of a surprise...but, the coldness *sigh*...an