As you all know, Marina the Nut lives and works in Germany, Europe, Third Rock from the Sun.
So many of her co-workers are Cancers and Leos, apparently, that for the past two or three weeks there has been cake almost every day on the occasion of somebody's birthday. They've been pulling a Laney on her! (That's short for Elaine Benes, obviously.)
Not that she minds!
Anyway, yesterday morning she received this e-mail from a colleague, sent to the whole floor:
Subject: Can it be true??
Yes it can!
Cake today at 3 p.m. at the usual place.
By 3p.m. the following sign had appeared hanging on the door to the “usual place”:
Cake we can believe in!
Who said they didn't have a sense of humor?
--
So the price of oil has been going up and up and up and tumbling down and up and down. Ask any smart-ass like us and they will tell you that, obviously, there are forces at work using aggressive speculation to push some players out of the market and create some kind of powerful elite or whatever. Nothing to do with real-time supply and demand. So now we told you and the world is smarter. So what? So what?
Can we do anything? No. Can you? We didn't think so.
Does this sound uncharacteristically depressing?
Oh, don't mind our moods. Something else is bothering us, really.
Nine months of labor on this blog to make Sven famous and... voilà. Mission accomplished. As you know, he has his own blog now. He's out there on his own! He doesn't need us anymore! ***sniff***sigh*** We need a purpose.
Should we give a golden apple to George W. Bush for saying Wall Street was a binge-drinker in a bad hangover? When he thought the world was not listening? Naahhh.. That would be like giving U2 a leaden cucumber for a second-rate bootleg recording.
Showing posts with label U2. Show all posts
Showing posts with label U2. Show all posts
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Espionage, shaken and stirred
Our vacation was lovely, Dear Friends! Life can be kind -- almost as kind as you and your sweet messages! The sun was bright and the air was warm. The waffles were delicious, vanilla ice-cream on the side. Scottie was crazy, as usual. All she cared for was her tennis ball. She uses it to communicate. Play with tennis ball = Love. Scottie is a black Labrador that belongs to relatives. She bounces her ball like a basketball player, and balances it on the tip of her muzzle like a seal! And she is very patient, just like Frog. She'd lay there waiting outside the bathroom for Mimi to finish showering (and hair styling and the works) and come out and play with her. And her ball.
What else did we do? We watched U2 live in Latin America in 3D – four cities in one afternoon. We put on our magic glasses and were just beamed there, rendered invisible intruders on the stage! We took off the glasses and found ourselves back inside an empty theater. We walked out into the afternoon heat. We had coffee.
The next day we visited a science museum together with [other] kids. Mimi lay on a bed of nails; Roufa powered a TV by pedaling. And then we played in the spy section, where we saw real mikes hidden in fake olives, antennas in toothpicks. We crawled our way through booby-trapped corridors, trying not to intersect the laser beams.
--
And then something funny happened. Roufa was studying the Enigma code and Mimi was fiddling with some wires. Roufa had just deciphered an eight-lettered word – Istanbul! -- when Mimi urged him to come and listen, for she had intercepted a telephone conversation! Well, she assumed it was a recorded conversation waiting for kids to discover it. Interestingly enough, it was being conducted in Terrible English – the official language of international dealings. It sounded so real! But, curiously, not very spy-related. What we could hear was a no-nonsense manager, representing a major European electricity supplier, and some counterpart from a small country, discussing the possibility to install a nuclear plant in that country. For peaceful purposes. Big deal!
It turns out though that we've spied for real! This was a real conversation, believe it or not – and what a scoop! You see we did a little further research and discovered that in that little lignite-devouring country nuclear energy is fiercely opposed and nobody seems to be remotely aware of any plans to introduce it! So: was the manager being misled, or are the little country's citizens being fooled to believe that Russian natural gas is the future?
Where are the real journalists when you need them? Recycling each other's garbage.
Dear journalists, here's the deal: The beautiful little country is Greece, home of the beautiful little Greeks. Now, if you want us to name more names, you will have to pay: Full immunity in writing and an all-inclusive three-week holiday in Santorini for two adults and a dog should do! No, wait, make that a house downtown Fira with a volcano view plus a generous budget so that we can decorate it ourselves. We have a very exquisite taste.
--
As far as we know, we will not be traveling for a while. Not before August. Finally, we can start looking for a French Bulldog! Preferably black with white spots! Like this cuty here! Oh, we've waited too long.
What else did we do? We watched U2 live in Latin America in 3D – four cities in one afternoon. We put on our magic glasses and were just beamed there, rendered invisible intruders on the stage! We took off the glasses and found ourselves back inside an empty theater. We walked out into the afternoon heat. We had coffee.
The next day we visited a science museum together with [other] kids. Mimi lay on a bed of nails; Roufa powered a TV by pedaling. And then we played in the spy section, where we saw real mikes hidden in fake olives, antennas in toothpicks. We crawled our way through booby-trapped corridors, trying not to intersect the laser beams.
--
And then something funny happened. Roufa was studying the Enigma code and Mimi was fiddling with some wires. Roufa had just deciphered an eight-lettered word – Istanbul! -- when Mimi urged him to come and listen, for she had intercepted a telephone conversation! Well, she assumed it was a recorded conversation waiting for kids to discover it. Interestingly enough, it was being conducted in Terrible English – the official language of international dealings. It sounded so real! But, curiously, not very spy-related. What we could hear was a no-nonsense manager, representing a major European electricity supplier, and some counterpart from a small country, discussing the possibility to install a nuclear plant in that country. For peaceful purposes. Big deal!
It turns out though that we've spied for real! This was a real conversation, believe it or not – and what a scoop! You see we did a little further research and discovered that in that little lignite-devouring country nuclear energy is fiercely opposed and nobody seems to be remotely aware of any plans to introduce it! So: was the manager being misled, or are the little country's citizens being fooled to believe that Russian natural gas is the future?
Where are the real journalists when you need them? Recycling each other's garbage.
Dear journalists, here's the deal: The beautiful little country is Greece, home of the beautiful little Greeks. Now, if you want us to name more names, you will have to pay: Full immunity in writing and an all-inclusive three-week holiday in Santorini for two adults and a dog should do! No, wait, make that a house downtown Fira with a volcano view plus a generous budget so that we can decorate it ourselves. We have a very exquisite taste.
--
As far as we know, we will not be traveling for a while. Not before August. Finally, we can start looking for a French Bulldog! Preferably black with white spots! Like this cuty here! Oh, we've waited too long.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Couple Without A Country
It's so great to be back home! Back with Sven and RockFrog and all the other animals, in our lovely little place, downtown Zooropa, USA.
Well, now that we've got a couple of regular readers, perhaps we should show the decency to explain this last bit – without overdoing it, of course.
For better or for worse, we, Mimi and Roufa, were born in two different countries in two different years. After quite some spreading, our wave functions finally managed to overlap in a third country and they remain entangled ever since. Now we live together in a fourth country. Give us some time and we may end up in yet a fifth. In short, we belong nowhere in particular. We float.
Our countries of origin evolve without us, visit by visit our memories get scrambled and confused. Our present country of residence we will never fully comprehend. Clearly we are sentenced to lifelong tourism, to perennial stupidity. We are doomed to constantly being taken by surprise. It's not the worst thing that could happen to us.
Our household's official language is English. In reality, we have our own dialect, sprinkled with elements of all the languages that we've ever had to use. We suspect, though, that every household has its own dialect, more or less.
Have you got your own dialect?
We've never been to the Third World, strictly speaking.
As far as we know, there is no place called Zooropa in the US. So that's where we live.
We own no house and we own no car. We hope to own a puppy before the year is out.
--
Who we are is really not important. We are in the eye of the beholder. So we'll just shut up and suck our eggs, like good kids.
Well, now that we've got a couple of regular readers, perhaps we should show the decency to explain this last bit – without overdoing it, of course.
For better or for worse, we, Mimi and Roufa, were born in two different countries in two different years. After quite some spreading, our wave functions finally managed to overlap in a third country and they remain entangled ever since. Now we live together in a fourth country. Give us some time and we may end up in yet a fifth. In short, we belong nowhere in particular. We float.
Our countries of origin evolve without us, visit by visit our memories get scrambled and confused. Our present country of residence we will never fully comprehend. Clearly we are sentenced to lifelong tourism, to perennial stupidity. We are doomed to constantly being taken by surprise. It's not the worst thing that could happen to us.
Our household's official language is English. In reality, we have our own dialect, sprinkled with elements of all the languages that we've ever had to use. We suspect, though, that every household has its own dialect, more or less.
Have you got your own dialect?
We've never been to the Third World, strictly speaking.
As far as we know, there is no place called Zooropa in the US. So that's where we live.
We own no house and we own no car. We hope to own a puppy before the year is out.
--
Who we are is really not important. We are in the eye of the beholder. So we'll just shut up and suck our eggs, like good kids.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Nothing Changes On New Year's Day
Yes, yes indeed, we've made it safe into the new year, and the same we hope for you, dear readers!
Happy New Year!
And good luck with your resolutions! Got none? That's good. That can only mean that you're happy with your life as it is! Or that you are too busy, in which case you wouldn't be reading us.
--
The author descends from his tall tower high above the city, to mingle with lower life forms of his own creation. He drums. The men curse, the women hiss, the child perishes. He deals in verse and insult. He brings closure. The dead unshroud their cores. He washes it all out of his hair.
Yes, we've watched Ex Drummer and that's our summary. We can't even begin to outline the power of the images and the unorthodox camera work.
Mimi is addicted to the trailer and the cover song. She plays it every morning for inspiration. She must be a mongoloid herself.
Happy New Year!
And good luck with your resolutions! Got none? That's good. That can only mean that you're happy with your life as it is! Or that you are too busy, in which case you wouldn't be reading us.
--
The author descends from his tall tower high above the city, to mingle with lower life forms of his own creation. He drums. The men curse, the women hiss, the child perishes. He deals in verse and insult. He brings closure. The dead unshroud their cores. He washes it all out of his hair.
Yes, we've watched Ex Drummer and that's our summary. We can't even begin to outline the power of the images and the unorthodox camera work.
Mimi is addicted to the trailer and the cover song. She plays it every morning for inspiration. She must be a mongoloid herself.
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