Home is … whatever …

Besides the obvious, a private bathroom and a wine cellar (or at least a well sorted superette a few side streets away) the best thing when returning home is the fact that the internet flows out of the box in the wall, and does not drip onto my screen via stick blop by blop like bird shit – splat: the news; splat: an image; nothing; nothing; splat:  a blog … you get the idea.
The wine cellar – ah, whom do I fool here: The dirt cheap supermarket 5 minutes away that sells the cheap plonk, where the alcohol departement is as large as cleaning products and canned food combined, and where you can ask nearly anytime a panel of experts on the difficult pro and cons of white, red and nondescript hooch, swill and rotgut; said institution right at hand is also a big plus for home, because the area where the book mines are located is dry. Something with responsibility and giving example and whatnot for the learning youth. The good thing btw is that it gets really enforced, there simply is no booze in the institution and that is that. Drink or firing squad.
Other things may depend. I mean in the mines I can go to the mensa and get fed with what one calls Hausmannskost, all very biological and kindgerecht. Did I mention that it’s an agricultural institution, they grow most of the food themselves, are extremely well-connected and all – sell them crap and your business is a nice memory. Looking at the cans in the superette … no details, bucket please.
Another big plus for home is silence. The learning youth is noisy, and – when over 18 – noisy on wheels. And because enlightenment hit the small earldom hard in the 18th century the main country roads (chaussees) are still today cutting in direct lines through the area: Wer bremst, verliert. M.SCHUHMACHER, legend.
Exactly, the man knows what he’s talking about, maybe he learned the trade in Middle Franconia. Riding on a bus sitting 170 cm above ground is nice. Just today I was chitchating with the driver about forensic details on the B13, when we were nearly hit by a fool in an Audi, and by an inch we could have had first hand material for an autopsy. My driver reacted cool but was angry because he nearly had rolled his ciggy and then had to start anew. But by now we had to go over twisting country lanes – his timing would have been perfect, damn Audi drivers …
The books around myself here are in my possession. But to whom do they belong? Sometimes I think they and all of their confratres do own me. The book mine belongs to the institution, but was neglected for a long time. The library shows first signs of resuscitation, and starts to gnaw at me; I think it will come alive and possibly suck me in. I heard through the grapevine that there are ideas to install it again in an historical building, a bit outwith the main buildings / yards / campus, where the learning youth mainly makes noise. I think I have to pen a project description of sorts.
This can wait. Right now I have to stagger through Bloggsville and leave behind important comments. I start with this joint …

*

*

9 thoughts on “Home is … whatever …

  1. Luckily my liquor store down the street is well stocked and the cheapest in town. My grocer is rather ghetto but has a nice butcher shop. The school tosses out library books by the dumpster load and my internet works fine as long as it’s not raining. I’m ten minutes to a private protected sea shore where if anyone is within 100 yards to the left or right then they are too close.

    The job market sucks and the gas is expensive but I’d rather live here than almost anywhere else.

  2. (wp is not loving me today, so i hope this works!)

    nothing beats being in your own home, sugar! cheers to you!! i wish none of us HAD to work and we could all just have FUN! xoxoxoxox

  3. Can you get any of the good Würzburg vintage at the local supermarket or do you have to go to a more up-scale place for that?

  4. Well Matey, you have any position for an antiquarius, librarian or archivist? I’m open for nearly any offer …

    (It worked, dear Savannah)
    Home is good, no question about it – and my humble travelling is nothing compared to what you guys (and especially the MITM) have to do on a regular basis! I wonder if I won the lottery and would not have to work anymore whether I would stop this – and I must say I would not. Them books have me, I think I follow this imagination and illusion until the end, my end, because there is no end to books. Vita brevis, ars longa goes into this direction …

    Sorry XL, no way: The only thing remotly comparable with the good stuff is in a litre bottle whose Etikett says “Franconian Wine”, “Silvaner”, undisclosed origin, 11 %. Oh yeah, it’s white. For the god stuff one has to go to the Weingüter or to the independent producers like Ludwig, my favorite dealer next door; who sells a litre of his Silvaner for a fiver. But I was not in the mood and the position for his products this evening.

  5. I wish my internet connection flowed… Mr Pirate is correct, it’s worse in the rain… and there are no people within a 100 yards of me. But, it’s always good to return home… despite the barrage of Audi drivers.
    Sx

Comments are closed.