“By now I imagine you are fit and well again?” Bruhahaa, *cough splutter … spotz* – sorry. No, MsScarlet. I am tired, weak, and my throat hates me. My neighbour brought me yesterday a can of vegetable soup, thankfully a small one. Afore I already had cooked the last noodles, and ate them with mayo and ketchup (“rot-weiß”, the pommes classic), so the soup experience was left (spared ?) for this morning. I hereby state that “Kania Hochzeitssuppe” is one of the most vile concoctions I have encountered in a very long time. I should have been warned when I poured it into my cooking pot. I dutifully heated it, and then filled a small bowl with the stuff, and ate it : A classic case of der Hunger treibt’s ‘nei, der Dorscht drückt’s ‘nunder (if you are hungry and thirsty enough …, yeah, exactly). When my stomach was filled with the warm fluid, and thankfully decided not to become mutinous, I stared into the pot, the “soup” stared back, and I knew that I had to kill it. Everything about this stuff was vile : The yellowish colour pendant somewhere between bile and purulence, the smell somehow reminiscent of cleansing material(s), the tiny “meat”-balls – no, I refuse to imagine what they may have consisted of. Because now I had run out of anything only remotely eatable ; because I could not reach another neighbour, who possesses a car, is friendly, and would surely had helped me, I was left with no other choice but to step out and visit the supermarket. Quite an experience. What usually takes 60 minutes (twenty one way, twenty return, twenty to buy stuff) today took more than 90 minutes. I had to stop several times on my way, not to grasp for air (I am remarkably good in this respect), but to recover, to recuperate : I am just too weak. The terrible brew did not help. To give you an impression, here the hardly less redoubtable & rightfully forgotten title Witches Brew by a person called Janie JONES (Eng.), who spent time in the can, according to her wikipedia article. Maybe she was in the soup business.
One should think that staying at home while being sick, is not a very challenging task ; and of course it is not, wheezing, coughing etc. – this whole demanding sickness work – aside. There are books, music, and a telephone, so what more does one need ? Something to eat. Preferably something that can be cooked, and results in a hot meal, not just cheese sandwich. Stepping out as usual to visit the posh supermarket, aimed at the young families in the latest development area, is not feasible, not only because of coughing & wheezing, but also because of fierce wind & rain. At least the wind feels fierce, and the rain piercing. I just checked this on the balcony, exposing my bare face to the raging elements. It would blow me right over. Now & then an empty plastic bag makes it up to the fifth floor. A friendly neighbour will give me some can surprise, it’s magic. The positive side effect of this sickness may be a loss of weight. Another side effect is that there is no more excuse for not clearing the desk. And this results in a loss of money, because at the beginning of the year membership fees become due, historical association here, there & everywhere. Yes, I receive the annual reports on excavations, monument protection etc., and I want to receive them. Also the monthly magazines are usually a very interesting read. So I have absolutely no reason to whinge ‘n grouse. I just say Farewell to my money, and feel sick.
Let’s end this whine fest with a Public Service Announcement :
Oh yes. I wanted to visit the blog of a certain Canadienne. There is the usual warning, and one has a choice to continue or not, to see those “sensible” contents / parts, whatever. Of course I “continue”. Now, and that is new, I have to verify my age. I encountered this yesterday for the first time. And how do you verify your age in the gargle web ? By using your gargle account. And if you have no gargle account, your journey ends here. I simply do not believe that gargle allows only persons of full age to open an account. And I can not see why someone has to verify their age just to reach The Infomaniac. Because there is now & then a picture of a naked male ? May all these prudish dicks at google suffer from the warty wand !
In one of the last nights, forgot which one, I dreamed that the Pope would get married. I was there and helped him into his red shoes, and I asked His Holiness why he would take such a surprising, revolutionary step. He replied “Es befreit mich”, “it liberates me”. I do not remember whether he elaborated on this or nor, it is just this short answer I remember. There were other strange dreams, but I forgot them all. I blame the full moon. Workwise I found it demanding, luckily all went well, no drama, but on Friday I lied down, and woke up only more than eleven hours later. “Woke” is a strange word nowadays, an autonym or self-description of people who seem to have “understood” something, or “woke up” – at least that is their claim from what I understand. When I look at the bare nonsense that flies around under this label, I can only conclude that “they” – who ?! – understood not very much. It is mostly “cleansing” of speech / language ; it is the try to re-write history by throwing down monuments ; and finally – but I am not sure if this is connected with “wokeness” – it is that absolutely bonkers idea that grown males should be allowed into women’s rooms, simply because said blokes “identify” as women. He can “identify” as much as “woman” as he wants, but he can pee into a god damn porcellain bowl like any other schmock, next door baby. All this “gender” idiocy has gone too far, but it will vanish like water goes down the drain. And so prepare for three minutes of guitar noise, in memory of Mr BECK (1944-2023) (Ger., Eng.), a title called Plynth (Water Down the Drain) from the 1969 longplayer Beck-Ola (Ger., Eng.) – it accidentally shows that Mr STEWART was once young too. Besides, I think after BECKs death, the last man standing of the post-war guitar heroes is Robin TROWER (born 1945) (Ger., Eng.). (I do not count Keif in (born 1943, Ger., Eng.), since he’s always playing with that little honky-tonk-band, so no improvement there.) I hope you like the music, play it loud. May we face a bearable week.