PIG HEARTS AND A CAREER CHANGE IN THE WIND

So today we will start with what happened to me last night, go back into the past and in Tarantino-like-fashion will miraculously end up back to today, without a clear idea why and probably with a lot less violence then in the films. I would also like to note that it would be nice to see some comments from you out there, so at least I know that some of you are pretending to read what I write.

So my good friend Zhu here in Cottbus finished his master thesis, and I had a go at correcting the grammar and sentence structure, which probably wasn't the best decision for him since my grammar has been known to be on certain occasions, well, how do you put it, "creative" at best. In any case, I managed to make it through the whole thing and in reward for my help, I received a mega cool kick ass Chinese dinner. It was an interesting affair, to say the least, and the best part of the whole meal was that half of the things he did not know the English for. There was something, however, that he did know the English for: Pig Hearts. Yes, loyal reader, I had pig hearts, and they were pigheartarrific. He said that in special dinners it is traditional to always have one dish that is strange, unusual, exotic or potentially deadly, to impress, mesmerize, poison or mystify the guests/victims. But this was most excellent, as was everything else.

On Tuesday night, I was co-moderator for the welcome and information party for new international students (I'll let you use your own imagination on how one partys with information) here at the BTU. It was a good time actually, and I got to make some really bad jokes and even more importantly, embarrass people, which, next to eating, might be my favorite thing to do. In any case, a lot of people were happy with my performance and have said that I could do well in acting, stage performance or even as a professional informational party representation dude (PIPRD for short). So, I guess if this whole heritage thing doesn't work out, then I always have an even more uncertain chance at employment in another precarious field.

Back to heritage though, I saw two masters defences recently (one as recently as a couple of hours ago), one from Barbara and another from Mariam, both from my semester. It was really interesting to see both and to understand what they have done, and get ideas for my own work (which I am in the process of barely almost ready to start thinking about to consider the steps needed to be taken to actually maybe get that under way). In any case, they both did a great job, and made, at least me, feel a bit nostalgic. Good to see people accomplish something, but a bit sad to witness people that I worked alongside with for nearly two years to be done and soon to be gone. So, with that in mind, I think might have actually found some motivation to be under way...get this thing done before I am the last one I know in Cottbus and have no one left any more to cook for me free heritage rich meals.

BACK TO COTTBUS/THOUGHTS OF EIRE

So, here is my first posting from the land of chocolate since I got back. I arrived in Germany last Thursday, jet lagged and disorientated, only to be led to a bachelor party in Dresden. No, this wasn't an accident loyal reader(s), I actually planned to spend the night on a plane, have a four hour lay over in London, get a two hour ride from Berlin to Dresden, and then somehow go to a restaurant, eat some doners, drink some beer, then going partying with the guys. My friend Kate (from Thanksgiving fame) was getting married to Tobias from Germany, and we had to get our party on before the wedding. Luckily, nothing was planned for Friday, so we all slept till oneish. Saturday the wedding went off without a hitch at a castle with vineyards engulfing the surrounding hills. Wunderschoen. I would like to write more about the wedding, but I will do so later with some photos, but now, I must return to what happened in Ireland.

So, I left you last time pondering the inner workings of that crazy and grammatically confused language. Now, let's take a closer look at the place and it's people. First of all, I lived in two places in Ireland. Both were in County Kerry, in the extreme southwest of Ireland. This area is known as being the most touristy spot in Ireland (next to Dublin), as tour buses run over each other on the infamous "Ring of Kerry". The Ring is famous mainly for being the principle means which people choose to die on a regular basis. It is quite possibly the most dangerous road ever constructed on purpose, and also perhaps the most beautiful. You see, in an effort to provide nice scenic views to the tourists and perhaps the locals, people way back when built roads to accomodate horses and carriages and the like, but once the old auto voiture came along, no one thought it necessary to widen the road. The consequence is one of the most hair-raising experiences that you will ever go through, and an affirmation to anyone that survives (about 2o percent of all that actually finish it, I think) that there is little else to fear in the world, even a drunk leprechaun chasing you down for making a go for his pot o' gold.

Even if you some how make it through a few dozens miles of this road of death, then you eventually turn onto another road (some how narrower than the Ring), and after a few turns, your life flashing before your eyes a couple of times, narrowly avoiding other cars, sacrificing your side mirrors to the asphalte god, you miracusouly end up in a little village called Portmagee, in all likely inhabited by people who felt just like you do now, too scared to go back on the Ring, and just decided that this was as good as any place to stay for the rest of their lives. Yet, just like the others, after you are wowed by the amaying beauty of the place, you are suddenly hit with the deeply regretting realization that their is absolutly nothing for you to do. So, like the locals, you start to drink. And man, do I mean drink. I have to say, I went to Tennessee, one of the number one party schools, I have lived in Germany were drinking on the street is as normal as walking your dog, but the Irish could easily drink everyone under the table. It is not like they are genitically different than the rest of us, rather, as mentioned, there is not a whole lot to do there, plus when everyone was unemployed, no one had any money to do much else. Now that people are relatively less poor in funds, the only difference is that the price of a pint has gone up, while the dozen or two pints you might consume in an evening remains unchanged.

So somehow, I ended up here....lost...confused...and soon, as drunk as anyone....