Some crap pun on chemistry, or lack thereof, like dating, but with a chemist, like.

A couple of weeks ago I experienced one of those "you're a pathetic fantasist, endofphil, you wish, in your dreams" moments. I had managed to stay awake during a physics colloqium, which is an achievement in itself. The typical audience member of a physics colloqium is male, bearded, over 50 and quite probably asleep. He will wake up a few minutes before the end of the talk to ask whether the topic being discussed has any relevance to his area of expertise.

Being a special colloqium there were a couple of crates of beer at the end of the talk, and thus the audience got to drink a beer and discuss beard trimming techniques and whether their areas of expertise had some overlap somewhere. The thing that didn't fit in here at all, in any way whatsoever, was a young female Russian Chemist stood with a bottle of beer looking bored and homesick (honestly I'm not making this up, I may be a pathetic fantasist, but this is straight up). She was most certainly bored, as the whole evening had been held in German and she hadn't understood a thing.

I'd drunk enough to work up some courage, so I explained that I could in principle speak English and offered to take her out of the physics institute and show her the sights of Erlangen (I took here to the Schlossplatz, I don't know why but I had to start it somewhere). In one of those wonders of German organisation she is living in an office in the physics institute, so she was in no position to turn me down. This evening we went for a few beers, but I think she just wants me for my social life (WTF !?), although that could be one of those numerous excuses I make to avoid ever making anything of anything.
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Youtube link of the day: This is probably a waste of time, as all Germans know it and any non-Germans won't understand it. Anyway, this is the first "go away and spend 5 years learning German, it will be worth it" clip that I've come across. Ein Klavier, Ein Klavier

Product Warning

Before we get to the product warning, first a blog warning. Having covered vomit and urine in recent days, today we are dealing with poo, cack, crap or whatever you like to call it.

So now the product warning, you know the idea: "This product may contain nuts", "wearing this superman costume will not necessary enable the user to be able to fly" and so on.



May I suggest that those little toilet freshener things which hang over the rim of the loo ought to be issued with the warning

Freshening effect only occurs on rim of toilet. If the freshener is somehow flushed down the toilet it will no longer give 'a feeling of springtime' to your bathroom. In fact, if you accidentally flush it whilst taking a shit, it will probably block the toilet and thereby hinder the effective removal of faecal matter, leading to your toilet being filled with and smelling of shite.

Nobody in the flat knows how exactly this blockage happened, and the rest of the story involves a few bottles of beer, a rubber glove, a plastic bag and a building site. Suffice to say that we can now poo in peace again and my flatmates owe me a beer or two. Hurray!

Amplifier Operational (until I broke it)

I finally plucked up courage to wire up my birthday present today. It is an home-made amplifier with lots of inputs and outputs and no labels or manual for idiots like me.

Bollocks. I think I just broke it. It was happily playing a song and then stopped all of a sudden. Maybe it has a "Shitty Britpop" recognition unit built in? "Pulp? I'm not amplifying that crap". I think I'm going to start to cry :-(

Zombie Nation.

Nights out in Britain have always been a bit scary, but things seem to be getting worse, according to the Sun.

"It is thought trouble started when the dead man became involved in a fight with another man."

Tumblers and other old stuff.

I decided to make use of my excess leisure time and look round the Germanisches Nationalmuseum in Nuremberg.

I only saw less than half of the stuff as it is a big museum and I have a limited attention span for historical relicts. After a while I got a bit depressed by the exhibits: it seemed that the extent of human achievement over the millennia has been finding new ways to kill each other (axe, dagger, sword etc.) and finding new ways to depict the death and torture of Jesus. My favourite was one which had the crucifixion in the foreground and a lovely harbour scene in the background. Most picturesque, although it is a shame that Jesus was looking the other way, probably at something much less soothing.

For me, the "I wonder if I could steal this" exhibit was a 7th century franconian drinking pot. The great thing is that it had a rounded bottom so that it wouldn't stand up and you had to down the contents. I just looked around the internet to see if you can buy such a thing, but I can't find any. I did however learn the following quite interesting fact: a tumbler is, according to the Merriam-Websters dictionary, "a drinking glass without foot or stem, and originally with pointed or convex base". At some point people must have gone all puritanical, and designed the flat-bottomed tumbler which no longer tumbled. For years I've drunk out of these things, and never asked why we called the most stable of all glasses a tumbler. For some reason the name has stuck, though, so here's to franconian drunkards. Cheers.



For comparison, a raucous 7th century tumbler (top) and a sober 20th century tumbler (bottom). The tumbler in the picture is not the one in the museum, I just borrowed the image from wikipedia

Walking on Broken Glass, Mud and Sangria.

If the success of a party can be determined by the mess created, then last night's was a definitely a good party. After cleaning the flat from broken bottles, fag ends and a bucket filled with urine right next to the toilet we found that the floor has a few cigarette burns and a lingering stickiness you get in bad discos, so that each footstep is accompanied by a faint "squelch".

During the party I made plans to learn to speak italian, to visit some village festival (Kerwa) near Ansbach and to go cycling to remove the hangover. These are the things I can remember agreeing to, and I did actually manage to go cycling today whilst wearing my new "skeleton" jersey and red polka dot "King of the mountains" socks.

It's strange how alcohol can solve major personality deficits. I spend most of my time when sober thinking of how things can go wrong, and why it would be bad or pointless to do something. When drunk, all plans seem like great ideas which can't fail, even plans like "Let's go piss in a bucket".

So if you were here, or weren't here but helped buy a present (one of which deserves its own blog entry and is way too good for just a passing mention), thankyou very much.

Why half of Erlangen will have a headache tomorrow.

Today is the day of the big party in our house. We are making the nastiest Sangria I have ever seen.

Recipe:

Ingredients: 10 litres of tetra-pak red wine, 1 bottle of Aldi Vodka, 1 bottle of rum, 5 litres of fanta-like orange stuff, some half-fermented fruit, sugar.

Take a 25 litre pot filled with mud, cement and rain water, make a half-hearted attempt at washing it. Remember that mud, cement and rain water are the most nutricious part of this drink.

Chop the fruit, throw everything in the pot, get all your guests drunk on something else slightly more expensive and serve in plastic cups. Cheers!

Profile Updated

I have a new occupation, some new hobbies and a new age. I've also gone beta, so I can put coloured text in, and do other amazing stuff probably.

Youtube link of the day:

Thanks to TV shows like "Adolf and Eva's home improvements", "Nazi wives" and "I'm an SS officer, get me out of here" the British are most well informed as to events in Germany from 1933-1945. Just don't mention the Wirtschaftswunder, they/we won't know what you're on about.

Therefore: Starting a new job

Receptacle of choice?

You may be wondering what I'm up to: I certainly am. I thought I would record one day of aimless unemployment.

Today I overslept, ate breakfast, sent a couple of emails, tidied my room a bit, bought a copy of the Guardian, read half of it, did a third of the crossword, ate lunch, surfed the internet for an hour or so (I read the most interesting vomiting FAQ and completed the attached questionnaire), picked up my bicycle from the bike shop, went to the University and changed the brakes and mended the rear light, ate tea and wrote this entry.

This was one of my busier days, my bike is now in good condition and I know all there is to know about vomiting.

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Youtube link of the day: Swedish made simple, or the explanation of the following code (you may wish to try to decipher it yourself before watching the video).

L.O.
L.O.
R.U.B.C.
S.V.R.B.C.
L.O.
L.O.
L.O.
L.O.
F.U.N.E.X.
S.V.F.X.
F.U.N.E.M.
9.
I.F.C.D.M.
V.F.N.10.E.M.
A.V.F.M.
R.
O.
C.D.M.
O.S. V.F.M.
O.K. M.N.X.
M.N.X.
F.U.N.E.T.
1.T.
1.T.
O.K. M.X.N.T.
M.X.N.T.4.1
V.F.N.10.E.X.
U.Z.U.F.X.
Y.F.N.U.N.E.X
I.F.E.10.M.
S.I.L.L.Y.C.O.W.

+ Danes in skull desecration shock! +

ENDOFPHIL exclusive!!! Scandal rocks Danish royals



First the Mohammad cartoons, now photos show highly ranked Danish officers in shocking scenes of depravity! Have they no respect for the dead?

MUSLIMS OUTRAGED!

This shows how little respect the Danes have for our culture, said one islamic source, who didn't wish to be named for fear of his family being dug up and used as stage props.

BACKLASH!

Senior arabic figures called for a ban on imports of danish beer and bacon. ENDOFPHIL contacted Elsinore to demand an explanation.

King Claudius blamed the "unfortunate skull incident" on a "young officer going through some existential problems", and promised that the entire royal family would kill themselves/each other forthwith.

THIS IS NOT ENOUGH, WE DEMAND MORE!

A Pampered Rock Star.

I'm taking a break from the usual scheme of things to plug Jarvis Cocker's latest song. I wouldn't normally do this, but Jarvis comes from Sheffield and used to be in a band which I liked, called Pulp. It's also a rather catchy song with subversive lyrics.

Please take time to watch his video, and/or have a look at his myspace space.

Following on from Jarvis' suggestion, I also challenge all-comers to a Conker duel. This is what kids used to do for entertainment before they had computers and stuff. It led to a strange sort of appreciation for nature. I am always surprised to see dozens of battle-ready conkers lying around unused and unwanted.

Depression.

I suppose it's my own fault, but then I would say that. I had a great weekend: I got drunk, stayed up too late, made some new friends, learned what "Agrartanzen" is [1], went for a lovely bicycle ride through the autumn colours of the "Franconian Switzerland" and made a Lancashire Hotpot for tea.

This all seems like months ago, although the rest of the hot pot is lying cold in the oven. Today I am thoroughly downhearted. My eyes refused to properly open and my cheeks feel as though they have small weights on them pulling my face into a tired and bored glaze.

I tried looking for a job this morning, but failed completely. Any job which I am halfway qualified for seemed to be impossible for me to ever do. The prospect of moving to another town, or starting something new and exciting scared me, so I slouched home to go back to bed for the afternoon. I nearly didn't make it, the weight of my coat seemed to stop me from moving, and I spent five minutes on a park bench trying to summon up the energy to walk the last 500m.

It's not the first time, and I know what to do now: Sleep, eat, sleep, eat and wait until I can face the world again.

[1] Agrartanzen, literally "Agricultural dancing" is a fusion of disco moves and farmyard labour. Apparently popular in the "Bavarian forest" region, typical moves include mowing a wheatfield, driving a tractor and strangling chickens. The lack of any google hits for this phenomena is probably not a surprise: people who pretend to drive tractors in the disco don't usually have an internet connection (or an indoor toilet).

ps. writing that footnote brought the first smile to my face today :-)

King Franz I

One of the nice corners of Erlangen is the english section of the municipal library, which has most of the "what, you've never read ...." books on four shelves of classic literature, which I'm slowly working through. This week I read "Kidnapped" by Robert Louis Stevenson.

I had actually read this book when I was little, but I didn't really understand it at the time. I never quite worked out what a "Whig" was, and got a bit confused by the bits of dialogue in scots, and the scottish geography, with it's numerous lochs and glens.

Now, together with google maps, wikipedia, and a scots-english dictionary, I finally got this book.

The starting point of this book (and many british problems, including the troubles in Northern Ireland), is the so-called Glorious Revolution of 1688. Here King James II of England was thrown out by his protestant daughter, Mary, and the dutch prince William of Orange. The scots didn't like this, and many stayed true to James, and his descendants. "Kidnapped" is set a good 60 years after the revolution, and six years after the rising of James' grandson, Bonnie Prince Charlie, in 1745. At that time, many highland scots still supported the claim of the descendents of James II for the throne, and in fact some still do. And to be honest, they've got a point. The revolution of 1688 was a protestant joke: inviting some first-cousin-marrying Dutch caravanner to illegally take the British throne. All the attempted jacobite risings failed, though, and the heirs to James II and Bonnie Prince Charlie are now living in Bavaria. If Franz, Duke of Bavaria fancies claiming the British crown upon the death of the Queen, he has my wholehearted support.

Oh Mr Darcy, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb.

This blog has gone downhill badly recently, as I've been sat on my arse a lot, have filled in a job application for Siemens and have been down with a bad cold.

I'm looking for further job options, and was struck by this ad. I don't know what the greatest thing about this ad is: the literary title, the AWE acronym, or the appeal "ask yourself whether your making a difference, and whether you'd like to make a bigger one". Yeah, I'd like to nuke Paris. You can't make much of a bigger fucking difference than that!

I figure that the ad won't stay forever, so I'll put it here too.



Pride. Without Prejudice.
AWE
Berkshire
United Kingdom

Closing date: not specified
Job reference code: N/A
Salary: not specified

Qualification: Not specified

Atomic Weapons Establishment

Near Reading, Berkshire

Regardless of their role, everyone who works with us here at the Atomic Weapons Establishment shares the same sense of self-worth. A sense that everything they do is ultimately focused on maintaining the UK’s nuclear deterrent, on protecting the nation and ensuring that protection continues.

If you’re a Scientist, Engineer or Business professional, it’s time to ask yourself if you’re making a difference where you are. And whether you’d like to make a
bigger one. Find out more and apply at www.awe.co.uk or call 0118 982 9009.

AWE welcomes applications from women and men, regardless of disability, sexuality, racial or ethnic origin, age or responsibility for dependants. The normal contractual retirement age at AWE is 65. Successful candidates will be selected solely on their ability to carry out the duties of the post. Because of the nature of
the work associated with these posts, they are required to meet special nationality rules and are open only to British Citizens. All selected candidates will be required to undergo security clearance.
Contact

Human Resources Dept, AWE, Aldermaston, Berkshire, , United Kingdom
Web: http://www.awe.co.uk

Squared paper

I have been reading Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury in the last couple of days. The introductory quote is from the spanish poet Juan Ramón Jiménez:

If they give you ruled paper, write the other way

Oddly enough, in Germany schoolchildren are given squared paper to write on.

Liverpool 3 Galatasaray 2

It's a probably meaningless group game of 2 teams which I don't care about, but it's got Peter Crouch, who is great. I have tried to preserve his second goal for posterity using a minimum of effort, file size and artistic ability. Spot the difference!



Not apropos to liverpool in the slightest, I signed on to officially be unemployed today.

Cycling not very far.

Looking back at the summer, I peaked too early with my cycling efforts. This blog suggests that I reached an optimal performace on the 6th June, and have been slowing down ever since. July was too hot, August was too cold, and I was in Hamburg and England anyway. Right now I am distinctly off the pace, and I could swear that the muscle on my left calf is distinctly wimpier than my right calf. It feels that way to touch (I'm not really the kind of guy who goes around feeling his muscles, I was just checking for signs of tension, honestly), and the left leg is the first to complain whilst going uphill. Why is this? Presumably I've managed to keep one leg in training over the past month. Have I been kicking things that much, or hopping on one leg, or always jumping from the right leg? If so, why have I been jumping so much at all?

Plan for tomorrow: hop on left leg, and find a job.

Beaurocracy.

I am still not officially unemployed. For this to happen, a certain form must be filled out, certifying that I had a job. This form was posted by the Federal Agency of Work to me. I took it to my workplace, and got a secretary to post it to the central university administration. They sent it to the central administration of government employees in Ansbach, who will hopefully stamp the form and post it back to me, so that I can take it to the Federal Agency of Work.

As an exercise in pointlessness this doesn't beat the invitation I received for my degree ceremony. The letter was written and sent by our group secretary to the exams office, who posted it to my office address. Of course all items for our group members go into the pigeon hole thingy, which is directly next to the secretaries office. After a couple of days and a 5km round trip the letter ended within 2 metres of where it was written.

Pope Benedict XVI

The pope (or should that be Jessyl, the Trifelge Putinard?) is in Bayern, which is a good excuse for a link to this video.

On the job front, I am still trying fill out the forms to officially become unemployed. Once I achieve this, I will be earning more than twice as much as my flatmate, Slawek, who went to work at 7am this morning.

Job of the day: Armour Researcher
. Advantages: Get to shoot stuff at other stuff, become civil servant, get to pretend to be "Q". Disadvantages: Not sure I want to live in Salisbury, trying to avoid military work, might not get security clearance due to german accent.

End of Part one.

The mission statement until now has been

"The diary of a disillusioned physicist trying to get back on his feet by idling, cycling and drinking the summer away. I will try to be distracted by every distraction possible, and set my heart on pointless tasks until the point comes where I have to get a real job. This will be the end of July."

The end of July came and went, and I didn't get a job. I did get drunk a fair bit, cycled quite a lot, and idled with great intent. The end of August came (I got a job extension you see), and now summer is pretty much over, and I'm unemployed. I was wondering whether to stop the blog, or start a new one, but I quite like the title and layout, so I might as well just carry on, but with a new mission statement.