concerts. rules.

The great thing about concerts, compared to clubbing, is that there are no rules, no games that are played. Unless you're not totally drunk or maybe naked, you don't have to get passed a bad mooded bouncer who won't let you in because of your shoes.

No - there are no real rules when it comes to concerts - except one thing:

NEVER EVER wear a Tshirt you bought on the last tour of the band whos concert you are at.

It makes you look desperate.

AND NEVER EVER EVER wear a Tshirt you just bought from the merchandise stand of the band whos concert you are at at the moment. There are no words to describe how silly it makes you look. Only exception: at an open-air festival where you show your band preference.

At a normal one-band concert all you show is your lack of GPS (Great Personal Style).  

Cervelat-Prominenz für Vegetarier..

.. 'und täglich grüsst das Murmeltier' heisst der Film mit Bill Murray, welcher diesen an den Rand des Selbstmordes treibt, dann aber doch noch mit einem Happy End abschliesst.

Ähnlich euphorisch trete ich mich jeweils mittags auf dem Spinning-Bike meines Sportstudios schwitzig, während - zum Glück nur tonlos - im Fernseher vor mir die Wiederholung des SF Sendegefäss 'Glanz&Gloria' läuft. Jedes Mal eine Folter. Jedes Mal 100% Gloria. Jedes Mal 0% Glanz.

Gleich zu Beginn: das Logo. Fällt in die Sparte Kinder-Kitsch und verursacht Hautausschlag. Glanz und Glamour sucht man etwa gleich vergebens wie einen Knochen in einer St.Galler Bratwurst.

Dann - und hier haut es mich jedes Mal von meinem Spinning-Bike in einen psychologischen Strassengraben: die Moderatorin, wenn man sie denn so nennen darf. Auch wenn die Sendung tonlos flimmert sollten die Langzeitfolgen von visueller Folter bald einmal erforscht gehören. Annina Frey läuft sogar Amy Winehouse den Titel Miss Vogelscheuche ab. Genau so viel Glanz, von Sex-Appeal will ich gar nicht sprechen, wie ein für 25% reduziertes Truthahn-Plätzli à la minute aus der Migros. Das fett-freie Stück zerfällt schon auf dem Weg zwischen Verpackung und Pfanne.

Weiter: der Inhalt. Eigenwerbung am Laufband. 

Mona Fetsch (SF-Moderatorin) hat geheiratet. Man sieht sie - völlig glanzos - in ihrem (SF)-Büro. Mister Schweiz Kandidaten in der Südtürkei (jippie-ai-jooh Schweinebacke, jetzt gehts los: von glänzigen Berufen wie Autoverkäufer bis Bauaustrockner ist alles dabei) - das Finale wird natürlich von SF übertragen.

Eine Kurzmeldung aus dem Deutschen Big Brother Container über P.E. (ex-Musicstar-Kandidat, eine SF Sendung)

Die Liste ist endlos..

Schockiert stelle ich jedes Mal fest, dass mich die Sendung - sowohl physisch wie auch psychisch - viel mehr fordert als das nicht vom Fleck kommende Fahrgestell. Die fade Präsentation der Schweizer Wurstwaren während meiner Fitness-tor-tour sollte sich für die Badesaison 2009 ausbezahlen, wobei ich dann wohl lieber eine Karotte auf den Grill schmeisse.

when you love..

.. someone that much, that you would give anything for them - that much so nothing else matters, and that person is hurting - and you would give anything to take it away and you are told not to give anything - 

what do you do? 

what do you give when you are told to hold back?

can you wait?

can you watch?

against all the instincts, the knowing, all the care, all the love?

can you step back? step by step..

schön. die schwester von langweilig..

Grosse Städte werden geliebt weil sie gehasst werden. Weil sie launische Zicken sind. Weil man sie nicht durchschauen kann. Wenn Städte Frauen wären dann wäre New York ein Call Girl, Paris eine femme fatale, und Zürich eine Kindergärtnerin.

Zürich.

Und die Schweiz.

Schön und sauber und nett.

Der Perfektionismus langweilt den Einwohner, der die Ecken und Kanten gerne lieben würde, und keine findet. Sich dabei ertappt wie er den öffentlichen Verkehr verwünscht weil die Tram 2 Minuten zu spät kommt. Genau wissend, dass das in der Städte-Liga, in der Zürich mitspielt, Luxus pur ist.

Man liebt nicht - weil man alles mögen muss. Man kann nicht nicht mögen.

foebook..

the whole success of facebook - where you are supposed to make friends - can not be explained by all the people who want to stay in touch with people they know and like. no: face- as in friendsbook is much more a matter of FOEBOOK - we want to be able to connect with people with know from work, uni and school, who we know well and who interact in our everyday life, and who we highly dislike.

nothing is more satisfying than getting prove to our personal discredit. the boss who only undermines his own un-coolness by uploading freetime pictures of himself, wrong, boring and grammatical wrong comments our colleagues make on pictures and online-stat's of their own friends, that is what makes the thrill of facebook.

we do not only link with our friends but with everybody we know, who get on our nerves because we know them.. 

virtual sexuality..

being the gay man I am, up to date with all the virtual possibilities this cyber world has to offer to my past single life - browsing through gay chat profiles always half shocked half amused me. 

self-perception is a strange thing, and it seems to get worse (hello talentshows 'à la' x-factor and popidol)

in the gay world, at least in virtual one, every even so wabbely belly can and is classified as sporty - defined - more hot than not. i used to look at those pictures and wanted to tell those people: get a mirror, if you have one - clean it! - or kick the financial crises in the head and your old mirror out just to buy a new one. in the homosexual world arrogance is considered sexy - and such comments can be made.

i am not so sure how all this would go down in a straight setting of the same matter. having cleaned out my virtual gay habbits, and profiles for that matter, i was delighted to discover a whole new expericence - also known as facebook.

shockingly, on here it's not only self-perception that goes amiss, but even worse: perception of our friends. its all the 'i love your pics' 'this one is so nice' 'you look so good on this one' - is it pure courtesy or do we really see our friends diffrent than they are? can we not just be honest and tell them the truth - 'sorry you are never really that good looking but this picture should not be published on the world wide net so do as all and especially yourself a favor and take it off' - in the gay virtuallity this makes you an icon -  in the straight one you'd run out of friends in a minute..

the bargain store is open come inside.

my life is likened to a bargain store

and i may have just what you're looking for

if you don't mind the fact

that all the merchandise is used

with a little mending it could be as good as new

(the bargain store, d. parton)

aren't washing mashines the best?

.. the steady, calming sound, the smell, the bubbles, and the assurance that, no matter how dirty before, it will all be washed out.. 

we should get that for anything in our lives, especially for the whole dating experience (I know it made madonna rich, but still..) one story doesn't work out, off it goes, into the datewasher and you walk away as clean as a white thsirt..

on brokeback cowboys vs james bond..

they turend cowboys gay and stopped mister bond from smoking: they didnt stop the cowboys from smoking - smart move, the cowboys win..

always smoke a cigarette after the gym: it's the best! completly contraproductive. (me, every day.. well every day I go there --)

live fast - botox young..

eurovish 09

no need to be a music or a politics expert to know that this year, israel wont make it far with their eurovision act.

airport jogger

Heute, frisch und munter auf dem Weg zur Arbeit, rennt ein Jogger übern Flughafenplatz. 'Ah, ein Kerosin-Jogger' habe ich mir gedacht. Muss genau so gesund sein wie die Mittagssonne-Jogger und die Asphalt-Jogger ganz allgemein.

milk spilled cow ..

.. last night - round midnight snack time-ish, I almost spilled the milk for my m-budget cereals, on my real argentine cow fur carpet (IKEA doesn

t sell swiss ones). Anyway, I did not spill my milk but got to wonder, would cow milk stain on cow fur? Would that not be strangely unnecessary?

Then I started thinking: Why does a person smell her or his own what Germans call 'greeting from Darmstadt' - but do not smell their own sweat stink from under their arms?

Is that like being a teenage boy when you just have to try how your personal pleasure of the palm juice tastes like?

And if that same teenage boy would find his own family potency tasting the best he could imagine, would the cow enjoy her own milk as the best one too?