You know those moments, perhaps you're rushing somewhere, perhaps you're just pining for your bed after some exhausting endeavour, when you're waiting for some flavour of Public Transit, and the thought crosses, then begins to horn its way into, your mind, that "Fuck, it's not coming...those guys couldn't schedule their way out of a wet paper bag, always taking off early, etc."
The wonderful thing about Munich, is that it always comes. Precisely on-time, regardless of traffic, weather, or random road closures.
I know I've been neglecting you all lately, and to tell the truth, there's been plenty of nauseating ends to bar nights, cancelled concerts, and repeated (and repeatedly broken) resolutions to take a sabbatical from boozing, eat better, work out more, and other Standard Blog Fare. It seems like the more interesting my life is, the less inclined I am to tell everyone about it.

Normally indicative of a good night out:

Your co-worker lights his face, shirt, and part of the table on fire with a flaming shot of Sambuca on the first night out with a second, newly arrived co-worker, thus solidifying your reputation as complete nutbars.
There was only a small (non-Russian) sound system, and little or no getting down, self concious or otherwise, but it was still great craic (as our local Irish ambassadors are fond of saying).
The big fun was actually a beer or two in a giant semi-nudist park, with an appreciative audience of cool co-workers when it was my turn to make Sunday Dinner.
Even if I am getting old, I'm liking it.

Note: When conspiring to move restricted products across international borders, it's always best to let your overseas contact know exactly what they're shipping to you, despite the fact that they will indubitably laugh themselves silly at the thought of your vain ass.
Todays show brought to you by the number 5 and the letters S and B. Sorry big guy, won't happen again.

Normally indicative of a good night out:



Several hand stamps, and the light of day to take the picture by when you get home.
Oddly enough, it wasn't exactly a stellar night...not that it wasn't a cathartic blast to stay out 'til dawn, but I think I might have chosen the wrong clubs on the wrong night. Regardless, I got to hear the Beatnuts on a giant Russian sound system, and do some thoroughly unselfconcious getting down at the trashiest club I've been to in ages.
The big fun was actually a quiet picnic in a giant semi-nudist park with dinner and drinks afterwards with some very cool co-workers. Chicken roasted with potatoes, carrots, mushrooms, and garlic...top shelf Sunday Dinner fare.
Maybe I really am getting old.

I spent my weekend looking at bodies, statues of bodies, and statues of bodies.
Not to mention the drinking, sunbathing, and impressionist/modernist museums. God damn, I love my job.

No-one in Munich crosses against the lights. I've seen crowds of people wait at the corner of two roads that are empty for literally miles, patiently waiting for the little green man to let them cross. Star wipe to your Munich correspondent on his way to work on Friday morning...
I live in a fairly residential area, equipped with the latest in tiny looping streets. As I was waiting for a chance to cross one, I poked my head out from behind a parked van and saw a cop car rolling down the street. Not wanting to saunter out in front of a moving police vehicle, I waited 'til it (and the blue Beetle behind it) had passed me by before I made my move.
"Polizei!"
The blue Beetle has parked a car length past me, and three plain clothes cops have barrelled out, two of them in flak jackets...all I could think was "Fuck, no wonder nobody jaywalks here!"
It turned out that there had been a bomb threat at a school a few blocks away, and in all fairness, I was the only person within a mile of the place, not to mention the big-ass backpack I was hauling.

How bad is it, on a scale of One to Get-a-Therapist, that the only thing that I really miss about having a long-term, stable relationship, is the dramatic homecomings?
Maybe I should have tried dating more women who lived in the same city I did when I had the chance, but it probably wouldn't have made that much of a difference. Time apart, hearts grow fonder, so on, so forth...it's not a bad way to live.

It's rare that I don't regret not having a camera. It's even more rare that I'm at a loss for words.
I was at Dachau today.

I seem to recall someone going on a few foreign excursions while the rest of us lived the low life, missy.