Father's Day

Actually, I wanted to write something about my this year's Father's Day exprerience, but that does constitute a problem, at least to some degree. My holmes and me kicked off (literarily) the day pretty relaxed, since the weather was pretty uninviting, we abandoned all plans for a BBQ in the park or the traditional "pulling a cart through town" (no joke, that thing is called bollerwagen and is full of - oh what surprise - beer. This year the upcoming World Cup dominated our sacred day (it is Ascension Day after all), and we arranged a suspense-packed FIFA World Cup with our 12th man, XBox. We didn't really integrate the demisive factor alcohol into our equation, which should prove to be fatal. For starters shots of Kümmerling, a particular German specialty, were served (imagine Jager, just more bitter and completely different, then you have an abstract idea), times and again interrupted by beer. Around 1pm, we were pretty trashed, and none of us made it to the last sixteen. Although we took teams like Brazil and Italy and all, we still took a good shellacking.

After this let-down, we turned to having a BBQ on the balcony of my friends' apartment and playing various other X-Box games and later poker (needless to say, I might add). At some points between all the beer, Kümmerling and sausage, I started to lose my sense of time, and suddenly it was dark outside. I decided to leave the party of ten and checked out my co-worker's place. That's when things started to become even more blurry and crunked. The ingredients of the "evening" that followed: lots of cocktails, tequila shots and even more shots of unknown consistency and red color. The only frazzles of memories that jut the veil of oblivion and drunkeness are the pictures on my camera, and I won't withhold them. The thing I remember is, that CWOM and I made a lot of new friends that night (one of them , I think it was the guy in the middle, threatened to throw a barstool into the bar, but no-one took seroius offense at that stage), plus I lost countless rounds of fusball against guys who pulled off tricks like these. My team mate, whom I just met, was screaming at me, if I wasn't playing. I wasn't. I was holding on to the table and zoning. Needless to say, I made my way home (probably on a train, guessing from the pictures) and now I won't touch any alcohol for the next 10 days. Bottom line: Alcohol is just another cell poison :-(

Intergalactic, planetary, planetary, intergalactic

I did think of another catchy line for this entry, but I'm too ..ehhm... tired to remember it right now. But it was definetely not Beastie-Boy-related. Anyways, last week was filled with untarnished joy, as I was working at the annual STEC conference, sponsored by ESA (European Space Angency). Working for a organization that mostly arranges conferences (and shit) is pretty boring times and again, but this conference rocked shit (yeah, I wrote "shit" two times in this sentence). Not only was this stuff pretty sophisticated shit (there you go again), but it was lots of fun, too.
Anticipating attendance from International Space University (to my surprise, it is located in Strasbourg - up to this point I thought that this institution of higher learning was situated on Coruscant) my co-worker (CWOM and the Fulk) and me put up blueprints of the Death Star to outrival the other exhibitors into insignificance. Our plan to attract potential civil contractors included the repeated implementation of the song "Space Man" (lyrics by Aaron Neville and/or Babylon Zoo), as well as plastic cups with Coke and butter cookies. For some reason that cannot possibly be comprehended, it didnt' work out.
Reflecting the current delicate situation in the Middle East, we also took a sensitive approach towards the subject matter of "weapons of mass destruction". Ironically, the rockets in the pictures are employed in a project named "Mephisto". More than debatable, I'd say (but they hurt pretty bad, especially the pointy end)....
Personally, I'd certify this conference to be among the top 5 I've ever attended (or worked at, for that matter), last but not least because of the two awesome socializing events (a BBQ and a "Space Party"). The latter included the two pretty sweet spacewomen from Sweden we managed to socialize with. Plus some far beyond crunk guys from Delft (Netherlands), who were dressed up in several layers of this golden foil they use for satellites (you think I'm making this up right now, right? Seriously, I don't!). The evening found it's snugly end in "Herbie's Fifa Pub", a sleazy ex-Thai Massage parlor. Hot tip there: 1) "Apfelkorn", a special German delight, 2) don't use the bathroom.
Highlight of these informal gatherings were definetely two girls from Romania who were constantly wearing astronaut's suits (had my boss brought his camera as promised, I'd have pictures of them, too). If I find any pictures on the i-net, I'll hotlink them here. Anyways, the shit was pretty hot, and our Death Star will soon bring annihilation to the puny rest of the galaxy....muahahahaha!

Models with Conscience

I've already written about the bot attack on my blog, that forced me to implement the much-accurst comment verification. The evil bot, who launched this perfidious assault used a picture from Models with Conscience. I instantly reported this nuisance to MwC, and I promplty received a reply from their founder and one of their top(!) models, Heather (in the picture). In a pretty nice email, she apologized for the inconvenience (wasn't really worth mentioning). Pretty sweet! So, bottom line, if any of you is planing to strike it big in the fashion business, make sure you book Models with Conscience to promote your stuff! Please do! Btw, Heather does look a little like a girl that's on the women's squad of my basketball team (whose name is Sarah, just like the MwC whose pictures was used in the comment in my blog. Irony, dictionary definition, I guess).

"Devout Ejaculation"

...really is an ecclesiastical term. Besides their "double entendre", devout ejaculations really seem to work. As some people that (hopefully) read this blog might know, my apartment is situated direclty across the historic church tower of infamous St. John's church. So whenever another 15 minutes have passed on this earth, the bells let me know - 24 hours a day, that is. Now this is what happened, and I'm heavily euphemizing the following events. About 4 days or so ago, I ejaculated my devotion (no pun intended) and asked God, if he could help make the friggin bells shut up (I mean, it's his church anyways, right?). So he did. For two days now, the arms on the clock have been standing still - an outright miracle, in my devout opinion. And kinda scary!
Anyways, someone will get that thing working again, and the noise pollution is about to reach its normal level pretty soon, I guess.