Feuchtgebiete, Girl Things Wet

Warning: sexually explicit material is contained in this post. Vulgar language is also used. If you do not like cursing or suggestive language, then please go here. You’ll be much happier in the end.

Initial post here.

This is potentially a book review. I think. But also be warned: If you plan on reading this book when it comes out in English then you might want to steer away from this post. I’ve taken the liberty of my own English translation of some of the text. But don’t worry, I won’t reveal everything. I’m not sure if this is legal either – so please, no one send me money for this.

Ironically or not, the cover of the book is pink and includes the raised image of a bandage. Underneath the bandage is the title in a dot-matrix Teutonic kind of font. Every time I picked up the book while reading it I thought there used to be only one application of the color pink that I do not hate. Luckily this book deals with that one thing whole heartily.

As noted in in my previous post, this book has received a lot of attention. As of March, 2008, it has sold more than 500k copies. At one point it was even number one on Amazon.com. That might not sound thrilling but when you consider that it reached the top of the list while published in German… Well, that’s something. Again, let me make sure that got across so that other (worst)writers and (worst)readers get it. This book reached the top selling list while printed in German on the “.com” and not the “.de” of Amazon. As a wannabe struggling writer who writes in English but lives in Germany… Holy shit! I’m the one who needs a bandage.

With that in mind, my hat is off and I bow deeply to Charlotte Roche. Say what you want about this book – it’s either bad-mouth pornography or it’s new-fangled erotic literature – but Roche did a pretty good job writing it. One of the basic criteria I have for good writing is when an author makes me think. I don’t care about grammar, structure or formula. Writing should be solely about creativity and passion. This book has a lot of both – if you can get through the smut. That’s the only criticism I have of the book. There’s simply too much smut and other nonsense which takes away from getting any protagonist message across. But I’ll leave it at that – because I’m not a critic.

The heroine of the book is Helen. She’s 18 and somewhat perturbed. I think. Here’s how she opens the story (Tommi translation):

“As far as family goes, taking care of the elderly means a lot to me. Just like any other child with divorced parents, I wish my parents would get back together. When my parents require elderly care the first thing I’m gonna do is put their new partners in a nursing home. Then I’m gonna take my divorced parents home, put them in the same bed, and take care of them till they die. It will be a moment of happiness for me. So all I have to do is wait patiently. I have the situation under control.”

After that all you get is more than two hundred big-fonted pages of hemorrhoids, vaginal fluids, one-afternoon-stands, and a few lines of girly-wisdom that perhaps this media driven world could put to use. Oh, there’s also the underlying emotional pain of a young woman and her having to finally grow up. If you can get past the nonsense of a young girl’s obsession with herself – in the form of consuming, utilizing and sharing every fluid or particle that the female body makes – then you will get to the soul of a person whose feelings are so hurt that an/her anus (kinda) explodes. Helen tells the story from the hospital bed where she has to have an operation on an/her anus. It seems, as part of her girl-body obsession, she cut her anus while shaving. Yeah, right.

While reading Feuchtgebiete I kept thinking of two things. One was how they are going to translate the title. Thus far I’ve seen articles using “Wetlands”. I don’t think that works at all. My preference would be “Girl Things Wet”. Luckily I’m no translator. The second thing I kept thinking about were the cheap paperback porn books that I read when I was young. (Seriously. I only read the stuff.) You know, the books where IT was called jism/jizm and the word fuck somehow never reminded one of “fuck you, asshole”. Am I the only male born after 1960 to have read “A Man With A Maid” written by Anonymous? (Please, don’t make fun of the books I’ve read.) The only thing that really bugged the do-dads out of me while reading Roche’s book was the amount of (for lack of better terminology) descriptors that eventually leads to the strangest kind of wisdom. Here some of Roche’s/Helen’s wisdom (Tommi translation):

“It’s only a fantasy if you get horny thinking about it.”

“Once I did a coffee peepee test. My father taught me this. When you get up in the morning you have to pee because your bladder collects everything overnight. Once you’ve emptied yourself in the morning you’d think that all the pee was out of your body. Then when you drink a cup of coffee your body is so poisoned that it collects more water in order to clean everything out. As soon as you finish your coffee you pee more fluid then the coffee you actually drank. I’ve proved it, I used a coffee cup one morning and it overflowed with pee. I proved my father correct that coffee dehydrates. My mother wasn’t happy at all because she doesn’t think urine should be in a coffee cup.”

(After claiming that tampons are a waste of money): “The other half I fold long-ways till I have a long thin clothe. Then I roll it in small, tight stages till it becomes the shape of a thick wurst and then shove into my pussy as high as it’ll go. How’s that! American tampon industry.”

Dear (worst)reader/writer, I’m sorry, but the following I can’t (won’t) translate, because, well, I don’t even know what the fuck it means – but it sounds kind of cool in a German sorta way: “Trauerwettstreit gewonnen durch vergezogene Trauerarbeit.”

(Helen speaking to herself): “Don’t be disappointed. The next self-fuck will be better, Helen, I promise.”

After eating a bugar: “There’s nothing on my body that my fingers can leave alone.”

About boys: “For a boys eighteenth birthday their parents always invite them to a local whorehouse.”

Sex while menstruating: “A good pirate sticks it in the red sea.”

Beyond all the wisdom there’s a bunch of interesting German words that Roche uses in her cute little novel. I know this might sound strange – especially for those who think the German language is more like barking – or am I the only one that thinks that? Anywho. German can be a fun language when it comes to putting words together to say something specific. Here a few examples with rough Tommi translations:

• Fickverabredung = fuck + appointment.
• Käsebaby = cheese + baby; I have no idea what this word was/is supposed to mean; yeah, author, entangle me.
• Rübbelkönigin = something about rubbing her pussy and being the queen (the best?) at having an orgasm while doing it.
• Körperausscheidungsrecyclerin = body + expulsion + recycling.
• Muschirosapink = the color of a black woman’s vagina.
• Blutschwesternschaft = blood-sisters; the ceremonial sharing of menstrual blood. But! It’s more something like the American Indian “blood brothers” thing. I guess.
• Fickurheber = fuck + initiator; Helen cuts a hole in her panties when she’s on a date with someone she wants to fuck, that way, when petting gets going, the guy is surprised but gets the message that she wants to fuck without having to go through all the rigmarole of a date. (Where were these chicks when I was young?)
• Rasurhindernisparcours = razor + obstacle + horse-show-jumping-course; the name she gives the rim of her anus as someone is shaving her/it.
• Sexandenkenkaubonbon = sex + souvenir + chewable candy; she’s describing the stuff that’s left over after sex and what she does with it.

Last but not least, here are three words that Helen gives to the most precious of her female parts. I’ll leave translation up to your imagination or your ability to research. Seriously, I’m tired of all this nasty stuff.

• Vanillekipferln
• Hahnenkämme
• Perlenrüssel

Although the writing is at times very trying – especially for someone who ONLY read porn when it was innocent, this is a fun read and has a creative, if not profound, ending.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Aldi or Yet Another Analogy For The Future (Part 2)

Part 1 is here.

This is yet another part in my continuing saga of HAVING to live among the Germans. Please forgive me in advance – and try to find humor where there is none. With that in mind, I started Part 1 so many months ago with “I found out what is wrong with Germany…” Of course, I didn’t actually find out anything. But that’s not the point of writing in a blog, now is it?

Anywho…

The Germans have done a few things right since the days of doing all things wrong. For one, they build pretty good cars. No. Wait…

I’m still quite angry that Germans don’t have one – NOT ONE – alternative fueled vehicle in the production pipeline. Also, since I’ve been driving various German cars since the nineties, as far as build quality is concerned, they are doing the same thing Detroit did back in the seventies. Just making ‘em cheaper and cheaper. The difference to American cars, though, is that even the cheaper German cars go like hell. I wonder if the reason Germans don’t have alternative powered cars is because they know something about gas supplies that other countries don’t know? Go figure…

Another thing Germans do right are Autobahns. Even though currently most of their Autobahns serve as government subsidized work placement programs, there are still parts of the A3, the A2 and my particular favorite the A27 (between Bremerhaven and Cuxhaven), where you can drive so fast that the horizon snaps shut before your eyes have time to blink. Seriously. At the risk of bragging and making a fool of myself because of the outrageous carbon footprint that I leave behind – I comfortably admit that, when possible, I drive at speeds of and around 240km/h. Don’t get me wrong. It’s an absolutely crazy thing to do. If I could afford it, I would take the train. But Germany, like so many other western countries, is a slave to invention. The train system here sucks and is in no way competitive with a car. Shame really!!!

Let me put the speed-thing in perspective. For you NASCAR lovin’ mama-boys out there, get this: when I’m in a good mood, when the weather is sparky and I have no family members in the vehicle, when my contact lenses are clear and there’s no stress ringing in my ears, I sometimes drive a well-powered Audi at speeds (on public highways) faster than those who win at Dover International Speedway. Now if that won’t motivate young men (with a driver’s license) to come over here and experience Oktoberfest… I don’t know what else should.

Warning: this is not an advert. Seriously.

The last thing Germans do right that I’ll address here has nothing to do with cars. It has to do with the only other invention that should be recognized as its industry’s VW Bug. I’m talking, of course, about Aldi – the discount supermarket chain where practically every continental German speaking person has at one point or other in their lives bought something. I have a thing for Aldi.

“Aldi” is short for Albrecht Discount. The little stores have also been called “Albrecht’s Fine Foods” or ” Albrecht Delicatessen”.

I’m not kidding. Today every continental German speaking person buys something at Aldi at sometime or other. That’s a business taking in money from well-over a 100million people. Such success has made the founders of Aldi, the Albrecht brothers, the richest men in all of Germany – and they regularly make the Forbes richest schmuck list. Say what you want about rich people, Bill Gates included, but there’s good reason the Albrecht brothers are swimming in cash. It boils down to Aldi just being plain good at what they do. Which is not something you can claim of companies like Wal-Mart. I’m a regular Aldi goer and I don’t think I’ve ever bought anything from that store that was necessary to throw out because it was junk. Do I need to mention Wal-Mart again? Wait a sec…

Oh no, that’s not true. I’m just exaggerating because this is potentially a post that a German might read and then say, “hey, this (American) guy complaining about Germany all the time ain’t all that bad.” So I did buy one of them multi screw-drivers at Aldi once and I had to throw it out after it broke. But hell, it only cost something like five Euros. It worked up until I used it to try and unscrew some heavily rusted bolts while replacing a thoroughly rusted exhaust pipe – where it simply snapped in two pieces. I went through two other tools during that escapade, as well. But I don’t remember where I bought those tools.

Aldi’s secret of success (according to Tommi) is this. Dictate to manufactures a certain quality and then buy & sell volume. Nothing unique there – except maybe the dictate part. The thing that Aldi seems to do different than other discounters is that it retails fairly good quality stuff.

Cheap is one thing, but cheap quality is another.

Aldi was the first discounter of its kind to sell real Champagne – as in Champagne, France – for something like 15,- Euros a bottle. It’s a bit sweet but what the heck – chicks love that shit. So you can accredit Aldi for helping weak-ass German boys getting laid. (German women love the bubbly.) Aldi also gets North East American fisheries to ship over frozen, whole Lobsters, and then sells them for something like 7,- Euros. I’ve had them. They’re great. Needless to say, when the lobsters arrive there’s a run on all the stores. But then there’s the wine. I’ll keep it short and just say, Aldi features some of the best wines from Chile to Italy and they cost half of what they’d cost elsewhere.

There’s lots more on wine here.

When I was still working as an industry analyst one of the companies that I had to research was Aldi. Of course, like many other analysts, I got nowhere. It’s not because I couldn’t find the information – I was a great researcher – but because Aldi is collectively tight lipped. It is a private company and therefore not required to release any information – at least there’s a serious clamp on info regarding how it makes so much damn money. Even the people that work the registers are told that they should never answer any questions asked about the business.

And now on to the ANALOGY that would never be.

Businesses that make the kind of money that Aldi does usually fall to the whims of cycles and downturns or whatever. Or does that only apply to companies that are dependent on the loan-capital derived from being on a stock exchange? Didn’t UPS used to be one of the most successful companies NOT trading a stock? In fact, it wasn’t till 1999 that UPS went public. But I’m not here to bash the current and obvious ill-nature of the stock market. Aldi pushes along and just keeps making more and more money – and is not publicly traded. It is simply a no-frills company – which is reflected in its stores the world over – and seems to focus solely on a level of end consumer quality that is, in my opionion, unmatched – at least in the German market.

So what am I really addressing here?

This may be both a bit pretentious and naive but what the heck. Aldi represents not just an untapped business principle but also a principle that could/should apply to life: balance. It seems that a company like Aldi can balance the madness between supply and demand like no other retail company. In fact, in my whacked-out way of seeing things (aka Tommism), most corporations and their constituencies are only interested in annihilating at least one part of the supply and demand equation that has ruled our lives since Adam Smith first blew his nose. Obviously I’m no economist and I haven’t worked in management consulting for more than eight years – so I might be way off base here. It’s just that when I sit back and look at how things work in our Western Mess… Our corporate consuming situation is unsustainable. So I’ve been looking for examples that potentially are sustainable. I mean, come on, Aldi is rarely in the press for any controversy and more importantly, its employees all seem to be content with their earnings. Wow. Talk about balance. Business Balance?

Have I coined a phrase?

I’ve heard some say that the reason Wal-Mart pulled out of Germany was because of Aldi. The thing about Euro business is that companies have to yield (the word “yield” is not part of the German language which you can also see on the Autobahns) in some way or other to governments. Where American neo-con/Republicans hypocritically claim to be all about reducing government in the “markets”, Euro companies gladly oblige governments – as at times governments seem to fill the employer/employee gap that has so obviously been part of the downfall of corporate Americano. For companies like Wal-Mart “balance” has to be an unfathomable concept.

Rant on. I have to go to Aldi and get some bubbly.

-tgs-

Rooy Typewriter, At Last

More on manuals here and here.

It was quite a search. I concluded that there were basically two choices to ever owning one of these things. As usual I was wrong. You can read more about Rooys here. To some, this very compact and interestingly designed typewriter is considered a “holy grail”. But now that I have one, I would never go so far.

It’s just a neat old typewriter. Seriously.

The two choices that I had to deal with are/were: I would have to get a Rooy with a AZERTY keyboard (French) – as they are sometimes available in France. But I have a hard enough time having to switch between QWERTZ & QWERTY. The other choice would be to sell a few body parts to be able to afford one. But I like having both my kidneys. I know it sounds silly, but get this: last year I watched an auction on that silly-auction-website where a person in Kentucky, USA, was selling a clean, QWERTY Rooy with a “buy-it-now” button. He wanted fifteen hundred dollars for the thing. Thank goodness, he didn’t sell it.

I got (real) lucky. I think.

I was watching the German version of that silly-auction-website and came across something one night that immediately drew my attention. I knew that the German owner didn’t know what he was actually selling. The sticker on the top of the machine says “Union” and so, he titled his auction something like: “Union Schreibmaschine – Hergestellt in Canada. Alt aber im guten zustand. Etc., etc.” Talk about clueless. He mistook an English spelling of a patent notification on the inside cover of the machine for the country of manufacture.

What’s the old saying? One man’s sorrow is another man’s… Whatever.

The design of this machine is unmistakably Rooy. There is no other typewriter like it. You open it up, fold it over, lay it on top of itself and that’s that. You do the opposite to close it up. The cover is literally the bottom of the machine when you open it up and supports the typing mechanics with a unique drop-down doorway that allows such a thin design. This machine was sold as the thinnest typewriter ever. How mistaken the marketing pundits were. It’s only “thin” when it’s folded up. Still, it is in demand among typing enthusiasts – including yours truly. I searched for the right one for more than a year. I have touched and smelled and felt Rooys at various German, Belgian and French antique markets where owners proudly say: “Two hundred Euros – but you have to buy it now because someone else is very interested.” At the next market I see the same guy and machine and he wants three hundred. Yeah.

When I found this one on that silly-auction-website I laughed at the Frenchman. Then I ended up bidding against a few others who I suspect also realized what was actually being sold. In the end it was the most I ever paid for an old, mechanical typewriter. (But it was also less then what the Frenchman was asking.) It was worth it because it has the right keyboard and it was/is in great shape. Needless to say, I was nervous waiting for the mail-man to deliver it.

This particular Rooy is branded “Union”. It was not uncommon for manufacturers to re-label their products for various markets. I’m assuming that this brand was part of what was sold to the German, i.e. QWERTZ market. It was in such good shape when it arrived and required only a few hours of elbow-grease before I was typing away. But after a bird’s-eye view of this machine, it’s really not worth the fuss – unless you get it for cheap. Call me a stickler. Sure the design is neat but the thing is… my Hermes and Kolibri are both smaller and flatter and nothing, other than a Lettera 22, types as good as the Hermes. But who cares. It’s a Rooy.

No rant today.

-tgs-

Charlotte Roche Kicks (ALL) Ass

Update: Tommi review of this book available here; it includes some English translations.

OK. Time to break down. Thought I wouldn’t be posting anything new for awhile. But then… something happened – and It’s not what you might think. Recently it took more than four days to get over the anesthesia of a relative minor operation, followed by countless tablets of various pharmaceutical whatnot and hellacious amounts of red wine – and then something has come along to push me beyond the bliss of sedentary (un)imagination. Oh yea. This happening, this something, is like a new awakening put forth through some cynical and, perhaps, diabolical plot planned both in my brain-stem and the various compulsive behavior cubicles of modern corporate publishing houses.

The whole idea of actually writing something that a publisher would want to read is leaving me as slow as the whole idea of actually getting published at this late phase of a very unsuccessful (worst)writing life. And then, right out of nowhere, comes another reminder that THINGS can actually get worse – faster.

Where does it comes from? It comes from a short novel published in pink (sorry, this is a completely unrelated link, aka self-promotion) and written in German by some very nice, sweet lookin’ girl that used to work for MTV Germany or VIVA (the German language MTV equivalent) and basically deals with … the vagina. I guess.

In no way do I want to make fun of the success of English born, German writing Charlotte Roche. Nor do I want at this point to actually admit that I’ve read Feuchtgebiete – or “Wetlands” (or whatever the English publisher will title it). But I did spend about twenty minutes at a local German book store (near Frankfurt) a few months back and glanced through this highly successful first novel. Naturally, I picked it off one of the shelves covering an entire wall of the store like wall-paper because, well, I thought, gee, this book must be abuzz with reading consumer desire (if there is such a thing) if it can occupy so much selling space. Either that or it contains a lot of frat-party language regarding all things that cause pale faces to blush.

Don’t worry. I plan on reading it asap, and then posting more about it on this site. It’s sudden success has even pushed it above Jonathan Littell’s book on my reading list.

After I do finally read it, my thoughts on it will not matter. This book is a runaway success and it hasn’t even been translated beyond the beloved language that can bark so poetically. Not unlike the feelings I had to deal with when Christina Kettering and her FIRST play blew me away…. It doesn’t matter what this novel is about. Perfectly marketed pseudo-porn or whacked-out feminism gone awry, I wish the world would be full of these types of books instead of krapp like this.

My only solace is that these writers are obviously not (worst)writers. I wish them all much success.

In the mean time, if you want to read more about this amazing achievement here a few legitimate links:

Interview with Charlotte Roche.

She’s even in the NY Fucking Times!

And the fucking Economist.

The Guardian and Charlotte.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Summer Hiatus, Marlon Brando

Update: scratch the next indented paragraph. I will be posting more. I’m actually starting to feel better. I think.

Won’t be posting much this summer – at least I don’t think I will. Need to give this a break, maybe. Yeah. Whatever.

It has become an issue of contemplation recently. Giving up on this blog. Maybe it’s time to hang it up. Oh the monotony. The duplicity. Repetitive humdrum. Have been sporadically posting anywho the past few months. This whole blog thing was a neat experiment, I guess. But I have to face facts. The work on my new book has come basically to a full-stop. I’m not quite sure how to explain the connection but when the work on my book was going well I could also post here. It’s as though typing 2k to 3k words a day on my book wasn’t enough – so I filled the gap with putting stuff up here. Nomatter, for sure. The book is going nowhere and I feel that I have probably lost a connection to it. A tragic endeavor, indeed.

It’s not that I’m blocked or anything like that. It’s just that the confidence – you know, that whole identity, image and ego chestnut that makes up one of the many pillars that sets aside achievers from non achievers – is no longer with me. Being a middle aged failed man doesn’t help either. I really despise the bitter disposition that has overtaken me. Add to the fact that I can no longer fight the belief/idear, deep down in my heart of hearts, that it probably just wasn’t meant to be. This whole dream of WRITING. In fact, I’ve probably known that all along. But hey! What the heck. That’s the easiest thing about life, isn’t it?

Lying to yourself.

And so… All the years of arm-chair critics, pseudo-know-it-all publishers and the shear unwillingness to take any advice regarding how to write… is coming full circle. No one in publishing will read me and I can’t fight the fight anymore. Pass another drink, my friends. Gulp, gulp. Soothe the bitterness.

This inevitable failure kinda reminds me of something. Like the time when I gave up acting. Oh, what a time. I was young and stupid and looked fairly decent and went to the movies one too many times. Yes. I tried acting at the behest of a high-school counselor that declared it might be a way to fend off my aggressions. (Her other “career” advice was to either be a truck driver or a air traffic controller.) So it was a kind of therapy, I guess. I had no idea what acting was about when I started and after being able to watch all those good lookin’, skin caring actresses, nothing else mattered. When I got to college I read scripts and plays and listened to acting teachers. I had a hard time remembering text but I eventually got over that. The directors demanded more though – as they should have. I gave it my all, really. Pretending became part of my mind. I wanted to go beyond “method“, you know. I was the character. And then that one spring day while rehearsing a scene for a university production the director/professor turned to me and said:

“OK. Stop. That was great, Tom, very good.”

Short pause.

“Tom. Are you OK? You can stop now…”

I heard the directors words. I even knew that the other actors had turned off. They were all going to their ego corners and waiting for the praise, the ego boosts that come after each rehearsal. But I stayed there on stage, I remained on my markers, my skin began to tan from the beam of light and the trance I was in. I remember not wanting to move because if I moved then I might not find that character, that way, again. I couldn’t turn it off.

“You wanted me to become this killer character, didn’t you!” I yelled.

“Tom, that’s enough!” One of the other actors screamed.

“Fuck you. I became your killer, I am your killer, and I won’t turn it off!”

One of the actresses came over and tried to remind me of the show & tell, the pretend that we all played. She even mentioned how much she looked forward to our evening in her dorm room. But I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t let go of any of those roles. They tore me apart because in order to play them I had to become them. Isn’t that acting? Isn’t that what makes all the high earning actors so prominent? Why, yes. That’s exactly what makes them great actors. They could not only play the characters but they could also turn them off. But I couldn’t. I wonder if it had anything to do with the characters I chose (or the characters that were chosen for me).

I (tried to) play(ed)…

Iago – who, like Satan, believes in God for the sole purpose of also being able to defy Him.

Cornwall – I offered up ways to depict the torture that he wanted to put Lear through, but in the end I was denied because the professor/teacher thought my portrayal “overkill”. (Ha. Ha. Ha.)

Richard III – Yes, of course I (really) believed in killing those children. (I didn’t make it beyond stage test.)

Aaron the Moore – Oh, to be someone that can be so systematic about rape.

For whatever very good reason – I gave up on acting. Obviously that was the right thing to do. The idea of playing something else just didn’t work for me. Strange how giving up on writing actually hurts – at least it hurts when I’m sober.

Since we’re on the subject… Oh, how I admire great actors. I mean “actors” that really know what they are doing. I’m not aware of any such actors today – they are all in the past. Maybe that has something to do with acting on/for the stage. Most actors today are just products of some dim-witted acting school and few stage appearances. If there are any good actors today then you can be assured that they appear regularly on a stage somewhere. Which brings me to the clip featured below. I have seen every movie Marlon Brando ever made at least three times. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it was to recently find this unseen footage of him.

As you’ll note, this is Marlon Brando screen testing for “Rebel Without a Cause”. As you should also know, the movie was eventually made with James Dean. But the shear energy from a young Brando in this clip shows that the movie would have been just as good with him. Also, in my opinion – this is likewise just a guess – I bet James Dean stole some of this. Notice the lisp Brando uses, and some of the facial expressions. I mean, come on, could a director have actually told Brando AND Dean to do that? Dean was energetic and his energy amazed, he was bedazzling, but Brando is my Grand United Mistakes’ greatest actor. (Just my 2cents.) Ah, who knows. Maybe a director could have told them both to do that.

Rant on.

-tgs-