Züri G'schnätzlets
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Thinly-sliced bits of web-logged goodness (as I see it)
from Downtown Switzerland and beyond. |
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Thursday, January 30, 2003
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
Now I'm Not One to Say "I Told You So", But ... In honor of the shrubby one's upcoming State of the Union Address marking two years at the helm of the United States, I dug back in to the archives and began to reminisce about where I was two years ago today (give or take 48 hours). While all around me were preparing for the shrubby one's inauguration the following day I - seeing the war with Iraq on the wall - was sprinting around Washington, D.C. trying to make arrangements to flee the country ...
You can relive that harrowing day with me too, for I've pulled out the now classic Zurich Bericht, Eins (Vol 2/No 1), dusted it off, and posted it right here on-line. Peace Ya'll (and I mean that). Monday, January 27, 2003
God Is a DJ? I spent Saturday night at the underground-ish techno club æra. The crowded, windowless, un-airconditioned warehouse used to be stifling hot year-around, but especially in the summer. Since last summer it's been much cooler though thanks to hundreds of Walmart-style floor fans mounted on the ceiling. However, the club exhibited dubious wisdom when they wired the fans to the light board and made their operation part of the light show.
I realize the point of a modern techno night club is to use all the tools of modern technology to create a quasi-religious, ecstatic experience. But at æra when you feel the holy spirit moving, it's probably just that the light and sound guy turned on the ceiling fan. Sunday, January 26, 2003
Save Your Money, Someone Must CTRl-ALT-DEL!
Slate Magazine's Today's Papers, the daily summary of the major US newspapers, reports that:
Bank of America's 13,000 ATM machines rely on Windows 2000 and Microsofts SQL Server? UPDATE (Monday): Ok, don't panic yet. Seems like Microsoft's Slate got it a bit wrong. Maybe, it wasn't a virus attacking the servers running the ATM's. Maybe, it was a wurm that launched a denial of service attack that crippled the ATM's network. ANOTHER UPDATE (Monday): I just saw the cat-herding company that employs me is taking credit for being the first company on the net to find the problem and report it to the FBI. They sent out a talking points memo about it to all employess in case we're questioned about the claim.
Saturday, January 25, 2003
The List This week, all those people who ransacked an entire genre and left if for dead after pickin' the bones clean are at the top of my list. Ya'll know who ya'll are, Shania Twain and I-Found-My-Thrill-on-Faith Hill. Speaking of the McGraw's, I heard Tim had to postpone a concert 'cause he forgot his cowboy hat - if it's just a prop, ya don't have the right to wear it.
The Good List Know those two goofy nerds - on German MTV - who dance around their bedroom in hi-rise tighty-whitey's to the tune of their mobile phone ringtones? They just made it to the top of my other list. Friday, January 24, 2003
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
Rösti Roundup I received the new (European edition) of Newsweek in my mailbox today. This is what jumped off the page:
Too bad, the online edition doesn't include the picture several pages later on. In a story on Tony Blair and the possibility that he may be able to curtail Shrub's warmongering, there's a picture of 30-some people in their birthday suits spelling out the word "peace". The caption? "Nudeniks - Demonstrators from East Sussex send Bush and Blair a bare message." GO NUDENIKS! Oh, I think there was more. But who wants to quote Newsweek at midnight? I DO want to quote that hot Missy Elliot. "Keep your eyes on my Babumpa-bump-bump. You think you can handle this Gadunk-a-dunk-dunk?" HOT! Not Amy Grant hot. But, hot. Tuesday, January 21, 2003
The following is shamelessly copied from the excellent www.ovomaltine.ch.
Friday, January 17, 2003
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
More Tales of Snow With so much excitement going on, I didn't even get a chance to blog that last Sunday I went skiing in (relatively) nearby Laax. It was nearly perfect. One of the perfect parts were watching the sun rise over the mountains (from the train) and hours later begin setting over the mountains from the slopes.
The not perfect part was the T-bar chair lifts. Let's just say I lived that Swiss commercial for Rivella (or is it Ovomaltine) - the one with the spastic guy on his first time out with a T-bar. Oh, and I did something completely stupid and embarrassing (which I will never tell). As a result I ended up in conversation with a very nice lady mostly 'cause she wanted to be nice because she was embarrassed for me. And, more then likely - because of my actions (which I will never tell) - she assumed I was just a stupid American tourist so she wanted to show Switzerland's great hospitality. So when she asked me where I was from, what do you think I did ... I LIED. Ok I told a half-truth. I did say I was from Dallas, but I let on that I had just arrived the day before. I wasn't gong to admit that I'd lived in Switzerland for two years and should have known better then to do what I did (which I will never tell). Then she asked me where I was staying. And, I realized I didn't know any of the hotels in Laax. I thought fast and said I was staying down the mountain aways in Chur. Actually, I thought really fast and pronounced 'Chur' as if it were a 'church' after the dastardly Spellbinder removed the final ch consonant sound. 'Cause, no Ami, fresh off the bus, knows that it's pronounced 'Coor' like the singular of the famous American beer. Tuesday, January 14, 2003
On the Edge I am happy to blog again and report that as of this writing nothing is broken - though one shoulder is sore, and I didn't have to call on the mixed blessing that is Swiss healthcare.
What did happen is this ... the skies opened up yesterday and dumped a ton of snow on the city (or at least three quarters of an inch by my estimation). Lotta called up and suggested wr sind Schlittler go or something Swiss German like that. Would I pass up a chance to Schlittler go? I think not. But then I inquired of some Swiss colleagues - even some young and supposedly hip ones. (By the way, is hip still a word when you're not talking about breaking one, or am I just getting old?) They acted like Schlitterler go was about the most dangerous thing you could do this side of running around Davos next week shouting GLOBALISATION SUCKS (don't put it past me). Oh, you shoud have heard the old-womanish tales of woe and fright - 'cept that's dissin' the old women who would be ashamed to act so scared. Though since it wouldn't be the first time I trustingly followed Lotta's lead where the angels feared to tread, so I also wondered if I might be taking my life in hand. Here's what I did. I purchased my own seat to sit on the edge of (and one for Lotta too) at the Migro's City. To tell the truth, the Schlitten was more like a glorified lid of an outdoor plastic garbage pail (which I might have used - had I one). Then after posting last night's potential farewell message, and taking Krankenkasse card in hand, I rode the train with Lotta to the top of Uetliberg, the tiny mountain - or really big hill - seen from my living room window. Then together, by the glow of the moon and the city lights far below, we sledded sitting on the edge of plastic garbage pail-like lids down 2.9 kilometers of fresh white winter wonderland to the edge of the city and the bottom of the hill. The moral of the story: when it comes to something spontaneous or impulsive, don't ask young, supposedly hip, Swiss people for advice you don't want to hear from your grandma and just DO IT! Naturally, check the path for trees before you do. Monday, January 13, 2003
On the Edge of my Seat Once again Lotta, of the family Haslecker, has talked me into doing something I know better than to do. It's probably really stupid. And, really dangerous too. Well I have my required Krankenkasse card (national privatized insurance card) along ... I'll let you know what happened next. If I can. Monday, January 06, 2003
And Now ... I embark on my next series series blogging the umpteen days of Mardi Gras. Wait no ... STOP THE MADNESS.
Here in the German speaking lands, the Three Kings Day is a little more holy for the religously inclined. The carnival season, which is called Fastnacht follows its own calander and traditions which I haven't been able to fathom yet (and that changes from village to village), but it seems to have a little less to do with the three kings and Lent, and slightly more to do with the older forgotten traditions that pre-dated the arrival of Christianity in the rugged alps. (Not to say that the French/Cajun celebration isn't probably also rooted in older traditions - they just seem to be more completly subsumed into Christianity.) During the Fastnacht there's a Fastnacht cake - which is like a fallen sopapilla with cinnamon and sugar. But, like I said on Three Kings Day there's a King's Cake. Thanks to my co-worker Christian we had one in the office from Sprüngli's today. Bready, with a sugary glaze and a cinnamon/almond paste filling, it was almost like a tasty King Cake from Paul's Pastry back home. The colleagues from Graubunden complained our cake was a little too sweet. But that's just what the colleagues from New Orleans said about Paul's cake. See, I knew if we lived together long enough - we'd find common ground (obviously not neutral ground - which would not be common ground --- though you need a Cajun and a Swiss background to unravel that riddle ... )
Sunday, January 05, 2003
Saturday, January 04, 2003
On the Eleventh Day of Christmas... I missed a day of Christmas. But on that day I did eat lefse! Lefse is the Norwegian potato bread that's a light and tasty cross between a Mexican flour tortilla and a French crepe. At Christmas time my grandmothers (and sometimes my mother too) would bake up fresh lefse (it's no easy task) and we would eat them rolled into tight, soft, in-the-mouth-melting "flauta's" filled with butter, cinnamon and sugar! And that is about all my family remembers from the "old country".
Dear friend, and Norse goddess, Elisabeth brought me some "old country" lefse back from her home. It wasn't Grandmas' or Mom's, but it was a really special Christmas treat. Other Christmas treats this year: Mom (who is really an artist when it comes to good Christmas baking) sent (homemade) Chex-brand Cereal Mix and yummy chocolate-nut bars that I love. Nothing is more Christmas than baking from home. Friend, Ex-pat Pat, (a neighbor unawares in Dallas - I first met her at the next table in resturant in Kloten, Switzerland) who has just transferred to Geneva gave me a box of Cracker Jacks from the American commodities store there. What memories that box, complete with a little surprise inside, brought back. And as I already reported ... Dear Debra, and new friend (for me) Right-on Ruth, shared their Christmas Turkey and Dressing with me after I returned from the Matterhorn. A tasty Christmas is a good Christmas. Thursday, January 02, 2003
On the Ninth Day of Christmas ... I had a run-in with THE LAW, or THE LAW had a run in with me.
Today, hurricanes swept across Switzerland. Well they call them hurricanes here. I am not sure they would call them hurricanes on the Mississippi Coast, but they are ferocious storms that swoop down through the mountains into the valley uprooting trees and sometimes causing avalanches. The gusts measure around 70 MPH and wreak alot of havoc. Though I knew storms were forecast, I didn't realise they were on me when I set out for the tram shelter about four oclock in the afternoon to see a film. But, since I was drenched before I got half way there, I decided to turn around and sit the storm out at home. When I was walking back through the tunnel-like corridor that leads to my apartment courtyard and eventually to my door, another blast of wind kicked up and three clay flowers pots (and a plastic tray to hold flower pots) whistled past my ear, ruffled my jacket, and landed at my feet which needless to say scared me a bit. I figure I must have had some Christmas angels watching over my head. Well, hours past, the winds continued to rage, and at 10 o'clock at night (now warm and dry) there was a buzz at my door. Which I opened to find three of Zurich's finest policemen standing somewhat menacingly on the entrance. Behind them stood my downstairs neighbor - the one who is always losing his temper and making trouble for someone in the building - and a troublemaking looking friend of his. The police wanted to come in and inspect my balcony to see if a flower pot may have blown off. The somewhat crazy neighbor and his friend just looked angry. I did let one policeman in to inspect my balcony, while one of the others just wandered around my apartment - inspecting things - looking for trouble. I think I could have denied the police entry (they had no warrant - but actually I don't know what the law is regarding that), but then I would have looked like I had something to hide. And, I did have nothing to hide, but for a moment as the second officer surveyed my apartment intently (and as he spoke to his colleagues in a language I couldn't understand) I wondered what he might "find". The first policeman told me that a flower pot had blown off the balcony and made a small chip in the angry neighbors window. I explained as best I could how the neighbor's pots further down had blown down earlier almost hitting my head. None of the police were able (or willing) to speak English with me. And I tried to explain that a pot blowing off my balcony on the fifth story would surely have caused a lot more damage then a tiny tiny (as I verified later) chip in a window. (Indeed a pot blowing down from the second story would have likely caused more damage.) But the cop was dismissive - perhaps I realise looking back, he was only going through the motions after all, incredulous himself that the Angry Neighbor had called him out for this. After, the small mob left (and I realized that they didn't continue up and down the building questioning other neighbors) I phoned two of the neighbors to find that though the angry neighbor had buzzed their door and accused them of leaving pottery around, there were no police involved (and one neighbor said that the pot may have come from his balcony). When I realized a few minutes later that the neighbor was standing on the street shining a light up into my windows and that two of the police were still clustered around his car, I went downstairs. I made sure I had everyone's name and (where applicable) badge number and asked why they had singled me out. They lied and said they hadn't singled me out and had talked to every neighbor. But in fact I've verified with the rest of my neighbors that the angry neighbor brought the police directly to my door, and they seemed willing to be led to the only foreign name in my block of apartments, perhaps thinking that they wouldn't have much trouble from someone who couldn't answer back in complete sentances. Nothing more has come from it. And I doubt it will. But it gives me a little drama to report for you. The police were in the end doing there jobs so that the angry neighbor could file an insurance report. I'm just wondering why the police had to do their jobs late at night in my apartment. (Oh yeah, "the neighborhood watch" has their eye out on the angry neighbor now.) My theory as to what really happened? Pieces from the broken pot that almost hit my head (or one like it) found their way next to Anger Boy's car. Anger Boy realised it was an opportunity to make an insurance claim on the chip in his car window that came earlier from a rock in the road. And, the cops played along. Züri readers looking for the irony read on... Doonesbury by Garry Trudeau January 4, 2003 
linked from The uComics Web Site the self proclaimed "Best Comic Site In The Universe!" Wednesday, January 01, 2003
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I've attempted to leave this blog in the state it was in early 2006 as a historical artifact, but Google broke my original Archive page. What you see above is a quick reconstruction to rebuild some archive functionality
without altering the original blog layout (or researching too deeply into Blogspot).
Original Contents Copyright 2002 - J. Stephen Holyer. All Rights Reserved.
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