Here We Go Again Series pt 2: Dating Via The Ever-So-Bad Internet

Courtesy of Jay Dugger

How often have I heard statements about how bad the Internet was when it comes to meeting people! And as much as I understand these complaints – as that is usually what they are, no matter how detached the narrator is trying to sound – there is some clarification due here. Sometimes we want to meet people online, for purposes ranging from long-term partnerships to jogging or gym buddings to meaningless sexual hook-ups. You have probably heard a great deal of said rant yourself. You hear things like, “Everybody you meet on the Internet is fake, ten years older than their pictures, or gains 50 pounds on your way to their place!”

I've heard quite an amount of all that stuff, and met a wide variety of people whom I initially met online. Here are my 50 cents.


The Internet Is Fine

There is nothing wrong with the Internet. Do yourselves a favor and don't believe anybody telling you otherwise. If you do you will miss out on innumerable miracles. At this point, you might not believe me that miracles can happen “on the Internet”, and in a way, you're right. They don't happen on the technical backbone we call Internet but the connections you can make via Internet can easily qualify as such. All you need to do is allowing them to happen. You will think of my words when they happen to you.

Nobody will seriously want to argue that the Internet is the greatest network our planet has ever seen. When it comes to information, it bears possibilities you and I probably still don't imagine, but one thing has shown very clearly: Rather than being the source of all evil, the Internet is just a mirror image of what you probably call reality.

But
(You knew there was a but coming, didn't you?)

something strange must be going on when it comes to meeting people online, right? I can tell you have wanted to say something like, “But everybody is talking about 'online dates' (meeting people in 'real life' that you initially spoke to online) turning out all different than expected, and it's happened to me several times!”

And you're right. There is something different than when you meet somebody in “real life” for the first time. Sadly for us, it's ourselves that are not working properly. The Internet is perfectly fine; it has always done what it does, providing information.

If you are complaining about how different your hook-ups turn out when you meet them for real, it's you who has done something wrong. I've been there, numerous times.


What We Can Do About It

Alright, enough for the blaming. Let's deal with what we can do to enhance our experiences with the ever-so-bad Internet. If our perception is not working properly, what is wrong and what can we do to get the results we want?


Rule no. 1: Be aware of your altered perception!

Courtesy of crazy_foolish4u

When we meet somebody online, our perception is different than in “real life”. Yes, different, not worse! Claiming that on the Internet you have less information available is most of the time just not true. Actually, when you meet somebody online, especially when they're offering a profile of themselves, there are many ways to tell what somebody's like.

But first things first.

Regardless of the means of communication, you don't get to feel or smell the people you're encountering, and you only talk to them in very specific situations when you and they feel like it and have time for it. So it doesn't matter whether you contact each other via e-mail, online chat, webcam chat, phone, letter or any other media, you don't get to see the other person in his or her entirety. You are unlikely to see them in stressful situations, and you don't know how they act when they are with others (and there can be huge differences).

There are various aspects to meeting people online, and I'm not going to get into great detail here. However, there are some that are especially tricky.

One of these aspects, maybe the most essential one, are profile pictures. One should think that this is self-evident but we all have the tendency to forget, which is why I am telling you again.

On profile pictures, you only get to see others the way they want you to.

How often have I seen pictures in which a guy would have his arms folded, only to find out, looking really closely, that he is hiding his fat belly. Or consider the ten-years-old pictures or those that were taken when the guy had 30 pounds less. It doesn't matter whether somebody intentionally tricks you into dating him by making you believe he looks different, or whether he is just not aware of the interim change. Those disappointments are what people complain about. But really, if you readily believe everything you see and read in a profile, it's time for your alarm to go off. In photography, it's so easy to hide things about ourselves that we don't like. Pose questions, talk to him, have a closer look whether the pictures look like scans of analog photographs. If the latter is the case, ask yourself how long you haven't used an analog camera any more. Unless the guy you're talking to has a thing for analog photography (what are the odds for that!), this will be a pretty precise guess of how old they are.

Of course, there is hardly anything you can do when somebody is consciously lying to you. You and I probably agree that lying is the stupidest thing to do because the lie will show eventually, and you'll leave their place as soon as it does. I don't know why people do things like that but it happens. Apparently some get off on tricking people into coming to their place, even if they leave after discovering the lie.

But even when somebody lies, posing questions and evaluating whether what he's telling you can at all be true will do you good, probably. Luckily for you, there are only very few full-fledged liars out there, I have experienced. Sadly on the other hand, those few are the ones that will cause the biggest mess, and once you've been a target of one, your disappointment is likely to make you believe that everybody's like that. Most people, however, do not consciously lie, and the simple question of “How old are the pictures in your profile?” will tell you pretty precisely what relations you're dealing with.

Even when you talk to each other via webcam, no matter how good the image quality is, even the visuals are unlike any “real” image you get of a person. And again, when you talk to each other, both of you have taken the time to do that. Your “opponents” might be all different as soon as they hang up and talk to somebody else. We all play roles, all the time. Take that into consideration.

All this is different in a “real” date where you can use a variety of other senses that are not working on the Internet. Again, it's not because the Internet was evil but just because the types of information that you get so naturally in a “real” date, are not available.

To put the cherry on the top of my statement here, here's another thought for you.

Have you ever gotten to know somebody in “real life” first, considered him or her a very nice person at first, and later figured out aspects to him or her that aren't at all as nice as you initially thought? Well, what happens in those situations follows the same principle described here. When you've known somebody for a while you realize aspects that you didn't perceive at the beginning. They were very probably there right from the start but you just didn't see them back then. The same way, all the information about a person you meet online is available. You just need to find a way to retrieve it.


Rule no. 2: Figure out their agendas!

Courtesy of digikuva

So as if the online media alone wasn't giving you a hard time already, here's another factor that often allows for disappointment. The other person. Yes, you've spent all the effort on creating an online profile page for yourself, sending messages to people you don't know, and have overcome your hurdles to actually meet somebody for real. And here I am, telling you that probably the biggest problem you'll have when it comes to online dating, is the other person.

That's how it is, I'm sorry.

It is because people the information you get from people is often tainted or even a plain lie. Agendas are what makes people do all that, and everybody has one. I wrote about this in a more detailed article here but to spare you going through it at this point, I'll summarize it for you here.

Agendas are behavioral patterns that each and every one of us develop as the consequence of experiences. Being left by a partner without notice, negative comments about somebody's looks, or anything else you can think of, there are uncountable situations that contribute to our agendas. We are like little kids that burn their hands on the stove and subsequently avoid being burned the same way again. And frankly, if all that somebody's looking for is sex, he is going to do everything that he thinks will make you give him what he wants. That includes promises of calling you the next day to go out for dinner. No wonder Jim Sullivan advises his readers in "Boyfriend 101" not to have sex on the first three dates.

Agendas are most of the time followed unconsciously, and most people don't even know they have one at all. So blaming others for following their agenda is not only useless because they are probably unaware of it, but also unfair because, believe me, you're doing it, too. Complaining about how evil everybody is to you is the least bit of help.

When it comes agendas in online dating, all that you can reasonably do is figuring out what agenda you're currently dealing with. This can be an enormously difficult and sometimes complex process, not only because some of us, like myself, don't always have a very reliable empathy system running, but also because figuring out an agenda always requires knowing what the person has gone through in his or her life. The more you know about the person, the more likely you are to see the underlying behavioral patterns that form their agenda. How else are you going to find out why somebody has a problem with your being HIV-positive, unless you know that he lost a partner because of AIDS and decided he'll never want an HIV-positive partner again?

By the way, the only way to lessen your own agenda is becoming aware of it and opening yourself to behavior that is contrary to it. And as much as I would love to ridden others of their agenda, everybody needs to work on their own agenda. All that we can do for others is providing a stable foundation, an asylum if you will, so that they have support when they're not feeling well.

And it just won't stop becoming more difficult.

Even if you've had a fair amount of practice in figuring out agendas, and think that you can figure out some people because their agenda is similar to what you already know, others are so different that you might doubt your senses.

The problem is that from one person to another, agendas can vary so greatly that unless you develop a very sophisticated intuition, you're likely to get lost and frustrated faster than the iPhone was sold out when it first hit the shops. As much as I would love to assure you that you will never be hurt on the Internet as it is merely a source of information that can never cause pain, that would be a plain lie. The encounters you can get into via Internet are generally not the slightest bit nicer than those you experience anywhere else. It's people that you meet, after all, and people can be everything from the most adorable sweethearts to the most low-down assholes. Quite frankly, because of the difference in perception via Internet, you're even more likely to run into assholes than into sweethearts, I am sorry to say. And yet, please confide in your intuition. The more open you are to new aspects, the less likely you are to get hurt.

This problem, however, is likely to be what some people experience and what makes them quit online dating altogether. An understandable yet sad and unnecessary consequence.

---

Now, having read all this, do you think this article has provided you with an idea what to do about online dating that might help you? I'm eager to hear your opinions.

Merry Christmas

My dear friends,

All the presents are bought and wrapped, some of them already given. Groceries for the upcoming holidays are bought; Amalia is on her way to the Frankfurt airport to fly to Istanbul over the holidays; christmas cards are sent.

My family is in the Caribbean, so there is nobody I am supposed to celebrate the holidays with. The upcoming days are going to be very quiet for me.

Every one of you whom I haven't had the chance to wish merry christmas or, for the "politically correct" of you, happy holidays, I am hoping to you reach here. Have yourselves and everybody you love some peaceful days, enjoy the last exspiration of the year, and allow 2009 to make a very special dream of yours come true!

Here We Go Again Series pt 1: Why I Am Single

Courtesy of adam_is_on_flickr

Introductory Note

If you're reading this because you asked me why I was single and I gave you the link to this article, ask yourself whether you really want to know or only said it because you wanted to give me a compliment. If the latter is the case, don't bother reading on.

Everybody else go ahead.

"Why is a gorgeous man like you single?" Have you been asked this? Well I have, numeous times, actually. After the first few times it's not flattering any more because at some point I realized that there must actually be a reason why I'm single.

Please spare me comments about how deceited I am. When somebody says the above-mentioned to me, it really says more about him than it does about me. I like hearing that I'm attractive, just like everybody else, but that's where it ends.

What I'm sharing with you here is my side of the story. It's subjective, regardless of how objectively I'm trying to put it. Share your opinions with me! I want to take this as an opportunity to grow, through and with you.


Initial Thoughts

So why don't I have a partner? So many people do, having invested a lot less effort in it than I have. Why do they have partners while I don't? Aren't I made for a relationship? Am I too restless for a relationship? Too set in my ways or, to put it in other words, "just an asshole"? Afraid of intimacy? Do the "candidates" feel that I'd never be ready to settle down for anybody?


I don't want a relationship for a relationship's sake.

I see various relationships that are, well, not seeming to work out, and I call myself happy not to have what they have. The majority of their problems arises from a lack of communication, and deal with dishonesty and, essentially, the loss of trust. Some people start having sex with others behind their partner's back, some bitch at each other, try to spy on and control each other, and so on.

In short, they make both their lives miserable.
My focus, however, is to make my partner's -- and my -- life better, not worse.


Older men are afraid of being unattractive to me.

To start off making things complicated for myself, I like a very specific type of men. Very specific. Part of my focus is that I like them considerably older. Around fifteen years is ideal to me usually although I have seen big deviations from that, in both directions. My partners, however, have always been something between fifteen and twenty years older.

That alone wouldn't be so bad if age difference wasn't a problem for them. Yes, for them. If you're into older men as well, I'm not telling you anything exciting here but if you're not, this might actually be something new to you.

Age is a huge issue especially in the gay scene. Maturing has never been an issue for me. I understand how people can be afraid of aging and, ultimately, dying but I've never perceived men as being a certain age. Age doesn't matter to me. When I like somebody or find somebody hot, it's never connected to age. Then he's attractive, period. Why would anyone find somebody "hot for his age"? What condescending crap is that.

But of course there is an underlying fear that I have to deal with every time I approach an older man. Some years ago I used to hear, "I could be your father." As I turned 30, the sentence seemed to change into, "Have you thought about how it'd be in twenty years? Then you'll be 50 while I'll be 70!"

Their fear of becoming unattractive with age is apparent, and you can tell that they're thinking, "And what do I do when you break up with me when I'm 70? I'll never find a partner again!" And even if that was true, what makes them think that with a partner at equal age, this couldn't happen to them? Both of them being stuck in the same boat? Like fear was a good basis for any type of relationship.

I strongly believe in the power of now. Now is the time, and even a lifetime companionship of any type really consists of tons of now moments. If you enjoy your relationsihp every moment as it comes, why of all the things that can go wrong in a relationship would I break up with somebody because of his looks in twenty years? The odds of that are so slim that it seems very odd that anybody would think that, for a reason other than his regular fear of aging and dying.

Please be aware that unless you mentally open yourself to others, when you meet them, you really only meet yourself. Your own perception and thoughts turn everything into what you know already. When they say something, it's really you who's interpreting their sentences to be offensive or caring, kind or malevolent. By not allowing others to show us different dimensions and thereby to widen our horizons, we prevent ourselves from growing. I am confident that this is the main reason why older men think that age difference will cause problems in a long-term relationship. They probably also used to mock older men when they were younger, and now they have a hard-enough time bearing the burden of thinking they're old and unworthy of love themselves.

When you're into younger men -- and really, you have to be in order to have a relationship with me -- you probably have a huge problem in understanding how somebody could like you, the older man. My partner therefore needs to be somebody who's confident and understanding enough to feel that it's just the opposite for me. I just like older guys and couldn't have a relationship with somebody ten years younger than me. That's how it has always been.


Many cannot deal with differences and the related insecurity.

Age is not the only thing that can be different and cause problems, of course. There are tons of things that can, and probably will, be different when two people come together for whatever reason, even more so when they're of different ages.

You see, I love differences. Different ages and backgrounds show especially clearly when you talk about childhood music, your favorite movies and TV series at the time etc.. You used to listen to Carole King or the Andrew Sisters while I couldn't stop dancing to Michael Jackson and Samantha Fox. But for me, different doesn't equal bad, like it does for many. Quite the opposite, if you can show me a different corner of the world, introduce me to a new cuisine, type of music, philosophy, or anythinig else that moves you, I'm happy to dive into it. All this is going to contribute to a worldliness that I will love you even more for.

What's going to determine most of all whether a relationship is going to work out is really the interest in and readiness to deal with differences, with contrast, if you will. When people look for partners as similar to themselves as possible, what's really going on is that they're trying to avoid insecurity by staying in their cozy cocoon. If difference bothers you, this is usually a clear sign that you're busy with yourself and have no potential left to deal with anybody else. The following chapter about fear of intimacy is probably right up your alley then.

Courtesy of PieterMusterd

I have been insecure in various situations in my life but in contrast to many others, I see the potential that it brings. If the opportunity arose and if it felt right, I would accept a job on the other side of the world and move there. So when I talk to you and you're in Spain, California or even New South Wales, don't give me none of that "You're so far away" shit. When there's a will, there's a way. I've seen miracles happen.

Actually, speaking of miracles, here's another thought for you.

If you want to be my partner, you need to believe in the power of miracles. Whatever makes people think that miracles don't happen. To me, it's the other way around. If miracles don't happen, something's wrong.


Fear Of Intimacy And Lack Of Communication

Another hugely problematic factor for me has been people's fear of intimacy. As obvious as it is, no relationship is going to work out unless you trust each other. If you want to be my partner, there cannot be any secrets. None, you understand? If we can't deal with anything and everything that's on our minds, no matter how embarrassed we are of it, no matter how bad we feel about having done something, no matter how badly we want these memories to go away, then our relationship is going to be unhealthy from the start, it will eventually die and rot inside.

We need to talk to each other. If we don't, we will rather spend time aside of each other. That's not an achievable goal for me, and neither should be for anyone else.

Also, quite a number of people I know have don't-ask-don't-tell relationships, especially when it comes to having sex with others. What only extremely few people realize is that sex itself is never "the problem". Sex is just sex. It's like playing cards, going to the movies, or even working on a project together, really. What makes things problematic is the loss of trust in the partner that's almost always involved when a relationship is "opened". The partnership, however, is not suffering because of the sex but because of the implicit declaration that the partners are not willing to deal with each other any more. They open their relationship to the outside but close it to the partner. There's a break-up waiting to happen. You're not dealing with whether you're going to stay together any more; it's just a question of when and how to break up.

I need a partner who talks about what's bothering him, no matter what it is, and especially when something's not feeling well. If you wanted to have sex with somebody else while you're with me, I'd want to know. Not to control you but to be closer to you. How that makes sense, you ask? It's so easy, really. Whenever you want something like that, there is a driving desire in you, and as your partner, I want to know what it is because I want to help you and get closer to you again. Yes, I want to support you because that's what partners do. I will actually do my best to help you, even if you're about to do something that might cause a lot of regret. I do that because I know that I'm yet better off if you speak to me about it, and that you're going to do it no matter whether I have been understanding or not. Not in this very case maybe, I give you that, but I don't really care when it happens. Your urge itself is reason enough to deal with something that's keeping you busy.

I have had people assure me that they'd talk to me no matter what, but later on just didn't. It probably doesn't have anything to do with bad intentions. They just couldn't talk about their feelings. The only advantage to that is that as soon as the relationship was over, I was rid of the problem.

To round off my point, I assure you that in my relationships or during or after break-ups, there has/have never been any

• lying
• dirty laundry
  
• claiming back gifts
• broken dishes.
  

Attracting The Insecure

In the past years I have spent quite an effort on overcoming my fears, especially of insecurity. You know what happens when you do that? You get over them eventually. Yeah, big insight, I know.

And you know what happens when you get over your fears? They don't bother you any more. It's like not lying any more. All of a sudden you don't have to pay attention any more to what you told whom, who may not meet whom where, and so on. You've run free to use all this energy that you spent on nurturing your fears, avoiding the pertaining situations, and pushing away people and places that you connect with them.

Sounds good, huh? Here comes the problem.

As you start noticing mechanisms people use to make themselves and others miserable, you act accordingly and let people know what behavior and rules are acceptable for you, and which ones aren't. Some people, probably most of all the insecure, will call you arrogant and stuck in your ways. Don't blame them; they don't know the difference.

What then happens is that, following the Law of Resonance that basically states that birds of a feather (or that like your feather) flock together, you then start running into people who are astounded by the now natural security you radiate. The combination of your loving-kindness and yet determination not to be trapped in old patterns, fascinates them. You seem like the guidance to them that they've been looking for for so long. You will almost inevitably start meeting more and more insecure people, sometimes with a huge lack of self-esteem.

That alone wouldn't be a problem really for me. Actually, I would love to give support to my partner so that he'd be able to deal with what's bothering him. The problem starts with the insecure seeing you as their problem-solver. They don't notice that you can never solve their problems. You can never be the answer; you can only provide help. But instead of taking your hand on their path to solving their problems, they expect you to do it. Surprised to see that relationship running into a dead end?

Interestingly enough, I have seen long-term relationships in which both partners equally avoided their fears aside of each other. My initial suspicion that they would break every minute now, was not confirmed. My guess is that there is an underlying fear so big that it actually welds them together. Judging from what I've seen and heard, it must be the fear of loneliness and of insecurity that's achieving this. At times it can be very odd to see how partners treat each other according to such a scheme. The fights, however, seem to come up when one of the partners starts dealing with his fears while the other one doesn't. In those cases arguments are very likely to unsettle the relationship, and eventually strangle it until one of the partners runs out of breath.


Ill-Matching Agendas

Another one of the most essential problems of relationships occurs when partners look for different things in a relationship, and in life, really. If only one of them wants to live in the country while the other is a big-city person, if only one of them wants to live together, travel to Paris, or move abroad, likes heavy curtains, air conditioning or inviting a lot of friends for dinners, this alone can be a heavy load to bear. And chances are that you will find things to be problematic whereof you never thought they could be. For example, once I noticed that my partner wanted to be guided and treated as the inferior part. Obviously I would've had a hard time treating him like that, since I was fifteen years younger. But even if that roleplay had been possible I would've lead an unhealthy relationship.

Courtesy of vqm8383

My partner must meet me at eye height. I don't want him to be inferior or superior; either we are equal partners giving each other love, stability and support, or it's not going to work. As self-confident as you (and I) might think I am, I need to be able to have my weak moments when I need your support, just like I give it to you at other times.


Men in my area are generally not my type.

Are you one of those who find all sorts of men attractive? Tall or short, thick or thin, muscled or lean, big or small cock or ass, hairy or smooth, facial hair or not, blond or dark-haired, tattoos or piercings, it all doesn't matter?

Good for you. I mean it. You have all the possibilities in the world.

I am the opposite. And actually, the men in my area -- Düsseldorf -- are almost always too smooth, too blond, have no facial hair, not enough masculine facial features etc.. Most of them fly so far under my radar that I don't even notice when they eye me. In that regard, it's like they didn't exist. Düsseldorf is horrible really, I tell you.

If you feel like bringing on a ramble about how superficial I am, go ahead, do it. I've heard it various times before, and I'm fine with hearing it again and again. It won't change anything though because I never chose my type. It's always been what it is now. The chances of that to change are extremely slim.


Inability To Take The Right Steps

Any relationship has to be like a dance. It follows rules, and both partners need to keep the right distance, not too much and not too little. Too much distance would end the dance while being too close would cause the partners to step on each other's feet.

Really, taking the right steps at the right time is essential for any relationship, and some people just don't seem to get it. The problem is, obviously, if you don't take one (the appropriate) step at a time, you're likely to get nowhere. Don't make the mistake of thinking that your relationship has worked for so long that you don't have to pay attention any more. As rewarding as it can be, and as much practice as you and your partner might have at dancing together, every relationship demands and deserves attention, always. Even long-term relationships never stop needing your attention, and if that feels like a burden to you instead of savoring the reward you receive with every breath you take next to your partner, you might consider getting off the dancefloor.

But let's go back to the situation I'm in now, being single.

With many people I never get beyond chatting online because they don't seem to be interested. That alone is not a problem. If you're not interested, you're just not interested, fine. As thankful as I am for a short note that somebody's not interested, as clearly I know that most of the time I don't get one. The most explicit things are in the unspoken words, and I can live with that.

I am confident, however, that a lot of people make a major mistake in thinking that finding the right moment for actions is essential. They put things off and give me all sorts of excuses and justifications why right now they don't feel like chatting via webcam or phone, or getting together for a drink. Some might actually think that one day things will work out better.

The truth is, however, that there is never a better moment than now, and, again, there is no need for excuses. If you have no time for me now, chances are you also won't in the future, maybe for nobody else either. If you don't feel like getting to know me now, you probably never will. If you have sex with me behind your partner's back, I am not naive enough to think that if we ever become partners, you won't do that with somebody else behind my back as well. And if you don't have space for somebody else in your life, God save the poor soul that's going to fall into the trap of believing that you'll be different any time soon, in a year, or ever, for that matter. Watch out, the things that both excite and bother us are always there from the first moment on, no matter whether you meet online or in person. It's really up to us to perceive them, and I admit that I sometimes don't.

Now, considering how rarely I find somebody attractive, it shouldn't be hard to understand that whenever I actually do, my key stimuli are having a party like it's 1999. When I get a "Wow, you're hot!" from a man I find sexy, my knees occasionally start shaking and I become so insecure that I say the stupidest things, and then I'm also easily disappointed when my chat partner doesn't reflect my enthusiasm. That's my problem; let's keep it that way.

However, now is the time to do it, even if "it" is only a five-minute phone call or webcam chat, or agreeing on an appointment to do either.

---

So, are you ready to dance with me, doing one step at a time, interesting in what's awaiting you and us wherever we're going to go?

Die Geschichte von Auskunft bitte

The story I am about to write down in German here I found here. I found it to be extremely touching, and I read this to my office colleagues yesterday during our Christmas dinner.

Now I'll continue in German.

Meine lieben Freunde,
die folgende Geschichte habe ich hier gefunden und gestern im Büro während unserer Weihnachtsfeier vorgelesen. Sie hat mich sehr berührt, und ich möchte Sie euch nicht vorenthalten.

Die Geschichte von Auskunft bitte

Als ich noch sehr jung war, hatte mein Vater eins der ersten Telefone in der Nachbarschaft. Ich erinnere mich deutlich an den altmodischen polierten Holzkasten an der Wand. Der glänzende Hörer war an der Seite des Kastens. Ich war damals zu klein, um an das Telefon zu kommen, aber ich fand es immer faszinierend, wenn meine Mutter sich damit unterhielt.

Mir wurde schnell klar, dass eine tolle Person in diesem wundervollen Gerät wohnen musste. Ihr Name war „Auskunft bitte“, und sie wusste einfach alles. Auskunft bitte konnte jedermanns Telefonnummer sagen und wusste immer die richtige Zeit.

Meine persönliche Erfahrung mit diesem Geist aus der Wunderlampe kam eines Tages, als meine Mutter gerade eine Nachbarin besuchte. Ich hatte mich an der Werkbank im Keller zu schaffen gemacht und schlug mir mit einem Hammer mit einem Mal übel auf den Finger. Es tat furchtbar weh, aber zu weinen war sinnlos, weil niemand zu Hause war, der mich hätte in den Arm nehmen können. Ich lief im Haus hin und her, den pochenden Finger im Mund, bis ich an der Treppe ankam. Das Telefon!

Ich schnappte mir hastig den Hocker aus dem Wohnzimmer und zog ihn zum Telefon herüber. Dann kletterte ich darauf, nahm den Hörer von der Gabel und hielt ihn an mein Ohr. „Auskunft bitte“, sagte ich in das Mundstück über meinem Kopf. Ein Klick oder zwei, und eine leise klare Stimme sprach in mein Ohr.

„Auskunft.“ -- „Mein Finger tut weh“, jammerte ich ins Telefon, und jetzt, wo mir jemand zuhörte, kamen die Tränen sofort.
„Ist deine Mutter nicht zu Hause?“, kam es zurück. „Niemand ist zu Hause außer mir“, plärrte ich.
„Blutest du?“, fragte die Stimme. „Nein“, antwortete ich, „ich hab mir mit dem Hammer auf den Finger gehauen, und das tut so weh.“
„Kannst du den Tiefkühlschrank aufmachen?“, fragte sie. Ich sagte, das könnte ich. „Dann klopf ein bisschen von dem Eis ab und halt das auf deinen Finger“, sagte die Stimme.

Danach rief ich Auskunft bitte für alles Mögliche an. Ich bat sie um Hilfe mit meinen Erdkunde-Hausaufgaben, und sie sagte mir wo Philadelphia war. Sie half mir mit Mathe und sagte mir, dass das Streifenhörnchen, das mir am Tag vorher zugelaufen war, Früchte und Nüsse aß.

Dann irgendwann starb unser Kanarienvogel Petey. Ich rief Auskunft bitte an und erzählte ihr die traurige Geschichte. Sie hörte ruhig zu und sagte dann, was Erwachsene Kindern eben so erzählen, um sie zu trösten. Aber das half nicht, und so fragte ich sie: „Warum singen Vögel denn dann so schön und bringen allen Familien Freude, wenn sie doch irgendwann als Haufen Federn auf dem Käfigboden enden?“

Sie muss meine tiefe Enttäuschung gespürt haben; denn sie sagte mit ruhiger Stimme: „Wayne, denk immer daran, dass es auch andere Welten gibt, in denen sie singen müssen.“
Ich fühlte mich irgendwie besser.

Irgendwann später rief ich wieder Auskunft bitte an. „Auskunft“, kam es von der vertrauten Stimme. Ich fragte: „Wie buchstabiert man 'fix'?“

Das alles passierte in einer Kleinstadt im Nordwesten der USA. Als ich neun Jahre alt war, zogen wir nach Boston. Ich vermisste meine Freundin sehr. Auskunft bitte gehörte in die alte Holzkiste im alten Haus, und ich dachte irgendwie nie daran, das mit dem neuen glänzenden Telefon auszuprobieren, das auf dem Tisch in der Diele stand.

Meine Erinnerungen an meine Unterhaltungen mit Auskunft bitte verließen mich auch nicht, als ich in die Pubertät kam. Sehr oft, wenn ich verzweifelt oder ratlos war, erinnerte ich mich an das heitere Gefühl von Sicherheit, das ich damals gehabt hatte. Erst da begann ich zu schätzen, wie geduldig, verständnisvoll und lieb sie gewesen war, ihre Zeit mit einem kleinen Jungen zu verbringen.

Ein paar Jahre später, auf dem Weg nach Westen zur Uni, hatte ich eine Zwischenlandung in Seattle mit etwa eineinhalb Stunden Aufenthalt. Ich hatte gerade fünfzehn Minuten oder so mit meiner Schwester gesprochen, die da zu der Zeit lebte, und ohne nachzudenken wählte ich die Nummer des Operators meiner Heimatstadt und sagte: „Auskunft bitte.“

Wie durch ein Wunder hörte ich die leise klare Stimme, die ich so gut kannte: „Auskunft.“
Ich hatte das nicht geplant, aber ich sagte wie ferngesteuert: „Könnten Sie mir bitte sagen, wie man 'fix' buchstabiert?“

Es folgte eine lange Pause. Dann kam die Antwort sehr weich: „Dein Finger müsste jetzt verheilt sein, oder?“
Ich lachte: „Dann sind Sie es wirklich! Wissen Sie eigentlich, wie viel Sie mir damals bedeutet haben?“ Sie antwortete: „Ich frage mich, ob Sie wissen, wie viel mir dieser Anruf bedeutet. Ich hatte nie Kinder und habe mich damals immer so auf Ihre Anrufe gefreut.“
Ich erzählte ihr, wie oft ich in all den Jahren an sie gedacht hatte, und fragte, ob ich sie wieder anrufen dürfte, wenn ich meine Schwester wieder besuchen käme. „Ja, bitte tun Sie das!“, sagte sie, „Fragen Sie nach Sally.“

Drei Monate später war ich wieder in Seattle, aber eine andere Stimme meldete sich, als ich anrief: „Auskunft.“ Ich fragte nach Sally. „Sind Sie ein Freund von ihr?“, fragte die Stimme. „Ja“, sagte ich, „ein sehr alter Freund.“

„Es tut mir Leid, Ihnen das sagen zu müssen.“, kam es zurück, „Sally hat in den vergangenen Jahren nur noch Teilzeit hier gearbeitet, weil sie krank war. Sie ist vor fünf Wochen gestorben.“
Bevor ich auflegen konnte, sagte die Stimme: „Warten Sie bitte. Sind Sie Wayne?“
„Ja“, antwortete ich. „Sally hat Ihnen eine Nachricht hinterlassen. Sie hat sie aufgeschrieben für den Fall, dass Sie anrufen. Ich lese Sie Ihnen vor. Die Nachricht lautet: 'Sagen Sie ihm, dass es andere Welten gibt, in denen sie singen müssen. Er wird verstehen, was ich meine.“

Ich dankte ihr und legte auf. Ich wusste, was Sally meinte.

Unterschätze niemals die Wirkung, die du auf andere hast.

Wessen Leben hast du heute berührt?

Prop 8: Another of the US's confessions of failure

Same-sex marriage has been a huge issue in the US for a long time, for a reason I have never understood. I will spare you details on why I think it's stupid to be against it, not only although but when you're heterosexual. Instead, I will let Wanda Sykes, one of my favorite comedians who is also responsible for the "Turd in car" prank call that some of you might remember, do all the talking.



In California, same-sex marriage used to be legal. Used to be. It's not any more now after Proposition 8 on an amendment to the Californian constitution has passed. This proposition was essentially meant to take gays' right to marry away. When I was in San Diego I saw the movement, the struggling, I saw all the helpers and enthusiasts, and frankly, I never took it into serious consideration that Prop 8 would pass. Never. It was just too stupid and ignorant to pass, especially in a progressive state like California.

My fellow human-beings, Prop 8 has passed. And again, instead of listening to me rambling about why it is stupid beyond comprehension, I will leave you with a comment that the noble Keith Olbermann recently gave on MSNBC.



Thank you, Mr Olbermann. In times like this, with your people being ignorant and resistant to any sort of reason, I personally bow down to your enthusiasm and courage.

We all owe you. Big time.
And by "we" I mean everybody with a brain and heart that still work.

The Girls At The Gym Hate Us Now

Only one week has passed since Amalia and I decided to lose weight. While yesterday morning I had 1.6kg less than a week before, this morning I was back up to 89.4kg, making the difference only 300 grams. It's a continuous up and down. [sigh]

We knew we had to do crazy shit to do lose weight. And we have started, last Monday, at the gym.

Amalia told me a body styling course was up at 7:30 last Monday and that she was going, so I planned accordingly and did weights beforehand. Being at it I noticed, however, that actually it was up at 8:30. The course at 7:30 was an aerobic class. "Aerobic I", it said on the plan, so it was neither the beginners' course nor the super-advanced one where you have to have mastered every move. Having done body styling and some aerobic moves before, I thought I could easily handle it. The world is not enough, right?

So we decided to do aerobic. As we stood in position I noticed that the only other men in the course were two gay guys. It was a course full of girls, and yet I didn't suspect anything. On the contrary, I was standing in first line with Amalia. Beginners should be in the first row so that they learn, right?

So the course started, and very soon we discovered that we did not know all the moves. Actually, some of them were way beyond our capacity. The teacher threw nothing but mono- or bisyllabic words at us, most of which seemed to be clear instructions for everybody, just not for us.

The girls kept going in perfect patterns, it seemed, while at some point Amalia and I started tumbling around like love childs of drunk village idiots and stranded whales. A couple of times I must have almost run into one of the girls next to me who had decided to move into a different direction than I. That bitch.

However, when I asked Amalia somewhere in the middle of the one-hour course whether she wanted to leave, she dismissed, "Nah, we've already made complete idiots of ourselves and annoyed everybody. I'm staying."

That's the spirit!
So we stayed.

The two gay guys actually made me a compliment when the course was over. And I even think that for my first time I didn't do such a bad job.

Too bad nobody appreciated our performance as our first.
But we will be back, harder than ever.

The world will have to deal with us.

The American People Has Done Good

"How'r'you doin'?" -- "I'm doin' good." -- "No, Superman does good. You are doing well."

Having quoted from the first season of 30Rock, I am now able to proceed to the important part of this blog entry.

With all my heart, I commend the American people on its taste and clarity with which it expressed its wish to see Obama as its new president. Thank you for not letting the old man and the beauty queen from the 80s rule your country. Eight years of simian presidency have apparently shaken even a part of the not so educated population in the US so much that the time has come for change.

As far as I have been able to experience, Barack Obama is not only able to speak complete and correct sentences but also has a potent vice president at his side and is able to move the people. I know because when I watched his 21-hours-before-the-election speech in Virginia, I was moved, and I am not the least into politics.

Thank you, American people, for your confidence that Obama is the right president for you this time, because

• the old man and Ms I-want-county-sheriffs-to-deal-with-things-they-have-never-understood are not up for the job,
• they would convey an ultimately wrong message to the rest of the world,
• they would fuck everything up even more than any other president ever did before,
• Obama is black and already therefore personifies the message of change,
  
• he knows his material better,
• he is interested in what he does, and finally because
  
• this outcome prevents all my dear American gay friends from moving out of the US.

Please do not argue with me about how much Obama doesn't know what he's doing. I've heard a lot of that. And you might be right; I truthfully don't know much about politics. However, I heartfully agree with an acquaintance of mine from California who knows a lot about especially American politics when he says that Obama has collected a lot of votes from minorities, i.e. the black, for wrong reasons, most of all because he is black. I want him to do a good job, not be professionally black. His skin color is an indicator that the American people is moving, not that he is going to do his job well. And obviously he can wear other colors than Bush but that goes without saying, almost.

But one thing is obvious here. It was the right thing for Obama to become president, for whatever reason. Please, Mr. Obama, lead the US and the rest of the world that depends on the health of the American economy out of this crisis and do the job that you have risen to do.

Peace of Insight, Part 1:Everybody Has An Agenda

Do you sometimes wonder why people do crazy things? Do you have friends, colleagues or acquaintances whose behavioral patterns you don't understand? Then this article might give you a useful insight.

Do you watch House M.D.? The leading character in this show, Gregory House, has a basic rules that says, everybody lies. This piece of wisdom helps him solve a number of his cases, figuring out that patients lied about their medication, eating habits or sexual escapades. Good for him. You should keep this in mind, I recommend. Please don't assume that everybody lies all the time though. Not only is that not true but karma dictates that by doing so, you will concentrate on the wrong type of people who actually do lie more than others. Not a good idea if you ask me.


Why People Do What They Do

Anyway, I wasn't satisfied to know that people lie and do things that you and I would never even consider considering. I wanted to know why all that happens.

I have met a vast number of people in my life, through all sorts of occasions from short meaningless dates to sex-driven online-hook-ups, to periods of being a devoted tourist host, to summer vacations in the US that lead both to some of my best friendships and troublesome encounters that while at it, I wished I didn't have to endure. Encounters have made me laugh and cry, sometimes both. Saying good-bye has been very easy at times and extremely difficult at others. Among the people I have met have been men from all over the world, from celebrities to guys next door, from ultimately sexy men to those that flew under my radar, those I considered just right to fuck their lights out to those I wanted to be lifetime friends with.

An important factor in encountering others is our vulnerability, our openness to new things, our love for contrast. If we are afraid of insecurity we are likely to rather soothe our own fears than to be open for what's generously offered to us right then, right there. Every situation in which you feel uncomfortable and deal with although there is no way out, will soften your heart and ease your mind.

In all these encounters I have learned why people do the things they do. It is because everybody has an agenda.


What Agendas Are

Agendas are our behavioral pendant to our fears.

We all are afraid of something, and we all yearn for love and affirmation, protection or security, sometimes all of the above. That's why we strive for something. If everything was perfect nobody would accomplish anything. And why should they? Things are already perfect.

But sadly, agendas are by far not only responsible for our positive achievements. Much rather, they make us do everything that involves (even subconscious) feelings, from giving the most beautiful presents to taking our moods on to others, denying the most obvious facts, sliding into devastating debts, lying, cheating on people we like, saying the ugliest things, stealing, hurting others physically and mentally, and all the other things I forgot to mention. You know what I'm talking about.


How Agendas Are Created

As agendas are caused by fears, there are vast numbers of situations that can cause or contribute to our agendas. Although I am not an expert in this area and although I am at this point unable to refer to studies to prove or support my point, one thing seems rather obvious to me. Our childhood is a huge factor in the creation of our agendas, not because our parents were such bad people but simply because we came to face most of our fears when we were kids. The fear of being abandoned, of not being loved, of doing wrong things, or countless other things, all of them are so deeply rooted that unless we have a concrete reason to work on them (e.g. because we fall back to them in our adult relationships), we might be completely unaware of them.

But only our imagination limits the situations that can lead to fear, which again leads to the alteration of our agendas. Were you mocked at school because you were fat or stingy, or scored low at tests? Were you turned down by somebody you wanted to be together so badly that you couldn't sleep? Did you abuse drugs or fall into other addictions, resulting on rapid loss of social status or friends? Do you hate your body for any reason? Are you unhappy at your job; do you even think you're worthless because you didn't reach a level of education that all your friends have? Do you consider yourself poor or lonely? Have you ever felt judged unfairly? Do you have the feeling that no matter what you do, you always fuck it up?

The possibilities are endless even though they usually circle around a core of experiences that's often similar in several people.

Most of us have no clue what our agenda is or even that it exists. Agendas are so deeply rooted in and defended by our subconscious that we need to dig equally deeply to become aware of them. Yet we all follow them. It is everyone's own decision to change their agenda but unless we do, we are like puppets.


How To Detect Somebody's Agenda

Knowing everything I have written so far doesn't help if you just don't know what somebody's agenda is. Truth is that in order to understand what's going on with somebody, we need to know him or her fairly well. When you're lost for an explanation why somebody does something, you're probably missing important facts. However, the more similar somebody's agenda is to yours the more apparent it will be for you. Whenever we want to understand how we tick, we basically need to contemplate others, and when it comes to understanding others, it helps a lot to be mindful of your own motives and behavior, your own agenda.

If you need help figuring out your agenda there are several possibilities for you. Some people ask friends or parents, some write diary, some others again meditate. I have found all of these methods to be useful in one situation or another but be assured, no matter what you do to find out what your agenda is, you're doing a lot more than the vast majority.

However, one way has proved to be especially efficient.

I call it the mirroring technique. Have somebody mirror your fears back to you. Have them ask specific questions and state concrete moments at which you fall back into your agenda. The biggest problems with this are that you will need somebody who is – at least up to a certain point – aware of your agenda, which practically means that he has to be an agenda that in some parts equals yours.

An example of my past:

Not too long ago I was talking to a man I was visiting in California. He was extremely sexy, and I had looked forward to meet him for months. However, having arrived there I noticed that he wasn't at all happy about my being there because he felt under a huge amount of pressure, having invited me over to come to California and then “turning me down”. This caused a huge amount of discontentment in me, not only because I felt bad for being his cause of pressure but, much rather, because no matter what I did, this handsome man would just not let me get closer to him. I felt rejected, which is one of my biggest fears, if not the biggest one.

The talkative and open-hearted person that I am, I talked openly about this part of my agenda. I told him that I had done several things in the previous days not only – but also – because I wanted him to like me. From the way he talked it was obvious that this part of me resonated in him. He just knew too well what was going on in me. The most interesting part for me was that he actually had understood so well that at one point he said, “See? You're doing it again!”

I'm sure he rather meant to support his own point in that situation than to help me get an important insight into myself, but it helped a lot to be told openly.

The week I spent in close contact with him taught me a lot. Dealing with my own fears has made them shrink, and I look back on my unpleasant periods in life as my biggest chances to grow.
The stronger somebody's agenda, the less likely we are to meet him instead of his behavioral patterns that work around his fears.


Please Do Not Call Agendas Issues

A lot of people have a different name for agendas. They call them issues, and when I listen closely to people talk especially in the gay scene in the US, I get the impression that everybody has huge ones.

While I'm sure most of us have things to work on that you might actually call “issues”, the way the word is usually used conveys both a momentous judgment of others and a dangerous self-contentment and -deceit. It's always the others who have issues, you think, never you. Too bad that depending on whom you ask, “the others” includes you.

Please do yourself a favor and refrain from using a word that mainly aims to judge others. We all have fears that we should work on. As soon as you judge others instead, what you are doing is merely another part of your way to deal with your own fears, another part of your agenda.

Everybody has an agenda.
Be mindful next time.

The Sweater Girl and The Tank

You must know, my roommate Amalia and I cannot live without a common goal. Silently having abandoned our efforts to score by visiting yet unknown cities (capitals or those with at least 500,000 inhabitants), we noticed that we had something in common that called for immediate action.

We had both become fat in the past year.

Certainly, neither she nor I have been slim in decades. The last time she looked slim, she was twelve and appeared on Cameroon TV in a show called “Keep fit”. As soon as she came to Germany at the age of fifteen, her grandparents made her eat so much unhealthy crap that a year later she had gained more than 10kg and looked like the Michelin man. Her parents were shocked while her German grandparents were happy to see that she looked “healthy”.

The last time I looked slim was …
Actually I don't think I have ever been slim. I inherited my wide hips and strong legs from my mom, and ever since I could think I have had the tendency to be overweight. I was at my worst at the age of 19 when I had almost 95kg. Not doing any sports, you can believe me when I say I looked horrible and hated my body.

When Amalia moved in with me in July 2007 she wasn't exactly slim, and neither was I at my weight of around 85kg. But we were alright with how we looked. The problem came with the cooking. She did it often and extremely well, and I underestimated the impact that the big portions that I had on top of my (admittedly smaller) regular meals had.

To make a long story short, I gained approximately 5kg in the past year, Amalia more than ten.
And we didn't see all the signs that were there. Assuming that it couldn't be my increasing weight I thought the fact that some underpants fit less and less well was due to the fact that I had washed them too often and that they had shrunk. And for a reason beyond my comprehension I didn't notice that some pants fit a lot less comfortably as well. My light brown corduroy suit pants are now so tight that I can hardly shut them or walk in them. A few days ago I tried wearing them at work, and everybody noticed how tight they were, just nobody told me. Something about me seems to tell them that when I wear it it's fashion, no matter how odd it looks. Or insanity; it's hard to tell with my colleagues. Not that it actually makes a difference but that day I looked really stupid anyway because I had incredibly sore leg muscles and could hardly walk anyway.

Although I doubt that it looked worse, the suit I wore during my first law exam felt worse. Recently I wore it for a day, and I swear it was too tight from the shoulders to the knees.
And Amalia wasn't off much better. Her blouses became tighter and tighter, and although most of the time I used to joke when I ironed them I never noticed much difference about her appearance, not even when I saw that one blouse's seams had loosened remarkably. Again I thought it was the low-quality material that had made the seams give.

She had understood even before her vacation that she needed to lose weight, and drawn the only sensible conclusion. “I'll just wear sweaters on top of the blouses so that you don't figure my weight so easily. It's becoming winter anyway; sweaters are inconspicuous.”
Strictly speaking, I had understood the necessity to lose weight as well when I had weighed my suitcases before my California holiday and stepped on the scale once just out of curiosity. 91.something kg. My eyes and tongue almost fell out. And on top, when I saw my ex in Munich again last weekend and gave him a hug, he hesitated and then said something like, “Man, you've become quite a tank, haven't you?” Tank!

No matter how you twist or turn it, Amalia and I need to lose weight. Now. And we wouldn't be the good sports that we are if we didn't come up with a city race contest-like thing again. We haven't figured out the concrete rules but the aim is to determine both our weights every morning, and to measure the weekly weight loss in order to see who lost more. Weight Watchers-style. Clear is also that whoever doesn't reach a certain weight loss has to pay money into a common trust fund. As it is yet almost unused the fund will probably be located in our “asshole piggy bank”. Originally I bought it so that whoever treated the other one badly (“was an asshole”) could exculpate himself by putting a euro coin into it, but it's been sitting there without any filling for months. We are just too nice to each other.

Anyway, if y'all have ideas on how to set up the concrete rules, leave a comment and let us know!

Who you gonna call?
– Weightbusters!

That Stupid City Race Contest

Change was bound to come. When I had made up my mind to fly to San Diego, Amalia was already a point behind in the city race contest. My ex Hartmut had generously delivered London on a plate in July. Then, after my three-week holiday in California I came back in October, with two more points in my pockets: San Diego and Los Angeles. Her holiday in Spain, however, only resulted in one. Valencia. From Amalia's narration of her vacation I could tell that her Valencia point was about as weak as my Los Angeles one but regardless of whether both points counted or not, she was two points behind.

She had sent me a postcard from Spain saying that she hadn't scored a point at all yet but enjoyed just relaxing and hanging out with the girls. Yeah right, that's so her. And on top of the already obvious lie, “hanging out with the girls” actually did mean hanging out here. No drinking or partying because Daisy from the Lüneburger Heide, one of her old school girlfriends that she used to party and booze with, was pregnant and couldn't drink. What else can you do in the middle of nowhere?!? :)

So after her vacation she still hadn't even caught up. My victory, however, didn't feel good at all. It never does when your opponent lags behind a lot. 

Without a word about it, neither of us wanted to talk about the contest any more. She didn't complain, and I didn't rub her face in it. What used to connect us and provide us with tons of laughter until our bellies would hurt, had turned into a meaningless and boring ritual.

Not quite sure how things will look next year, there is a chance that this will have been the last year we're doing the contest.

Back from the San Diego vacation

I know, I've been a bad boy, announcing during my holidays that I'd write more about all the incredible experiences I have been allowed to make and all that, and then not writing a word for weeks.

Truth is, my holidays have been over for about two weeks now, and I haven't even been able to go through all the 500 pictures I took to sort them, to delete the bad ones, level out odd horizon lines, adjust contrast if necessary, add captions or to upload them. And on top of all that, the pertaining report that I wanted to write will probably be crippled to a few pages that'll come along with the pictures. Why that is? Because my vacation turned out a lot different than I had expected, and what started out as a report turned into a very long and intimate diary entry that I don't want to share with all y'all. Not because it would reveal utmost delicate details about me but because there are tons of things in there that don't only affect me.

But I had three very interesting weeks, indeed. Almost every day was different from all the others, if you don't include the days I spent reading at Peet's in Hillcrest. Some experiences were not exactly nice but made me think and learn a lot about myself, while others were extremely nice.

This year I actually didn't even have diarrhea and nausea after my flight back. Adapting to the German time zone took me about a week, and the first week back at work felt extremely odd as a lot of things were changing at the time, and instead of actually working I rather waded through the tasks that had piled up or remained while I was away.

So hold on tight a little more, please. I will write again as soon as I find the peace and quiet to sit down and work on my holiday report to extract the stories that are actually worth telling and that don't reveal any secrets that are not mine to decide upon.

It's very nice to be back and see fall coming. I had my share of summer now, and I welcome the tea weather very much.

What's going on in San Diego

Starting note in German: Ich mach das hier mal auf Englisch, weil ich möchte, dass das auch meine amerikanischen Freunde lesen können.

Hey guys, I know I haven't written here in quite a while. That's not because nothing happened but because I have been constantly busy doing other things, and the time I had for myself I didn't want to spend on writing. The weeks before my holiday passed me like a dream anyway. My life is experiencing another spin, and a part of the moodswings I used to know pretty well about five years back seem to be back in business.

Right now I am sitting on the couch of an incredibly generous friend who is hosting me here in San Diego, California for the three weeks I'll be spending my summer holidays here. Let's call him Doug. Some of you I have already told about him, and how excited I was about meeting him.

There will be tons of things to be read in my holiday report, I can tell already now. But for now let me get down to two very essential points.

First of all, Doug is the great person I thought he would be. Generous, extremely attractive, funny, laid back, and one of the greatest listeners I have met in my life. Me meeting him -- somebody who hadn't had anybody stay with him in the past two years -- was a leap probably even greater for him than for me. He has taken a lot of hurdles in his life, I can tell from both his stories and his nature, and he is providing me with great help to master another life lesson.

What that is?

Frankly, it is to let go of my fear of rejection and be who I am. Some time ago I posted an entry here in which I let you know about exactly this fear and the pertaining circumstances. Something I didn't tell (or know) at that time is my way of trying to get close to somebody fast, also by using sex as a means to bond him to me. As long as this man desires you sexually, my subconscious figured, you will feel wanted and thereby good. It's the opposite of being rejected after all.

Doug has an incredible way to analyze things for (and with) me. This is the deal.

I had come here to leap into a partnership, also by the means of having sex. I have read Buddhist books that told me that we need to be happy all by ourselves and that we can never be happy through a relationship, only in one. But no matter how hard I try, I have been aware that when I'm not in a relationship, a piece of my life is missing.

I spoke openly with him about it as we both felt the pressure I was imposing on him, and myself, actually. Doug has been showing me a mirror image of myself so clear that again I am wondering why I didn't see this myself before.

My desire to come together with him both sexually and partnership-wise, and the pertaining pressure that comes along with this are so big -- would be so big for anybody -- that I have pressured Doug immensely.

If you are reading this and think, "Duh, that's obvious", then I have made a good effort to lay it out for you, and myself. Here comes the weird part. I am now on holiday, spending my time with Doug, a man I respect greatly, probably more than I have realized myself. However, with him retreating more and more because of my pressuring, I have started to feel a pressure also on my own chest because I realize that whatever I try, I'm not able to manipulate him the way I have hoped to be able to. Yes, that's a "manipulate". I'm so good at acting myself that sometimes I don't notice it myself but a lot of things I do are actually products of my fear of rejection and the logical result, my endeavors to show people -- Doug -- how much I'm worth. Why do you think I constantly get statements from others like, "You have so much energy", "When I read your resumé I wonder how you can have accomplished all these things at your age", or other similar statements of affirmation?

When everything's fine, you don't need to do anything. Get real.

This is the lesson I have to learn: getting along well all by myself, giving things the room to develop at the speed they're supposed to, not trying to taint them with my fears and wishes.

But don't worry, I'm doing fine, enjoying my holidays and happy that I made the choice to come here. San Diego, after all, is a very beautiful city with the sunny days I have been missing out on this year. The weather in Germany has been so bad most of the time that I don't even dare inviting Doug over to Düsseldorf, being afraid that it'd be so bad that he'd think it was a waste of time to come.

I'll update you occasionally, my friends. Take good care!

A short update: This morning I had cold feet. Physically. It's becoming fall, you can tell.

Wien kann sich selber ficken

Am vergangenen Wochenende war ich wieder in Wien. Gibt keinen Punkt, ich weiß, aber Hartmut hatte vor Monaten gesagt, er wolle einen Flug umbuchen, weil er sonst verfiele, und ich schlug damals Wien vor, weil mir die Stadt an Silvester ganz gut gefallen hatte. Dann war uns etwas unpassenderweise die Trennung dazwischengekommen, sodass ich dachte, wir würden diese vier Tage nicht mehr zusammen verbringen.

Haben wir aber. Hartmut war nach wie vor dabei, und so machten wir das wie geplant. Am Donnerstagmorgen flogen wir beide -- er von Berlin, ich von Düsseldorf -- zu fast der selben Zeit nach Wien und wiederum fast zeitgleich am Sonntagabend zurück. Air Berlin hat das ziemlich gut abgestimmt, und hätte sein Flieger zurück nach Berlin nicht eine halbe Stunde Verspätung gehabt, hätte es fast auf die Minute gepasst.

Jetzt denken manche von euch sicher: "Oooh, Wien! Ja, toll! Superstadt!" Und manch anderer fügt vielleicht hinzu: "Ja, der Pöt war ja schon an Silvester da. Da kennt der die Stadt ja schon ein bisschen. Der weiß schon, warum er wieder hinfliegt." Beide Gruppen werde ich dann wohl überraschen, wenn ich sage, dass sich diverse Aspekte von Wien getrost selber ficken können und mich die Stadt wahrscheinlich so schnell nicht wiedersieht. Und ich will auch gern sagen warum.


1. Die Wiener Kaffeehaus"kultur"

Wien hat total viele Kaffeehäuser, haben wir alle verstanden und schon tausendmal gehört. Und ich als alte Käffchentante fand das an Silvester auch natürlich super. Aber ich muss mich damals von den vielen bunten Straßenbeleuchtungen oder von der Tatsache hinreißen lassen haben, dass man sich in den Kaffeehäusern nicht den Arsch und Pfoten abfriert. Wien propagiert seine Kaffeehaus"kultur" überall. In Wahrheit zeichnen sich aber die Kaffeehäuser vor allem dadurch aus, dass

- man darin seit den 50ern nichts gemacht hat, als Kalenderblätter abzureißen,
- die Kellner Anzüge mit hin und wieder schlecht sitzenden Westen und Hosen tragen,
- dafür keinen Humor haben, stocksteif wichtig in ihrem Wiener Aristokratenhoch"deutsch" daherschwätzen,
- die Portionen extrem überschau-, aber auf Dauer kaum bezahlbar sind und
- es überall nach altem Zigarettenrauch stinkt.

Die Kaffehäuser waren wahrscheinlich cool, als es sie nicht überall gab. Heutzutage gibt's die aber in jeder halbwegs respektablen Stadt, und dagegen wirken die Wiener Dinger staubig und altbacken. Das Coolste daran sind die überdimensionierten Kronleuchter. Wenn man auf sowas steht.


2. Essen

Sicherlich gibt es in Wien gutes Essen. Irgendwo. Und vielleicht gibt es dazu noch Lokale, in denen gutes Essen auch noch bezahlbar ist. In unserem Fall waren das das Rosa-Lila-Haus und der Goldene Spiegel, beide am Naschmarkt, beides Schwulendinger, der Goldene Spiegel ist eine Stricherkneipe.

In "normalen" Lokalen bekommt man für sein Geld wiederum Portionen, die Gesichter in die Länge ziehen und einem die Frage aufdrängen, wie so viele Wiener bei solchen Portionen derartig fett werden können. Aber die gehen wahrscheinlich nicht oft aus, sondern fressen zu Hause heimlich ein Schwein nach dem anderen.

Überhaupt ist in Wien das Essen gar nicht nach meinem Geschmack. Vor allem steht nämlich viel Fleisch auf den Karten, das man sich aber nicht einmal mit etwas halbwegs gesund Aussehendem zu dekorieren bemüht. Hier, Fleisch, basta. -- Ah ja, gut, danke.
Auch hier erinnert der Ton der Kellner gern mal an die Berliner Schnauze, allerdings mit dem üblichen hochnäsigen Wiener Dialekt, der wirkungsvoll die eigene Minderwertigkeit vor Augen führt.

Außerdem ist das Essen viel zu teuer. Am Sonntag aß ich mit Hartmut zusammen in einem Lokal im Prater einen Grillteller, für den man beim Türken in Düsseldorf etwa 5 Euro zahlen würde. Da kostete er aber 11. Ein Teller mit drei sehr gut abgegrenzten Stückchen Fleisch, dazu kalte ungesalzene Fritten. Mahlzeit. Dass wir in einem Biergarten saßen, der prall gefüllt mit Kindergeschrei war, setzte eher nur noch das i-Tüpfelchen auf.


3. Julius Meinl und die Kartenzahlung

Ganz besonders selber ficken kann sich auch das einst von mir hoch geschätzte Spezialitäten- und Feinkosthaus Julius Meinl. Da wollte ich für meinen Trainingspartner Kermit eine Schachtel Mozarttaler kaufen, weil der was Süßes mitgebracht haben wollte, und ich wollte die 7,90 Euro mit EC-Karte zahlen. Schon zuvor hatte ich mit meiner EC-Karte gezahlt, und das ging auch -- so verhieß mir das Maestro-Zeichen auf dem Gerät -- hier. Die Kassiererin teilte mir aber mit, mit einer deutschen Karte ginge das nicht.

Ich tat nicht, was ich hätte tun sollen. Die Schachtel liegen lassen, sie bitten, sie für mich ins Regal zurückzuräumen, und zu gehen. Oder eine Riesenszene mit Geschrei zu machen, was sie sich denn einbilden würde. Natürlich weiß ich, dass sie dafür nichts kann, aber lustig wäre es trotzdem gewesen. Mein Problem ist, dass ich bei solchen Sachen fast nie ernst bleiben kann. Ich würde irgendwann in Lachen ausbrechen. Also bin ich nichts für Shows mit versteckter Kamera.


4. Touris und die Scheißfotos

Wien lebt vom Tourismus, klar, und wenn man in Berlin ist, kann man am Pariser Platz genau das Gleiche beobachten. Aber glaubt mir, wenn man zu lang am Stephansdom gestanden hat, geht es einem unbeschreiblich auf den Sack, dass ständig Leute mit ihren winzigen Scheißfotoapparaten kommen -- besonders schlimm sind Handykameras -- und immer und immer und immer wieder die gleichen Scheißfotos machen, wo sie ihre hohlen Fressen in die Kamera halten und sich vor irgendwelchem Kack fotografieren lassen. Besonders schlimm sind auch die Farbverbrechen, die Frauen gern und mit Anlauf mit ihren Klamotten begehen. Es wird einem dann immer wieder klar, dass Frauenmode von Schwulen mit sehr viel Humor gemacht sein muss. Schwule haben ja nichts zu verlieren und müssen die Alte dann später auch nicht auspacken. Widerlich. Einfach widerlich.

Und natürlich wird man selbst dann auch ständig fotografiert. Wenn man einmal über den Stephansplatz läuft, ist man am Ende der ca. 200-Meter-Strecke auf 50 Fotos, garantiert.
Wenn die Fotos dann wenigstens cool wären …


5. K+K

Für die Nichtsahnenden: K+K steht für "Kaiser und König". Wien lebt von seiner K+K-Vergangenheit wie kein anderer Ort auf der Welt, scheint mir. Ganz besonders verehrt man die geile Bartglatze, den Kaiser Franz-Joseph. Das hat echt kranke Züge. Wenn in Deutschland das irgendwer mit irgendeiner Berühmtheit machen würde, wären Deutsche direkt auf der ganzen Welt als Nazis verschrien.


Wien hat natürlich schöne Seiten -- das Museum für angewandte Kunst ist glaube ich ziemlich cool, aber ich habe es nur in Hartmuts Prospekt gesehen --, aber die kann es echt in absehbarer Zukunft für sich behalten. Man soll da lieber aus seiner Vergangenheit und Tradition was bauen, nicht immer nur diesen Oldschool-Mist zelebrieren. Das können Amis und Japaner sich reintun; ich geh lieber woanders hin.

Das Hartmut-Wochenende in London

Übers Wochenende war ich in London, meinen Punkt abholen und – natürlich viel wichtiger – Hartmuts Geburtstag feiern. Er wollte an seinem Geburtstag nicht in Berlin sein, und da summierte ich kurzerhand einen Städterennenpunkt und ein tolles Wochenende mit ihm.

Am Samstagmorgen ganz früh ging’s los. So früh, dass ich natürlich nicht dazu kam, zu Hause zu frühstücken, sondern als erste Aktion am Flughafen zu McDonald’s ging und mir dort zwei Cheeseburger reinpfiff, und zwar auf dem Weg von McDonald’s zum British Airways-Schalter. Die bieten ja ab 24 Stunden vor Abflug auf ihrer Webseite Online-Check-in an; find ich gut. Ging auch alles reibungslos. Ich hatte nur meinen prall gefüllten Bundeswehrrucksack; darin meine Freitag-Tasche für die Stadtbummel. Die kleinen Gleitgelpacks sollten ja gerade noch durch die Sicherheitsschranken kommen, mutmaßte ich.

Noch kurz bei Starbucks ein Stück Marmorkuchen eingeworfen und ab zur Security. Die junge Dame fragte mich als erstes: „Haben Sie Flüssigkeiten dabei?“ Und ich antwortete wahrheitsgemäß: „Nur kleine Gleitgelpäckchen.“ Sie lachte verlegen. Ich hatte erfolgreich das „Du kommst auch noch dran“-Gefühl vermittelt. Natürlich interessierte am Sicherheitscheck keine Sau mein Gleitgel.

Der Flug mit der ersten British Airways-Maschine, in der ich saß, war abgesehen von ein paar Turbulenzen ereignislos. Diese Schütteleien brachten mich jedoch einem messbaren Unwohlsein erstaunlich nahe. Ich vermute, das lag an dem fiesen Ham-and-Bacon-Sandwich, das man uns kurz vorher kredenzt hatte. Und natürlich an der Tatsache, dass ich alter Gierlappen wieder einmal wahllos Fraß in mich hineingestopft hatte.

Ich kam in London-Heathrow am Terminal 5 an, das erst seit ein paar Monaten benutzt wird. Das muss, sagte man mir, in der Vergangenheit immer wieder für Negativpublicity gesorgt haben, weil Ressourcen nicht dort ankamen, wo sie hin sollten. Ich glaube, in den Geschichten kam öfter das Wort „Chaos“ vor. Jedenfalls klappte bei mir auf dem Hinflug alles, ich ging ich von Bord und zog guter Dinge zur Underground (der Piccadilly Line Richtung – Achtung! – Cockfosters) weiter. Das Ticket hatte Hartmut mir schon vorher im Internet bestellt und schicken lassen. Noch eine Seite, die ich an ihm großartig finde: Er denkt praktisch und erkennt immer wieder Details, die mir in meiner Impulsivität entgehen.

Die Bahn machte auf dem Weg zum ersten Halt einen solchen Krach, dass ich Ohrstöpsel brauchte. „Guter Start“, dachte ich. Als die Bahn streckenweise den Tunnel verließ, sah ich, dass es regnete. Wie erwartet also, nach der Wettervorhersage, auch wenn für Samstag heiter bis wolkig mit sonnigen Abschnitten Trumpf war. Trotz Regens besah ich mir die Gegend, durch die wir fuhren, las nicht weiter in meinem Buch. Die Fahrt dauerte etwa 50 Minuten bis Leicester Square, wo Hartmut mich abholen wollte

Wir gingen dann mit ein paar Umwegen frühstücken im The Breakfast Club in Soho, einem gemütlichen Café mit gelben Wänden, Holztischen, leckerem Essen und freundlicher Bedienung. Dort trafen wir auch direkt Hartmuts Freund, bei dem wir übernachten würden, und ein paar weitere Freunde. Ein toller Start ins Wochenende und natürlich mein drittes Frühstück. Aber ich war ja auch schon sechs Stunden auf den Beinen.

Beim Herumlaufen in der Stadt fiel mir etwas auf, wozu ich mir vorher keine Gedanken gemacht hatte. In England fahren die Autos ja, wie jeder weiß, auf der linken Straßenseite. Was das praktisch heißt, hatte ich aber nicht bedacht. Denn das ist nicht nur für Autofahrer und Fahrradfahrer vom Kontinent eine Umstellung, sondern auch für Fußgänger. In den zwei Tagen, die ich dort verbrachte, rätselte ich unzählige Male, wieso sich Autos ohne Fahrer von selbst bewegten (hatte nicht auf den Beifahrer geachtet), schaute vor dem Überqueren von Straßen ständig in die falsche Richtung und schätzte die Zeit zum Erreichen der anderen Straßenseite falsch ein. Londons Regierung ist sich des Problems aber bewusst und hat deshalb aus grenzenloser Fürsorge im Zentrum an den Übergängen von Fußweg zu Straße mit weißer Farbe „LOOK LEFT“ oder „LOOK RIGHT“ hinschreiben lassen. Und das kann man wirklich gut gebrauchen. Zu allem Überfluss gibt es dort nämlich natürlich eine Menge Einbahnstraßen, deren System man bei der ganzen Verwirrtheit nicht auch noch oben drauf gebrauchen kann. Es ist ein dauernder Gehirnfick, dem man dort ausgeliefert ist. Ein Glück für mich, dass Hartmut schon mal eineinhalb Jahre in London gelebt hatte und sich noch ganz gut auskannte.

Ach so, noch was:
Ich war verschiedentlich gewarnt worden, wie teuer London sei, und das völlig zu Recht. Wer sich die Preise in London ausgedacht hat, braucht Schläge auf den Hinterkopf. Da kann man für eine 60- bis 70-Quadratmeterwohnung monatlich locker 1.500 Pfund auf den Tisch legen, was bei dem gerade relativ starken Eurokurs immer noch gut und gern 2.000 Euro sind. Aber die geisteskranken Preise herrschen in London überall, nicht wie in München nur bei den Mieten. In London zahlt man für ein Pint (irgendwas zwischen 400 und 500 ml) Bier in mancher „stylischen“ Lokalität schon mal seine 3,50 Pfund, und Essen im Restaurant oberhalb der Economy-Grenze leistet sich vor allem derjenige, den Geld langweilt. Wenn man ausgeht, ist grob gesagt alles eineinhalbmal so teuer wie in Deutschland.

Den Rest des dann doch noch herrlich warmen und sommerlichen Tages verbrachten wir mit Shopping und Stadterkundung. Es war an diesem Tag „CSD“ in London (außer Deutschen kennt ja keiner diesen Ausdruck; im Englischen nennt das jeder „Pride“), aber wir warteten die Parade nicht ab, sondern wühlten uns durch die prall gefüllte Innenstadt, bis wir müde wurden und zu Hartmuts Freund fuhren, der eine sehr schöne Wohnung in den Docklands hatte. Abends trafen wir uns dann zum Essen mit Freunden in einem thailändischen Restaurant, das einen Eindruck von Karibik vermittelte. Die Thaibande war auffällig stark daran interessiert, dass man ginge, wenn man fertig war, aber das Essen war gut. Nach diesem Abstecher waren wir dann aber auch so vollgefressen, dass Hartmut und ich wieder „nach Hause“ fuhren.

Der Sonntag brachte nicht nur schlechteres Wetter als der Samstag, sondern vor allem Hartmuts Geburtstag. Seine Geschenke hatte ich aber nicht mitgebracht, sondern ihm entweder schon gegeben oder in seiner Wohnung in Berlin versteckt, damit ich sie nicht durch die Weltgeschichte fliegen musste. So startete der Tag aber ohne große Überraschung für ihn, was ihm aber auch recht zu sein schien.

Jedenfalls machte der Spaziergang zum Observatorium in Greenwich wegen des Wetters keinen gesteigerten Spaß, auch wenn der Weg durch den Tunnel unter der Themse und die Aussicht vom Observatoriumshügel faszinierend waren. Wir waren am Abend vorher nicht lang wach gewesen und hatten nicht groß gefeiert, waren aber trotzdem ziemlich kaputt und hätten bei unserem Besuch im „First Out“-Café fast beschlossen, wieder „nach Hause“ zu gehen. Um vier Uhr nachmittags. Das taten wir dann aber doch nicht, sondern spazierten noch eine Weile durch die Gegend und aßen, wie schon lang geplant, bei Wagamama zu Abend. Vom Essen im Ansatz vergleichbar mit dem in der Roten Laterne/Konkubine in Düsseldorf, aber viel stärker auf Kantinendurchlauf gedrillt und – natürlich, obwohl auf unteres Preissegment gezogen – eine Ecke teurer.

Am Montag machte Hartmut selbst ein leckeres Frühstück, und dann fuhren wir mit meinem Gepäck wieder ins Zentrum, um noch ein paar Sachen zu sehen, bevor ich zurückfliegen müsste. Er hatte seinen Flug nach Berlin erst am Dienstag und deshalb noch Zeit.

Ich hatte eigentlich nur zum Spaß gesagt, dass ich mal zu Abercrombie & Fitch wollte, aber er führte mich dann tatsächlich dorthin. Das ist ein amerikanischer Klamottenladen, den man mit Fug und Recht als den Laden für Schwule bezeichnen kann. Das Gebäude in der Nähe der Regent Street sah von außen völlig unscheinbar aus. Nur ein Schriftzug auf den Fensterscheiben der zweiflügligen Eingangstür wies auf den Laden hin, keine weiteren Schilder. Als wir vorbeigingen, öffneten zwei junge Männer aus einem Modelkatalog die Türflügel und gaben Sicht frei auf einen dritten, der oben ohne mitten in einem Spotlicht stand, ein kräftiger trainierter Oberkörper und vermutlich ein weicher Keks obendrauf. Wir hätten da eigentlich schon schalten müssen.

Wir dachten uns aber nichts Böses und traten ein.

Das Innere des Gebäudes präsentierte uns eine feurige Mischung aus Nachtclub, Kunstausstellung und Geisterbahn. House-Musik stampfte in deutlich mehr als Zimmerlautstärke, und es gab keine Oberbeleuchtung, weswegen ich nur ahnen konnte, dass die Decken mindestens acht Meter hoch waren. Obwohl die Akustik verlautbarte, dass das Gebäude im Kern aus nur einem großen Raum bestand, wurden wir durch Segmente geführt, die durch gigantische Regalwände den Weg wiesen. Die Regale hatten alle die gleichen quadratischen Innenräume, und das einzige Licht kam von ihrer Innenbeleuchtung. So wanderten wir einerseits tagblind, andererseits von den hellen Regalspots geblendet durch die Räume, und in jedem befand sich nur eine Art von Kleidungsstücken, pedantisch angeordnet in immer den gleichen Regalen, sauber nach Farben sortiert und jede Farbe in einer Regalspalte vom Boden bis zur Decke eingeordnet; meterhoch bis zur Decke. Und in jedem Segmente begrüßte einen ein weiteres Model aus dem Katalog mit einem hippen coolen Spruch. Es war gespenstisch.

Wir waren schnell wieder draußen, schon wegen meiner akuten Angst, von weiteren Zombies angesprochen zu werden. Ich bin weiß Gott kein kontaktscheuer Mensch, aber das war mir deutlich zu viel. Aber wahrscheinlich soll der Londoner Store nichts verkaufen, sondern nur Leute wie mich dazu bringen, davon zu berichten, wie cool der Laden ist. Ist er auch, als Ausstellungsfläche. Als Laden zum Verkaufen eignet er sich wohl nur bei sehr jungen Schwulen, die gern mal „coole Boys“ sehen wollen, oder wie man das heute unter Jungtunten nennt.

Die Zeit lief aus. Wir aßen noch etwas in einem Pret à Manger, und nach ein bisschen weiterer Herumstreunerei machte ich mich dann mit der Piccadilly Line wieder auf den Weg zum Flughafen. Hartmut hörte beim Verabschieden gar nicht mehr auf, wie eine mechanische Figur zu grinsen und zu winken.

Der Weg zum Flughafen war unauffällig, aber der Rückflug sollte noch ein paar Überraschungen im Ärmel haben. Zuerst kannte das Check-in-Terminal meine Buchungsnummer nicht, also zum Schalter. Bei der Security wollte man jetzt doch mein Gleitgel sehen, nahm aber davon keine weitere Notiz, und es fiel den Heinzen auch nicht auf, dass ich das Gleitgel aus einem auf dem Pride-Event abgegriffenen Cruising Pack (Kondom plus Gleitgelpäckchen) vergessen hatte.

Verspätung von 20 Minuten war angesagt; Flugzeug war zu spät reingekommen. Wir konnten aber dann doch einigermaßen rechtzeitig boarden.

Und dann ging’s los.

Mindestens eine halbe Stunde hatten wir in unseren Sitzen verharrt, als der Pilot sich meldete. Es hatte zwischenzeitlich zu schütten begonnen. Wir könnten noch nicht starten, weil wegen des schlechten Wetters die Abflugintervalle auf sechs Minuten erhöht worden wären, sagte er. Außerdem müssten Flugzeuge zum einen oder anderen Ende der Starbahnen, je nach Windrichtung. Wir müssten uns anstellen, wo es derzeit richtig aussähe. Das taten wir also. Das dauerte noch einmal etwa eine Stunde. Voller Häme lachten wir eine American Airlines-Maschine aus, als sich herausstellte, dass die sich wegen gedrehten Windes am falschen Ende angestellt hatte und jetzt zur Warteschlange ans andere Ende musste. Als wir fast an der Reihe mit Take-off waren, kam dann die nächste Durchsage vom Piloten: „Meine Damen und Herren, es tut mir leid, Ihnen das nach der ganzen Wartezeit sagen zu müssen, aber durch genau diese Wartezeit ist uns jetzt der Treibstoff für den Flug nach Düsseldorf ausgegangen. Wir müssen zurück zum Gate und wieder auftanken.“ Natürlich ging ein Raunen durch die Reihen, aber es verhältnismäßig ruhig und höflich, eher ein „tsetsetse“.

Wir rollten also zurück. Wegen des schlechten Wetters hatten aber auch andere Flugzeuge diese Idee gehabt, sodass wir eine weitere halbe Stunde warten mussten, bis wir betankt werden konnten. Das passierte schließlich aber doch noch. Voller Freude vernahmen wir die dann folgende Durchsage des Piloten: „Meine Damen und Herren, ich danke Ihnen vielmals für Ihre Geduld in dieser frustrierenden Situation, muss Ihnen aber leider mitteilen, dass wir durch die ganze verstrichene Zeit jetzt die Arbeitszeiten unseres Bordpersonals überschritten haben.“ [Diesmal ein deutliches Raunen in der Menge] „Die Herrschaften haben heute Morgen um 7 Uhr mit ihrer Schicht begonnen. Wir müssen das Bordpersonal leider wechseln. Drei neue Crewmitglieder sind gerufen.“

Eine weitere starke halbe Stunde passierte nichts. Nach etwa 40 Minuten dann die nächste Durchsage: „Meine Damen und Herren, ich weiß, wie frustrierend das ist, aber wir können unsere Crewmitglieder nicht finden. Wir wissen nicht, warum sie nicht hier oder wo sie abgeblieben sind. Wir schicken jetzt ein weiteres Mitglied, um noch ein paar zu holen.“ Ich schwöre, es klang wirklich, als hätte man Fritzchen geschickt, um noch ein paar Äpfel im Garten zu pflücken.

Nach noch einmal einer starken Viertelstunde kamen dann tatsächlich drei weitere Crewmitglieder, und ein freudiges Klatschen und Rufen ging durch die Menge. Sie waren tatsächlich noch aufgetaucht. Obwohl ich direkt neben zwei der „alten“ Flugbegleiter stand, als Alt und Neu einander begegneten, konnte ich nicht erfassen, warum das so lang gedauert hatte.

Der Flug selbst ging dann zackig, und auch die Landung in Düsseldorf war unauffällig. Auffällig – auffällig klein nämlich – war dagegen der Hähnchen-Wrap, der uns dann als Snack serviert wurde. Es hatte natürlich niemand damit gerechnet, dass wir zur Zeit des Servierens vier Stunden Verspätung und Bärenhunger haben würden. Mein Magen empfand diese winzige Portion als Affront.

Mit vier Stunden Verspätung kam ich also in Düsseldorf am Flughafen an, nahm dann noch den Bus nach Hause und ließ nur meine Sachen fallen, bevor ich ins Bett fiel.