Author: Marius Lex

The rain falls on her dark hair, runs down the sides of her beautiful face and drips down from her chin onto her warm bosom. You lose yourself in her eyes and you see that she is lost in yours. The cool drops seem to pull you toward her until her slow breath tickles your lips and then… you kiss her. And just like the rain, you fall and you just keep falling. Falling in love, falling for this girl, who twists your world upside down.

That is how rain works right? Or does it? If I recall correctly, nothing in my life has ever even come close to being as romantic as this scene. I don’t know about you but my first kisses usually involve sweaty hands, a mutual feeling of insecurity and just a bit of awkwardness. Just imagine rain adding to these already miserable circumstances. I often ask myself why rain is portrayed so differently in the movies. Not only when it comes to romance, but in general. Let’s look at some examples, shall we?

 

Spiderman Upside Down Kiss

This one is a classic. In the 2002 version, Spiderman’s sweetheart, Mary Jane, is attacked by thugs in a dark alleyway. Spiderman hesitates at first, because he doesn’t have his spider mask, but eventually comes to the rescue. After Spiderman has retrieved his mask and suspended himself upside down from one of his spider strings, Mary Jane, portrayed by Kirsten Dunst, kisses him romantically in the rain.

Have you ever imagined what would happen if you helped out a lady getting attacked by four thugs in a dark alleyway? Exactly. You wouldn’t do it in the first place. You would hide, call the cops and leave the scene before things get icky.
Let’s say, however, you actually mustered the courage to attack the thugs and let’s assume, through some kind of miracle, you actually defeated them. Would there be a romantic kiss? The rain is freezing and alleyways are usually rather windy. Also, there are four unconscious men lying on the ground and the smell of the garbage cans you knocked over in the process of fighting the attackers slowly but surely takes over the alleyway. You look up the  buildings surrounding you and realize that kids are pointing their video cameras at you… That’s just a mood killer!

I vote: Wouldn’t be as romantic in real life!

 

Friends Before The Battle

In Peter Jackson’s epic milestone of a trilogy, the Lord of the Rings, the battle of Helms Deep is the climax of the second movie. Not only men are trying to hold back the evil powers of Isengard, but also Elves and a Dwarf. Although Elves and Dwarves tend to dislike each other due to their complicated past, Legolas and Gimli bury the hatchet right before joining the second most epic battle in movie history. Just before they confess their liking for each other, rain starts pouring down on them. They look at each other in a way that says nothing but “I love you”.

Obviously, it doesn’t make any sense to imagine being in the exact situation described above. Think of it more like bros confessing their love for each other before a massive change in their lives. I’m not going to lie here: I did confess my love to my best bros. A couple of times. If you have done the same for your best bro or best brosephine, then you probably know that standing in the rain would significantly  decrease your level of perceived intoxication, meaning you probably wouldn’t end up confessing your love at all. Not only doesn’t rain not improve this situation, it even prevents it from happening.

I vote: Wouldn’t be as bromantic in real life!

 

One thing that one can notice about movies, is the fact that there is always music in the background making funny scenes more funny, melodramatic scenes more melodramatic and crazy scenes more crazy. Turns out that doesn’t work in real life. Every time I got romantic with someone and started humming a mellow song, they started laughing… at me. I do not recommend you trying that.

So what does all of this tell us about movies: That they are a lie? That they are unrealistic? That they sell us standards no one will ever be able to live up to? We can answer the first two questions with a clear and easy “Yes!”. I think I have proved that extensively here. Answering the third question, however, is a bit more tricky and I shall address it in a detailed manner next week. If I want you guys to take anything away from this text, it is: Don’t think rain will improve anything in your real life, unless you’re a farmer!

 

PS: Remember to be as weird as you can possibly be.

 

Can you find all Christmas song titles and references in this real dialogue I had at the gas station today?

“Hey man, Happy Holidays. just the gas?”
“And a coffee, please.”

While waiting for the machine to give out the coffee:

“Are you driving home for Christmas?”
“Sure! I can’t wait to see those faces. What about you?”
“No, I won’t be home for Christmas.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, my Mom told me: ‘All I want for Christmas is you’, but stepping into last Christmas wasn’t too holly jolly for me.”
“Man, I wish it could be Christmas every day! How come you don’t like Christmas?”
“What Christmas means to me is: I must be Santa.”
“You must be Santa?”
“I must be Santa. For the kids in our community. Plus, the weather outside is frightful.”
“It is but that just makes the fire so much more delightful. Aren’t you dreaming of a white Christmas?”
“Yes but when I was Santa last Christmas one kid accidentally hit me in my jingles… If you know what I mean.”
“Right in your sleigh bells?”
“Yes, so the entire twelve days of Christmas my true love gave to me an ice pack under our Christmas tree.”
“Mary’s boy child Jesus Christ. That sounds intense.”
“It sure is. The only thing rocking around the Christmas tree for me was pain.”
“So it was a blue Christmas for parts of you?”
“Yes… Do you know what?”
“What?”
“I don’t know you… Why am I telling you this? I just bought some gas and a coffee off you and now I’m telling you one of my most intimate stories? Why?”
“I know why.”
“Tell me… why?”
“Do you know it’s Christmas time at all? This is the most special time of the year and thank god it’s Christmas, because that is when you miss your family most and that is why you had to tell a stranger about your feelings.”
“Wow… Christmas is coming…”
“Yep.”
“All through the night…”
“Yep.”
“I better go tell it to the mountain.”
“The mountain?”
“My roommate works out.”
“Oh, yes you should. Maybe he’ll even spend Christmas with you.”
“No, he’s spending his Christmas in Harlem.”
“Well, tell him anyway.”
“I will.”
“You can let your sleigh bells rock.”
“Ehm…”
“Go on a one man sleigh ride.”
“Ok, see you.”
“Merry Christmas!”

Next week we’ll see how well you can track Christmas movie titles and references.

 

PS: Remember to be the weirdest you can possibly be!

 

Do you know the band “The Cinematic Orchestra”? They gained quite a bit of popularity within the past couple of years. Their music is featured in commercials and TV shows. One of their songs is very special to me. One single line from their song “To Build A Home” helped me to describe the feeling I always had while travelling around the world, but which I just could not put into words. Let me explain to you what that one line means to me and how it is important to describe myself to a certain extend:

“Home is a place where you don’t feel lost.” So why leave home? Why expose yourself to the lostness?

In my eyes, the lostness is somehow calming. It’s fulfilling. Whoever is lost is compelled to find himself again. I get the feeling that I need that sometimes. Similar to people who try to schematise their life through the idea of continuous shifting in prosperity and dolorousness, I have to lose and find myself.

To lie in bed at night, knowing that every person you know, you like, you love is thousands of miles away may seem like a nightmare to some but to me it’s a feeling I wouldn’t want to miss for the world. Sentimental music and the dim lights of a far away city on the dark horizon of the night add to that feeling. To have nobody, sometimes is more satisfying to me than to have somebody.

When I return home, my travels usually appear quite austere. They make me appreciate what I have at home. But one question will always remain: What would I miss more: Having a home or having no home?

PS: Remember to be the weirdest you can possibly be.

 

 

What is art, you ask?
Well, thank you very much.
This question is as important,
As it is unanswerable.

Anything can be,
But nothing must be.
Some of it shouldn’t be,
And some of what isn’t, should.

But who is to say what is art,
And what’s not?
Nobody can,
And everyone must.

If you can’t differ art,
From what’s not,
You can’t differ the smart,
From the lot.

In art,

We can only be critics for ourselves,
But not our own critics.
I mean, is this art,
Just because it is written in verse?

It is up to you to decide.
I for myself, can’t answer that question.
Why?
Because I to myself, have asked that same question.

 

Remember to be the weirdest you can possibly be.

It was a day like any other. I was just about to have my morning tea, as my new friend Nico approached me:

“Hey man.”
“Well hello, what can I do for you, my dear?” I replied.
“I told you about the person who always steals my ham, right?”
“Yes, you certainly did!”
“This morning it happened again.”

And then he went on and on about this ham theft which, to be quite honest with you, I found rather samey. As the day went on and the sun slowly set over the nicely trimmed rose bushes of our hostel’s neighbour, Mrs. Haberdasher – her son apparently just quit his job, because it was too hard on his pitiable, little hands, so he can help out in the garden – the events picked up. Some music played and people started tippling. Our room housed the consumption of further recreational drugs, which won’t be discussed any further here. Nothing illegal, of course!

“Haha, let me have another drag.” I said.
“Ok, but we only have another two.” Nico replied.
“Two will get you good and baked. And besides, we’ve had four today, already.”

Shortly after indulging in the joys of our newfound favourite substance, two further mates had moved into our room. They weren’t too talkative:

“What do you think about this, Alfred?” I asked one of them. “You haven’t said a single word since you got here. That’s why I had to give you this name… Alfred… because I don’t know your real name.”
“You’re not going to get a reply from Alfred, right James?” James didn’t answer either.
“Well, I would call you impolite, if you weren’t so jaunty, guys.”

As the night progressed, smoke filled our room, beer cans were emptied and things got a little… out of hand:

“Yeees, Alfred, I’m on to you…” Nico babbled, dangerously waggling around with the knife he had pulled out from under his bed upon arrival a couple of days ago. “… you stole my ham, didn’t you? Admit it!  Admit it and I’ll let you go unharmed.”
“He isn’t going to answer” I said and tried to slowly take away Nico’s knife.
“NO! That is my knife and I am going to keep it. I am allowed to do anything I want with this. If I wanted to throw it at Alfred, I could. Like this.”

And he threw the knife at James. It sunk deep into Jame’s chest, he slid off his bed and didn’t get back up again.

“That wasn’t Alfred, that was James, you pillock!” I screamed, absolutely stunned by what had just happened.
“Oh bloody hell, what have I done?” Nico asked incredulously grabbing his head. “I killed the wrong person.”
“You killed a person!!”
“Holy moly!” Nico exclaimed. “How am I going to get a job, if I killed a person in my first week here?”
“Wha.. What are you talking about? Come down and help me resuscitate Frank!” I yelled and jumped over to Frank to turn him on his back. There was blood everywhere.
“James… His name is James!” Nico corrected me.
“Whatever! Call an ambulance!”

For a while I gave James a cardiac massage, with the knife still burried deep inside his chest. I could only hear myself breathing. James didn’t move and more and more blood poured over my hands. Desperately, I turned around to see what Nico was up to. I couldn’t believe my bloody eyes: He had fallen asleep on the bed, with a cell phone in his hand. With Alfred’s cell phone. Just as I was about to get up and wake up Nico in an unpleasant manner, I felt very giddy and darkness surrounded me before I hit the ground.

An immense pain in the back of my head woke me up. The sun was shining through the closed window on the wooden floor, which was soaked in red liquid. I moved my head about an inch to the side and smelled it. It smelled like sugar and alcohol. I heard someone move behind me. That was probably Nico. That turnip had fallen asleep last night, when he actually was supposed to call an ambulance… But why an ambulance?

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” Nico and I said in unison and Ipushed myself off the ground, which helped the pain in my head intensify. I looked around. There was noone else beside Nico and me in the room. Just a huge pillow on the empty bed at the far end of the room and a huge pillow with a knife stuck in it and the red alcoholic liquid smeared all over it, on the ground in the middle of the room.

“Bud, weren’t there two guys here last night? One of which was sort of… dead, I believe.” Nico asked.
“I think we have to cut down on the drugs, mate.” I answered and pointed at the banana Nico was still pressing to the side of his face, as if he was calling somebody on it.
“Yeah, unemployment is not healthy for me…”

 

Next week we learn about how Nico and I got our first job and actually there is a lot to learn about the entire field of work and markets in New Zealand, so be sure to stop by when I Bryson it up.

See you next week and remember to be the weirdest you can possibly be.

Last Thursday I promised that there was a bit of Harry Potter in the story of how I lost my first job and after explaining how Peter Jackson got me there in the first place, it is now time to potter it up:

The beautiful landscape passed by the window and left me speechless. Lakes reflected the yellow sunlight and entire forests swayed in a crisp autumn breeze. I was on the way to my new home. I had made a friend already. Ron was sitting right next to me. Since he didn’t have too much money, I had bought some candy. I just came from a place where the people are grumpy and you are not accepted for who you are: Germany. And as cool as it would have been, I do have to admit that my new friend’s name wasn’t Ron but Nico and I hadn’t bought candy for him. Technically he wasn’t even my friend at that point. But we were on the same bus and that was the start of something special…

When the bus pulled into the station and the passengers streamed out of the doors and through the steam, towards the bright, warm brick building, the sun had set and left the outside cool and dark. As my feet touched the ground I heard a loud voice shouting through the hustle and bustle. I walked a little further down the platform to look for where the voice was coming from… It was shouting my name. Not only mine, a couple of other names, too. I grabbed my backpack and as the voice got louder and louder, the silhouette of a massive, black-bearded man emerged from the darkness. He was wearing a moleskin overcoat and was about twice the size of all the people around him. Ok, actually the guy wasn’t screaming our names but had sign with our names written on it. And he wasn’t wearing a moleskin overcoat but a Merino-Sweater. And he wasn’t exactly a huge guy, but a skinny, old lady with grey hair and a funny face. And obviously there was no steam, come on, where is the steam supposed to come from at a bus station?  So basically we got out of the bus and this lady with the sign just stood there, waiting for us. We hopped into her car and she took us to the place we would live at from now on. Our new home.

Shimmering lights glimmered through the darkness of the driveway. They became increasinly bright as we climbed the hill our residence was located on. Getting closer I could see narrow, high towers and walls made from stones which seemed to have watched over the valley to our left for many hundred years. It was a castle. An old, beautiful castle. We passed a gate with two majestic boars sitting on each side, watching over whoever entered the grounds they were guarding and… You see where I’m going with this. There was no castle. I’d say you could even barely call it a house. It was four walls with a roof on top and far too many people inside. It was in a valley, not on a hill and it smelled. It was my and my companions new home, though. The old lady gave is numbered keys and pointed towards the ‘house’. I looked for my room number. When I finally got to the number plate with the number “13” on it, I realised someone else was right behind me, waiting for me to open the door: Nico, my not yet friend for a lifetime. He nodded at me. I nodded at him and we both entered the room that would change our lives forever…

Next week, a mystery will be solved in a way, that would make Miss Marple proud. It includes Nico, me and… a knife!

See you next week and remember to be the weirdest you can possibly be.