Ode to Joy

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Tonight’s the Eurovision Song Contest, and during the voting they’re singing Ode to Joy and climbing ladders. As one does.

I don’t care how camp this thing is, I watch it every year, mock it on twitter and laugh at the voting from the countries that couldn’t get their entry into the Finals.

If you have no idea what this is, I’m not sure you want to research it. My parents were visiting me one year during the weekend when the Grand Prix was on. They watched it with me and were completely baffled by the whole ordeal.

This year? I suppose the bearded lady from Austria. Or the Polish maidens churning butter & washing clothes. Yes, that was a thing.

It’s a bit like an annual World Cup for the Homosexualists. Was that an insensitive comment? I can live with that.

Shake your booty

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Had a great time dancing the night away and was once again reminded how elemental it is to hear a beat and want to sway one’s body to and fro.

The lady in the photo above stands along Leopold Strasse here in Munich, and every time I pass her by, I can’t help but smile. She’s a statue, but she moves better than many of the people bustling by me. To be fair, she moves better than I do when I’m sometimes wrapped up in my thoughts.

Here’s to not only stopping and smelling the flowers, but to a bit of good old fashioned hip shaking. It’s certainly done me a world of good this evening.

shameless self promotion

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This photo says enough that it really doesn’t need any text…nevertheless, this isn’t a photo blog. Find the appropriate words below.

Was about to say that I hadn’t talked about turtles in a while, but I went back and looked at my earlier posts on this blog and there’s nothing turtle-related. Not a damned thing.

Which is a bit strange, because I’m really into turtles.

And?

There’s a beautiful human female riding atop the turtle. Not in some inappropriate and potentially embarrassing way, either. As a matter of fact, I doubt you could misinterpret this lady and her motives. As beautiful as she might be, everything about her seems pure.

Wait, what are you blathering on about lahikmajoe? Is there any method to your madness?

Well, sort of. In a roundabout way.

See, I’ve been doing quite a bit of freelance writing and editing lately, as well as translating and proofreading. It’s been a bit of a boon, to be honest, but the sad reality is that I haven’t had much time for the whimsical that I typically find myself writing here.

The curious thing is that a good deal of the work I get is from people who first come here to look at samples of my style. Or they find old posts from the teablog if they’ve been able to circumnavigate their way around the patio furniture nonsense, that is.

If that last reference is lost on you, take a look at patio design ideas, and you’re guaranteed to be on the same page with me at least once in the last 10 minutes.

If more people are coming here to assess my writing, wouldn’t it be logical to make the writing more serious? More commercially viable?

I’m not against commerce. I’m not above shameless self promotion.

The thing is: if I’m already generating some sort of interest by simply writing about whatever the hell I want, and this is a personal and rather miscellaneous blog to begin with, shouldn’t I keep doing what got me here?

What I’ve noticed recently is that the more I write for other people, the more essential it is that I persevere in entertaining myself hereabouts. A pristine woman and the turtle beneath her is as good a place to continue as I could imagine.

If a handful of you enjoy it? Well, that’s lagniappe.

 

Guinness is apparently good for you…apparently

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Who wouldn’t trust a gnome carrying beer?

 

Not sure exactly what’s going on in this window, but apparently Guinness is Good for You. I suppose that’s useful information to know. I thought the gnome holding up those several Krugs of Bavarian beer would be a nice way to mention that the Oktoberfest has begun here.

For the uninitiated, that means upward of two weeks of more and more tourists descending on Munich for the renowned beer festival. Pretty sure there’s no actual Guinness on offer there, though. There are plenty of Irish pubs in town if that’s really what you need.

I’ve got other things to talk about here, but life keeps getting in the way of regular blogging. I’m aware that blogging is still something people do. It’s a done thing. Not often enough by me, but a done thing nevertheless.

Hope you’ve got other things to read. There’s plenty out there – to read, I mean. Hoo-whee…that’s why I’m throwing this half-arsed blogpost up and rushing off. I’ve actually been enjoying a book that I can’t wait to get back to. As you were.

whimsy in the sunlight

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A bit of whimsy in Munich

Can’t quite remember when I took this, but I love the whimsy in the above face. Lots going on in the world of Lahikmajoe, but I want something new to show up here periodically even when I’m occupied elsewhere.

More soon…you can hardly wait, can you?

all we’ve got

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Courtyard at the Picasso museum in Málaga

‘ “The  past,” he said, resting three fingers across the mouth of his cup to keep Bea from pouring yet another refill, “is a gravity. It holds you to the earth, but it also keeps pulling you down, trying, like the earth itself, to reclaim you. And the future, always looking that direction, planning, anticipating – that’s a kind of freefall, your feet have left the ground, you’re just floating there, floating where there is no there.” ‘ from Salt River by James Sallis

Sometimes, you simply can’t help yourself. You’re reading along, minding your own business, and the author’s voice somehow comes off the page, out into the air and whooooosh…it opens something up inside you that wasn’t there before. That’s roughly what happened when I read the above passage.

One side of the spectrum drags you down – back to the ground. Or even lower, actually. In the other direction is a kind of emptiness. You’re still there, but the ground isn’t. You might not be falling yet, but the sense of anticipation might as well be dropping the bottom out from beneath you.

No clue if this speaks to any of you. It might not be nearly as profound in your ears as it was in mine.

The extremes that’re laid out in this description: the groundedness of what’s past and the groundlessness of what’s to come – yet another argument, quite compelling even, to stick with right now. This very moment. On some level, it’s all we’ve got.

give my pinky over there a workout

typing warmers…are those pieces of bread?

Have been humming Tom Petty‘s Learning to Fly for the past few hours, but instead of ‘fly‘, I’ve been inserting the word ‘type‘ in my thoughts. Why?

Because I’m learning to type, of course. Well, relearning. I’m the sort who normally veers toward the things that come easily to him, and typing was never one of those things. I know where my fingers are supposed to go, but normally I revert to a very weird system of hunting and pecking.

That’s a nice euphemism for the way I conduct myself in romantic matters – hunting and pecking, but that’s a topic for another blogpost. This is about typing, dammit. Not typing as metaphor. Not describing my typing, or lack of proper typing, as an indication of not playing by the rules.

However, now that I think about it, that’s exactly what it is. When I was a child, it was explained to me, ‘Here’s where your hands go, and these fingers go to these keys.‘ What’d I do instead? I wanted to play music…not worry myself with boring typing.

I can play the natural, harmonic and melodic minor scales in all twelve keys, but get my fingers to stay in the right place while I’m typing? No thank you.

Before I moved across the country to go to college, I thought it’d be a good idea to revisit typing. I thought term papers would be coming at me at every turn, so I thought, ‘Now’s as good a time as any to get the typing thing sorted.‘ Did I, in fact, sort it? Well, judging by the fact that I’m still relearning to type, no. I didn’t stick with the typing until it stuck. Here I am again.

The piano I can play without looking down at my fingers, so why not the computer keyboard? To add insult to injury, I’m typing on a German keyboard. In addition to all the umlauts over on the far right-hand side, which are bound to give my pinky over there a workout, they’ve also switched the ‘z’ and the ‘y’ from what I was used to on the English keyboard.

Actually, I’ve lived here long enough that the prominence of the ‘z’ in the German language, as well as the virtual dearth of the need for the letter ‘y’, has become less and less of an issue. I suppose the switching of these two letters only truly bothers me when I’m forced to write on a Yankee keyboard again. Put a feather in my cap, and all that.

So, while the rest of you are out enjoying a beautiful summer’s evening, I’m sitting here with my fingers hovering in their proper placement. I don’t yet have the hand warmers that’re pictured above, but who knows…maybe by the time the winter comes, those’ll come in very handy. Heh heh, he said, ‘Handy.’

Or even better, maybe by then I’ll be such a master typist, that my voracious skills will keep me warm. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?

Sweet ass, eh?

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This is Saint Winthir, but I’ve got no idea what he’s known for. The fact that he’s riding a donkey is why he’s got my attention.

Sweet ass, eh?

Have a huge backlog of photos I’ve taken that I’ve never bothered putting anywhere. I suppose that while I’m occupied with other things, this blog can be a place I at least leave a few curious shots I’ve not found any other use for.

and her wolf

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In Asam Straße in the Au neighbourhood in Munich

Sometimes it’s best just to let the girl be with her wolf.

Was scrolling through some photos I took last year and never used. Why has it taken me so long to insert this one in the blog? There are wonders waiting round the corner…all you need to do sometimes is let your gaze float upwards.