scared

Today, in no less than five hours, we're going to meet the brats for the first time. THE BRATS, I say, and mean the kids aged 13 to 16 with whom we'll do our theatre project. The play is Eric Bogosian's Suburbia, and if the brats are anything like the characters in the play, I'll top myself. Seriously. Thing is, though, that they'll probably be worse. It is not without a good reason that we've applied for funding under the headline: Theatre Project for Socially Disadvantaged Youths.

I don't know why, I really can't say why, I've absolutely no fucking idea why I think that my looks matter in this respect. I somehow feel the urge to adapt to their way of dressing. Considering that I am slightly older and come from a totally different social and geographical background, this just has to end in a catastrophe. I am not fucking fifteen anymore, and I had better come to terms with it. Nevertheless, I feel that I am inadequate. Especially, when it comes to my looks. But then, will they care? I doubt it. I've heard several times now from their social workers that they despise students no matter what they look like.

Let us hope for the best, expect the worst (namely that they don't turn up at all), and yet be curious all the same. Wish me luck, I'll tell you how it went.

the voter, n. (sing.): narrow-minded, malevolent, ignorant creature wilfully putting at risk the well-being of his master and servant, the politician

Cold it is outside, already. The sun is setting behind the old, neglected villas. The leaves show first traces of red and yellow. Autumn is stealing in. Goldfrapp is playing in the background. I am sitting in front of the screen and blow my nose every other minute. I have a bad cold. As I might have mentioned already, autumn is stealing in. Slowly, but steadily. I know, because I have a cold. I always do when it turns autumn. There's little sprinkles on the screen. Sorry, forgot to cover my mouth; I know it’s a bit revolting. Anyway, it's warm inside, the heating's on and I have a cup of that nice Roiboos brew that's always referred to as tea. Strictly speaking, it is not, but what the hell...

Sunday was Election Day. I didn't vote. Yet. Half of Dresden goes to the ballot-box on October 2^nd because the candidate of the right-wing party died. Not that many people cared. The rest of Germany, however, had their say. And what they said was... well, schizophrenic, probably.

Let's start with the basics. We were governed by a coalition of the Social Democrats (SPD) and the Greens. They have been trying meekly to implement reforms that were desperately needed. They fared badly in the polls over the last few months, but re-gained popularity as the election campaign advanced. More often than not, their line of politics has been boycotted by the opposition, namely the Christian Democratic Union (CDU) and the Liberal Democrats (FDP). Nothing spectacular, so far. The opposition did quite well in opinion polls, the majority of people would have voted for them had the elections been held in spring. They promised tough reforms and their head candidate, Angela Merkel, had already been awarded the title of ‘Germany's Iron Lady’. Shortly before the campaigning, a fourth party formed; a fusion of the eastern Socialists and a new western equivalent. Let us call them The Left. Well, you probably know all that stuff already. If not, read the Times or something.

Okay, the elections. Some 77% of the population went to the ballot-box, and what was the result? Everybody won the elections! This is clearly the best result we've ever had. The CDU won, because the coalition of SPD/Greens has not been re-elected. The FDP won, because they were the only party who gained votes in comparison to the elections in 2002. The SPD won, because they fared better than the previous opinion polls had predicted. The Greens? They won because they got more votes then they thought they would. The Left won, because they didn't exist before (Let us ignore the fact that one part of The Left actually did), so of course they had gained votes. SPD/Greens won, because CDU/FDP does not have a clear majority. CDU/FDP won, because SPD/Greens do not have a clear majority anymore. No one has a majority. None of the coalitions anticipated does actually work out.

Thus we learn: To win elections in Germany, it is not necessary to achieve a good result. It is not even necessary to have any chance to partake in the future government. You can actually lose votes, and yet win the election. Also, it is possible to deduce a victory from unofficial surveys conducted half a year before the elections. Splitting hairs over the fact that one party is not one party but in fact two is allowed, too. It is also okay to just stubbornly cling to power until everybody accepts that you do have a (god-given?) right to indeed be where you are. All you need is a certain brazenness and arrogance, but you will surely have acquired that on your way up the ladder, won't you?

Any solutions? Any new coalitions? Well, not exactly. CDU/SPD could form what is called a Grand Coalition. However, it is an unwritten law that the stronger party's head candidate will be elected chancellor. This, however, happens to be not the SPD, but the CDU. They have 0,9% more votes than the SPD. Schroeder (SPD), however, doesn't care much for that. He insists that he be chancellor, come what may. This, the CDU will not accept. Obviously, they will want Merkel to be the new chancellor. Any other coalition is practically made impossible by the fact that the FDP refuses to participate in any government with either the SPD or the Greens onboard. They promised beforehand they would.not.do.that.come.what.may and are now afraid they might never get rid of their opportunistic image if they changed their mind. The Left... well, they are being ignored by all parties. Why? Because. No obvious solution to the voter-induced dilemma is in sight.

The result: is obvious. Anyone with half an eye in his head can see that... The voter failed. He wronged the politicians. He is a malicious creature. What did he intend by deciding the way he did? What did he think? Did he think? The voter. Yes. Once it comes to elections, the people suddenly unite. They become an entity, a collective. Like the Borgs. And then they vote. With all their force. In their destructive, callous, thoughtless manifestation of The Will of the People, they knowingly accept the total confusion and utter helplessness of their politicians - poor, solitary creatures who have left the safe haven of 'the people' to work hard for the best of the collective. Instead of supporting these politicians, the voter wilfully risks their well-being. He even puts a spoke in their wheels, ignoring that the cart is only going full speed in the wrong direction for the voters own good. The voter is an unthankful creature. But, he is sovereign of the state and thus has to be obeyed. Even though he is a bad sovereign. Actually, he should be overthrown. And beheaded. And then a new sovereign should be elected. I suggest Schroeder. Though, they might have slightly more trouble getting rid of him. But at least he’d be out of the way.

rock on! or else you'll wake up the baby...

Well - I am well aware that it is no Sunday today. The thing about the Sundays is more like, ehm, a guideline, anyway. Principles are made to be thrown overboard in the right moment... Something like that. You know where I'm coming from.

Anyway. Last week was my sister's wedding party. The fact she got married last December didn't bother any of the guests - even though she and my brother-in-law had not declared it specifically a 'wedding party'. However, before this party, which was last Friday, I had to spend some days at my mum's. I don't know exactly why, but I had promised her to visit. Now, you should know that the relationship between my mum and her children has always been... well, complicated. To say the least. To cut a long story short: my mum had some strange ideas on how to bring up children, and on top she can be quite - let's put it straight - petty and intolerant. It's not very easy dealing with her, and the fact that once you let her catch you off guard will worsen her behaviour is not helping the situation, either. About one and a half years ago she found a partner who matches her in almost every way - except that he lacks a sense of humour. I guess it is even more exhausting now.

The funny thing last week was that usually my mother and I practice a lot of small talk. She tries to pry into my private affairs; I try not to let anything show. Normally, I am not exactly a secretive person, but I am more than glad to make an exception for my mum. I hate the way she always makes everyone justify their actions and words. Like why one did this and that fifteen years ago, or where one's been when she called last week and why one didn't immediately call back. Why one 'neglects one's studies' (by the way, I don't) to do theatre (which I only do when I'm free) and other stuff (by which she means p&p arpgs, having a boyfriend, spending money on anything, etc... which is, by the way, my own fucking business and nobody else's). Why I don't clean the bathroom the way she does. Why I am of a different opinion than she is and why I won't eat her eggsalad. You get the drift. Apart from being tedious and a real pain in the arse, it also simply wears me out. Everytime I come back from her place it takes me days to just calm down and be able to relax again.

This time I had to stay three days with her. Since my father died, there's no other place to go around there, and dropping by just like that is out of question considering the sixhundred kilometres that lie between us. So, I stayed at her place for three days, and whilst being there I had to find some appropriate clothes to wear for my sister's party. Mum decided she'd accompany me on my shopping spree. Now, there's only one thing I hate more than shopping: shopping with my mum. Actually, I've grown fonder of shopping over the last few years - ocassionally I almost enjoy it. With my mum, however, it still is pure horror. Notwithstanding the fact that I am a 22-year-old student who's been able to take care of herself and her clothes for years now, she still tries to talk me into buying the stuff she likes. After five hours of listening to bad recommendations and even worse opinions on how I looked, I gave up. Yes mum, okay mum, we'll take it. So there I was: a not-so-proud owner of a violet, long corduroy skirt and a pink jacket. Lovely.

The next day I found some excuse to borrow her bike, took the skirt and jacket back to the shop, exchanged them for a cardigan and a blouse in the brightest of reds and went home - well aware of the fact that she'd sure as hell be cross with me for not wearing what she wanted me to. Much to my surprise, she wasn't. Okay, so she wasn't exactly pleased, either, but at least she respected my taste insofar as not to complain about it in my presence. Thank you, mum. I appreciate that, and this is not meant to sound sarcastic.

The party itself was okay. Lots of people I didn't know and a boyfriend who showed up in jeans. I could have slaughtered him right on the spot, but my in-law wouldn't let me.

I couldn't really enjoy the party anyway, for I was dead tired. My little nephew decided he need not sleep the whole day and thus drove us all mad with his sour mood. He's only six months old, but he already seems to be afraid of missing out on something. Whenever something seems to be going on, he refuses to go to bed. So I and my boyfriend were sent on a precarious mission: "Send the fuckin brat to sleep, whatever it may cost!" At least that was how my sister, who was on the verge of completely losing her temper anytime the child so much as made a sound, put it. Right then, we got the buggy, took the squealing baby, and off we went for the woods. My sister hinted that he only sleeps when the buggy's rocking a bit. 'Rocking a bit' turned out to be 'nearly falling over', for it wasn't until we took a very bumpy path with pebbles and stones lying everywhere that my dear nephew decided to finally fall asleep. Until then, we'd already been walking for one hour. The problem however was that he would wake up every time the rocking came to a halt, so we had to walk up and down that path for another one and a half hours. As a reward, we were greeted with a smile and a 'dadadadadaa' when he woke up. And, thanks to his sleep and our hurting legs, everyone at the party thought my sister had a very nice and well-behaved son.

The next day we discovered he'd gotten his first tooth - which probably also was why he was so fussy the day before.

Tomorrow I'll be off to Cov for a week. I am slightly exited already, and I'm looking forward to seeing Danny and the lot again. Wish me luck for the flight, if the plane's late I won't catch the last coach to Cov and be stuck in London Luton Airport.