irgendwie ist das alles sehr müde (netter ausdruck für den eigentlich gemeinten zustand) hier. wie oft denke ich bei erlebnissen im alltäglichen leben: “das muss ich ins blog schreiben”. nada. gestern abend z.b. war ich auf porcupine tree in köln. geiles konzert, wenn auch im palladium, welches ich ja nicht so mag. aber hirnverbiegen galore, das haben die drauf die jungs. keine weitere rezension. gestern tagsüber dann ein fotoshooting in einem extra dafür angemieteten high-end-büro mit rheinblick für eine unternehmensberatung gehabt. coole sache, keine weitere erwähnung. heute mit meiner kamera-neuerwerbung zwecks problemlösung zum kameradealer meiner wahl gegangen. könnte ich jetzt einen roman schreiben, mach es aber nicht. das layout des blogs kommt mir zu den augen raus, ändern tu ich es aber nicht. selbiges gilt fürs tageswerk. ist das jetzt schon die whynachtsdepression? (irgendeinen grund sucht man ja immer).

irgendwie passt dieses stück hier von mc 900 ft jesus sehr gut, zum besseren verständnis (und schreib-gewissens-beruhigung) kommt der text gleich mit:

it was just a couple of minutes before midnight when bill waddled back into the living room carrying a huge bowl of butter-soaked popcorn. on tv, a lithe young spandex-clad cheerleader type was touting the benefits of the latest quick weight loss program. “oh mind your own business, you tedious bimbo,” yelled bill, as he gracefully eased his 360 pound frame onto a well worn sofa. he considered this type of ubiquitious incursion into one’s personal affairs to be a blatant affront to human dignity; and perfect example of how society was going to hell on a fast train. he swallowed a fistful of soggy popcorn and then took a long swig from a large plastic bottle of diet coke that was resting nearby. next the tv showed an elevated shot of a large crowd. it was times square. an illuminated clock overhead showed the time to be one minute before midnight. the camera began to pan across some of the faces in the crowd. “oh my god!!” exclaimed bill, “this absolutely must be the most amazingly sub-human collection of hooligans and ruffians ever assembled in one place!” ” someone, please, summon the national guard at once, before this evil gang of terrorists completely destroys new york city!!!” he pleaded, while simultaneously pelting the screen with a few kernels of popcorn, as if to keep the unruly mob at bay. a man with a microphone appeared, and began to question people in the crowd about their new year’s resolutions. bill snickered in disgust. “i resolve to stop smoking, quit drinking, and to lose 180 pounds.” he mimicked, “and i also resolve to spend every waking hour doing my utmost best to promote peace, love, and universal understanding amongst all my fellow man; no matter what their race, religion, or national origin may be.” and then, in order to emphasize his total conviction in the matter; he lifted one of his immense buttocks and let off a loud fart. the final seconds before new year were ticking down. a big silver ball was sinking lazily towards the earth. the crowd chanted, “ten, nine, eight,” bill’s hand came to rest in the bottom of the nearly-empty popcorn bowl… “seven, six, five,” he nodded… “four, three, two, one…” pandemonium on tv; streamers, flashbulbs and firecrackers everywhere. the faint, echoey strains of auld lang syne blended in with the roar of the crowd and drifted around bill’s living room like the sound of a half-remembered dream. from the sofa, there came a soft buzzing noise, not unlike a baby’s snore… bill had gone to sleep.