For ten solid years, I have regularly displayed more familiarity with the prices of various petroleum products than with my immediate family’s birthdays. Nudge me awake deep in the night and ask me what a liter of diesel fuel costs. “One twenty-one point nine,” I would say instantly. “Super unleaded one forty-two point nine. V-Power-Racing one sixty-one point nine. Not that anybody ever buys it.” More »
Since Bosch’s invention of the spark plug, Swabians have enjoyed a reputation as an inventive bunch. Those born on the banks of the Neckar feel called upon, collectively and individually, to put their ingenuity at the service of humanity, however trivial the results. A Swabian, even should he fail to publish in book form a compendium of his “thoughts” on “God and the World,” will in no case neglect to obtain a patent for his original discovery, leaving the world a better place than when he found it. More »
Today’s organized crime syndicates are called “Jamba” or “debitel.” More »
Most people want out. I want in. There’s no more peaceful place at Christmas than a hospital. More »
Ownership of a chainsaw (preferred brand: Stihl) is the ticket to membership in southern Germany’s tribal clans. More »
I just got home from a proctologist’s office. The condition he diagnosed, in German “Marisken,” is neither appetizing on its face nor otherwise suitable for permanent enshrinement in association with my international online reputation as a journalist of quality, so I will spare my readers the details. Even in German, the word is obscure, of a piece with “bergamot” and “salvia.” When I first heard it, the image that presented itself to my mind’s eye was certainly not that of a raw and malformed anus, but of a bouquet of flowers. The medical profession has something in common with politics: Giving an ugly reality a nice name is the first step on the road to healing. Shingles, for example. It could be a benign condition in which coin-sized, lizardlike scales painlessly obscure the skin. Its German name, “Gürtelrose,” makes it sound like a girdle made of rose petals, or so I tell myself. More »
“Self service” was once a promise of cheap, fast customer satisfaction. These days, it’s a threat. More »
I know nothing, and I just failed the aptitude test for journalism school. Hand me my revolver. More »
Every two weeks, Zeitenspiegel’s Philipp Mausshardt writes a column for the Berlin taz: Suggestions on how the world could be made livable and other futile gestures for amusement purposes only. More »
A guide to touring historic churches. Don’t forget the hryvni. More »