Older Aphorisms – Ältere Aphorismen
Here are some aphorisms I wrote a few years back, the German originals are below.
The interesting thing about people that claim their intellect is a weapon is that oftentimes you can disarm them with one smart sentence. (Sven Bannuscher)
Philosophy is what turns man into an intellectual bulimic; he consumes his environment just to puke it out later on. (Sven Bannuscher)
Philosophie ist das, was den Menschen geistig zum Bulimiker macht; er frisst seine Umgebung in sich hinein, nur um sie später wieder auszukotzen. (Sven Bannuscher)
Das Interessante an Menschen, die behaupten ihr Verstand sei eine Waffe, ist, dass man sie mit einem klugen Satz oftmals direkt entwaffnen kann. (Sven Bannuscher)
Mine is what I can defend from you, yours is what you can defend from me
John F. Kennedy is quoted as saying “The freedom of the city is not negotiable. We cannot negotiate with those who say, ‘What’s mine is mine and what’s yours is negotiable.’”
While the last part seems to be rather universal for human interaction of everyone wanting more for themselves, it goes deeper than that. We generally only have as much right as we are willing and able to enforce, so:
Mine is what I can defend from you, yours is what you can defend from me. (Sven Bannuscher, 2012)
Mein ist, was ich vor Dir verteidigen kann; Dein ist, was Du vor mir verteidigen kannst. (Sven Bannuscher, 2012)
The Mixer
Another piece from the book I’ve been writing.
Frat Party last night… Never seen so many drunk and horny bitches in one place… Made out with some blonde girl… Don’t know her name… Ditched her to go to Georgetown with some others… Went to Hardtails… Had about five Gin & Tonic… Memory gets hazy… Next thing I remember is having my dick sucked in the bathroom… Don’t know her name… Had a few more Gin & Tonic… Next thing I remember is being back on campus walking into an all girls’s dorm holding some girls hand… Don’t know her name… Fucked her… Decided I did not want to wake up next to her… Stumbled outside… Went back to the mixer… Made out with another girl… Don’t know her name… Woke up… Mixers suck!
The night ended with Absinthe
Disclaimer: Any resemblance to real or imagined people is purely coincidental. All alcohol was consumed by professionals in a closed laboratory. A few humans but no animals might have been hurt by the awesomeness of this night. The following content is not suitable for minors, vegetarians, and other jerks.
I remember a Wednesday from over a year ago and you know that when you can remember a day like that, it was either the shits or really fucking awesome. This day was actually both or neither, but it doesn’t matter, since we had a blast.
The boss was out of town and we were just working away on our computers, waiting for the next customer to call in with some outrageous demand like the 350 pound lady that wanted to look like Dolly Parton in her pictures. Good luck with that one, fatty. Since no one called and we needed a little break, we photoshopped blunts into the fingers of brides and bridesmaids. It’s like a five minute job in Photoshop and about 10 minutes of laughing about afterwards. Even if our boss didn’t think so, we definitely deserved one of those 15 minute breaks. The day was passing slowly and we were bored, so we decided to go out for some drinks after work. Lia’s in Chevy Chase sounded good, so at 5.30pm, we hopped in our cars and spent the next 45 minutes in rush hour traffic.
No problem. We found parking quickly and by 6.30 had ordered our drinks. Lia’s is a little hidden across from the new Whole Foods, has some outside seating and a really cool bar area and often very gorgeous hostesses. Since it was cold, we chose the bar area. Table for four. I had come to Lia’s frequently the weeks before, so the bartender recognized me instantly. The usual? Yep. The usual for me is a supermug of Stella. I don’t even remember the bartender’s name, that’s how good the night was, but in case you read this: You rock, little Asian dude. A supermug is just another word for what we call a Maß in Germany, which are those big mugs that fit about 2 1/2 pints.
How fast does this car go?
Before the first lady has a heart attack, let me say that this is a fictional story and any resemblances to really awesome guys like me are purely coincidental. All stunts have been performed on a closed track by professionals and no animals have been hurt in the process.
You know what’s the best thing about moving to another country? You can get away with shit even if “ignorance of the law is not an excuse” bla bla.
I’m from Germany, so American speed limits are basically like finding a parking spot. After I moved over, I made friends with a cop and asked him about the laws regarding my German drivers license. Would I need to get an American one? Nope, I don’t, because German licenses are valid indefinitely in the US. I could get one but I shouldn’t. Why not? Well, about half the cops are idiots who went to academy because they couldn’t even get into community college, so they have no idea how to handle a foreign driver’s license. The other half are smart enough to know that giving someone with a European license a ticket would require a few additional pages of paperwork and if I were to argue even the most minor error (which is rather unavoidable), the case would be dismissed and I wouldn’t have to pay the ticket. Now that’s all I needed to know.
It was time to sell the shitty PT Cruiser and buy something with a little more style and power. A Mercedes CLK it was – a silver convertible. The compressor engine puts enough power on the road to be decently fast but not enough to seem suicidal in a country where assholes tend to cut to the left lane driving 50 miles per hour. Now where would a stylish guy like me go to celebrate his newly found freedom? New York, the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps.
Getting from DC to New York is at least a four drive, so it was time to see how fast I could be in Manhattan, while of course still trying to avoid the cops. A few weeks before I already practiced that a little when I knew I was driving too fast and suddenly saw the lights. I sped up, cut to the right over four lanes, right past a truck, and made a stiff brake to be shadowed by the truck when I saw the cop sprinting by. Two miles later I was in the middle lane and the cop was standing on the emergency lane just getting his radar gun ready. 1:0.
Excerpt – Snowmargeddon
The streets of Bethesda a few days after Snowmargeddon.
This is an excerpt from a book I have been writing. Last week, I heard a lot of people talk about Snowmargeddon, so I decided to make it a chapter.
Upon waking up, I could hear the rain drops hitting the window and based on the sound of it, it was a cold day. Those were not light rain drops like they fall in the spring, these rain drops were thick and hard and a grey cast lay over everything. The air felt like it would snow soon and the cold wind dug through every pore of my coat. The radio talked about an upcoming snow storm that may cause power outages in the area. The word Snowmargeddon could be heard everywhere and everyone had their own anecdotes and stories to tell. Do I remember Snowmargeddon? I sure don’t, but that’s probably because I still lived in Europe at that time and based on all accounts, it sounded like a rather average winter in the Alps. According to the short Hispanic girl at the coffee shop around the corner, the snow went up to her hips and even the guy at least one foot taller than her agreed that it went up to his hips. Of course his hips are around the height of her chest, but everyone you ask had the snow up to their hips no matter how tall or short they are.
Snowmargeddon, according to many, was the snowstorm of the century in Washington D.C. with the entire infrastructure being shut down for almost a week, snow wars all over the city, and power outages that affected hundreds of thousands. Yet, Washingtonians seem to all have good memories, as it took them out of their daily hectic miseries and allowed them to almost feel like human beings and not like machines of productivity. Only some supermarkets and restaurants had still been open to cater to those who had no supplies in their homes. Among the wealthier Washingtonions, it’s very common to have an empty fridge, almost as if to show their friends and acquaintances “Look at me, I don’t have to cook for myself”.
Based on the snow storms I have witnessed, particularly a strong winter I spent with my parents in the Swiss alps when I was a child, I would have imagined such total chaos to happen in a tropical third world country if suddenly it would be hit with a snowstorm of that proportion, but to hear a self proclaimed civilized country being completely shut down because of a little bit of snow seems outrageous. Maybe everyone just needed a break and was happy that Snowmargeddon gave them an excuse.
Terrorists in Love (with coffee)
Fashionably hosted in a private residence in downtown DC, this is the place for the pre-presentation party of Ken Ballen’s book Terrorists in Love, which is a very interesting read for someone who already does not believe the stern black and white scheme portrayed by the media. I took the author portrait for the book’s dust cover some months ago and had already talked about the book with Ken.
I usually self park, but the embassy district in DC is not known for its ample availability of free parking spaces, so I am glad to see that valet service is offered to those attending. You just get out of your car, hand your keys to some stranger and hope that you will get it back for the little piece of paper he just passed you. After all, in this economy he might just have gotten note that he was laid off and thinks your clean Mercedes convertible might be the perfect ride to celebrate.
Those worries quickly vanish when right by you see the first bar and the waiter asks if you would like wine or rather a Martini, how about Bourbon on the rocks. Bourbon wouldn’t be bad, but let’s start with the wine. After all I had promised Ken to take some pictures of him signing and handing out books.
Did someone say Foie Gras?
Yes, someone did say Foie Gras.
Foie Gras is one of those delicacies that people try to make you feel bad about with the unavoidable question if you know how it’s made. Yes, I know, but I care about as little about how it’s made while I’m eating as you care about how your Sirloin was made. I like to eat Foie Gras and I will keep eating it even if you are the 50th person who already asked me if I knew how it was made. You are neither original nor caring, you are just a little shit who wants to spoil my breakfast/brunch/lunch/dinner. After all, Foie Gras is one of those things you can eat any time of the day.
Of course when certain people are opinionated, a bunch of dimwits suddenly feel like they have to join the good fight. Just last month I was in California and was craving Foie Gras with a nice glass of Port Wine when I was told that California has a law banning Foie Gras. The law will not take effect till the summer of 2012, but it’s already impossible to find it. Are all geese force fed to make Foie Gras? No, but who cares.
When I came back to DC, I walked into my local Whole Foods, past the grapes on sale and straight to the corner where they usually have the Foie Gras and voila, it’s gone.