Beds, revisited

After reading one of my rants on king-sized European beds in European hotels, and how they have these sucky cracks in them, a friend sent me a link to solving this problem.

There are many ways to solve a problem. And I do thank you for the link. I would also propose this solution tends to treat the symptoms rather than addressing the root cause.

In my opinion, if European hotels would only invest in king sized mattresses, this strange concept of shoved-together twin mattresses would not cause those of us who hate bed cracks to whine. If king-sized mattresses are too expensive, then yes, this solution is quite useful. Why not provide it to travelers as an already installed benefit? I am still not satisfied with why the twin concept with crack exists in the first place. No one has offered a reasonable benefit for having a crackified bed.

I have a reputation in Switzerland which is often given to a very small child who asks these kinds of questions, who does not understand "why this, why that". One might say this is needed, to change a status quo, to enrich and improve the 08/15. The ones who say that are not likely to be living in Switzerland. Big changes begin with a series of very small and often unnoticed changes, like a river begins with droplets of water. Or like carbon dioxide can melt polar caps.

Beds

Just returned from a week-long ski trip with the family to Engelberg, Switzerland, a hill of angels. The snow was great, experiencing the Swiss vacation culture was fantastic (even if most Swiss see Engelberg as too Auslander touristy), and re-learning to ski with the family was a fun experience. The kids really loved the skiing. By Friday, after a full week of ski school, they were blazing down hills and ready to move to the harder slopes. I loved watching them have fun, and it was cute to see them empathetic at my lower skill level. The ski lodges were perfect, and the food in the old restaurants in the village was superb.

So what's with the split mattress thing in Europe? Who in their right mind actually enjoys sleeping on a crack? It's rare to find a king size bed that isn't two twin mattresses shoved together. I don't get it, and would enjoy anyone in the know to enlighten me. Am I supposed to travel with some sort of mattress thingy that bridges the crack?

Hey Euro hotels! Cracks suck!

Honk

The following happened today between 2:30pm and 2:40pm CET.

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
...
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
...
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
...
me: (looking around the room at everyone, also looking around in confusion)
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
me: Does anyone know what that means?
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
colleague 1: Adliswil just became a harbor?
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
...
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
me: Seriously...
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
colleague 2: They're testing the early warning system.
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
...
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
...
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
me: I thought Switzerland liked quiet.
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
...

Awareness

An actual chat message from work today...

him: hey$
me: hi
him: do you have an update on my project?$
me: still on target
him: ok, cool. when does it start?$
me: why do all of your sentences end with $
him: my new thing. raising awareness of controlling project expenses$
me: hmm. ok (!)
him: what is that?
me: what? (!)
him: i know what that means.
me: ok, cool (!)
him: :( l8r
me: cheers (!)

Herr Hair

Prior to the age of 14, my hair style changed often. A mix of fatherly cuts, barber cuts, and "seriously, don't touch my hair" cuts were common. I had every style imaginable growing up during this time period, from buzz to bowl to Beav to mushroom to Hmm. At the age of 14, I made a change, and started giving my hair appearance a little more attention. I started parting it down the middle. I might have even been one in a crowd of people with a green heavy-plastic "Dynomite" square comb sticking out of the back pocket of my Jordache jeans. Those combs hurt.

At the age of 16, in high school and awkwardly dating, I became serious about my hair appearance. The comb shrunk as the weird fad passed, but remained faithfully in my back pocket. I moved the part to one side, my right side, where it has remained for the past almost-30 years. I stopped carrying a comb after high school. The cuts were "good enough" that the hair was easy enough to use my fingers as a comb. This, to me, is more efficient.

I've only allowed 4 trusted hair professionals in my life tell me how my hair should look. Stephanie in Phoenix, my aunt Linda, my cousin Tina, and my best friend Trevor. For the most part, each played it safe and left it as it is. My hair situates itself in a way I should not be combing it. The part is better suited on the left side, but my 4 trusted professionals always knew to ask.

In Switzerland, I have been regularly visiting the Swiss equivalent to an American "Snip and Rip". I visit every 3 to 4 weekends for a shampoo and cut (47 francs). In fairness, I have low maintenance needs, so I get the junior skills. I walk out every time wishing I hadn't visited. There is almost no English spoken, and yet, I don't place a high importance on how my hair looks any more. It is a match and service of convenience. Trevor saved me on my last visit to KC. He fixed what was broken.

Yesterday, I visited the local Snip and Rip again for a haircut. This time, I received attention from the senior skilled attendee, likely the store manager. This time, my haircut was not bad. But, this time, my part ended up on the other side. After 30ish years, as my hair appearance isn't that important to me, maybe it is time to allow it to do what every professional has always said it should do. And, since I don't speak German, I can't exactly argue.

Things I miss 3

My wife and I were walking to a train station on a very cold evening, in unusual blizzard conditions.

her: Ahh, that smell. I like our apartment, but you know what I miss here in Switzerland?
me: What?
her: A fireplace.
me: Know what I miss here in Switzerland?
her: What?
me: America.

Nullachtfünfzehn

I have heard a set of sounds (a German phrase popular in Switzerland) now explained twice to me. These sounds represent a string of symbols: 08/15. Literally translated, null is zero, acht is eight, fünfzehn is fifteen. I recognized these sounds as they were being spoken because, in terms of speaking German, I am only a small child. Imagine a dog making the same facial expression I make when I recognize the meanings behind German sounds... "Go for a walk?" "Where's your ball?"

Nullachtfünfzehn is an idiom which comes from two years stuck together, 1908 and 1915. These years represent models of a German machine gun, MG-08/15, first issued in World War I, the latter having been improved for efficiency.

This set of sounds, in context of being explained about me, is actually an attempt at helping me integrate, an attempt at helping me to understand a behavior which is expected from me. In Switzerland, being nullachtfünfzehn is best. Not standing out is best. Being standard issue, following the rules, incorporating the opinions of others... is best. I am none of these. I stand out, which often causes conflict in my job because my confidence is a target, while it is also humbly built on the work and sacrifice of many others. I miss nuances through ignorance, or just a lack of realizing their local intrinsic value. I didn't grow up on the playgrounds of Switzerland, so I have no understanding of something like the power of a facial expression which might influence an entire population. I have come to agree that, while all of us are stars in a universe, some stars burn hotter and faster and are not sustainable. Nevertheless, during a star's time, there is still much utility from its energy and light. I can only suppose this is how I am viewed in this culture. Perhaps I am intended here for a short time, for a purpose which should reveal itself to me at some point.

Moving into a new culture, where all the rules are different, almost opposite, is like starting over from the beginning. At my age, I struggle with wondering if my outsider skills inside their culture have much value. If being nullachtfünfzehn is how to be successful in a place where the rules of success are not intuitive to me, perhaps the reason I am here is because my utility is to be a havoc-wreaking pulsar. In response to a conflict, I was given the usual phrase as advice "you're not going to change him." Was I brought here for my utility knowing that people don't change, or to learn this culture so that I might change and flourish within it? It is a puzzle that has put me at a self-reflective crossroad.

I believe great leaders inspire others, leading by example, employing positive motivation. To me, being nullachtfünfzehn is helpful when others need standard patterns, so that the rules are known, to instill comfort and trust, to know what to expect. Maybe that's the message I should be hearing. Just try to be more predictable so that others can trust. Most Americans would call me quite predictable. A completely unpredictable goofball... but even that is predictable.

Oh yay. The Louds have returned.

Eight suitcases rolling down a concrete floor of a long apartment hallway... a dog returning from the kennel happy to see everyone... "NO!" screams a child at another, because the target has picked up the wrong iPod... "MOOOOMMM", a hurricane shrill echoing from downstairs... silverware dropping off of handled dishes and rattling around a metal sink... dishes clanging together as they are managed into a dishwasher...

me: Any chance you can maybe try to be a little less noisy?
her: Whatever. No one can hear anything. These walls are solid concrete.
me: Maybe you don't hear them because they are trying to be quiet. Did you forget we live in the Land of Shh?

I will always remember our relocation agent pushing this apartment harder than the others. "You'll love this one. It's very international." Translated: You'll be around other louds, so feel free.

Mein Gott! Silence the bells!

I grew up in a smallish midwestern town, Blue Springs, a suburb of Kansas City, another smallish midwestern city. I went to a church in a smallish midwestern town, Raytown, a suburb of Kansas City. Not once did I hear church bells. Not even once. I DID hear church organs, people singing, a preacher giving a sermon or a prayer, people shaking hands, enjoying their fellowship, and every once in a while some dumbass doing donuts in his Pontiac Grand Prix in the parking lot.

Here, in fun Switzerland, every hour on the hour the church bells toll. Every half hour, on the half hour, church bells toll. On Saturdays and Sundays, the church bells have fits, randomly to me because I have no schedules and I don't speak German. On Sunday, at 9:50am local time, the entire area for as far as my old ears can hear erupt into mass chaos, whether I'm ready to awaken or not.

So that you can also share in the enjoyment, here's a video example of me, ducking under the Berkowitsch, then doing what I can to leave the frame of view... because, you know, I'm shy.

Swinglish

Expats (actually, not expats, just my wife) here are fond of apologizing for butchering the local language by adding their own words to it. They like to say "oh, please forgive my Swinglish." They are trying to be clever. Truth be told, it's not even a Swiss German and English mixture. It's more an attempt at Highglish Germanglish.

For someone like me who hardly knows a few words in German, the clever Swinglish phrasing is still lost on me. I told my son the other day, who is quickly learning German and singing German songs around the place...

me: You are speaking like a third grade German.
him: Come on, Dad, you say something now. You're supposed to be advanced.
me: Ha. I speak worse German than a little German baby.
him: Oh DAD!

Really, this is how we learn languages. Mimicking, speaking, then reading. I'm going to study this a bit more. I have two colleagues who know more languages than I have fingers. I have one colleague who can describe which language was popular during the 1700s and what the socio-economic status of the majority European population was. I am completely dumbfounded by this, with immense feelings of inadequacy.

Leave it to stupid me to read restaurant signs in mixed English and German, and ask "Why do they have special menus for 2 gang members and 3 gang members?"

Uh...

I used to only smell this distinguishing smell at rock concerts that I would attend with my brother. The two of us would buy tickets to attend the old and repeating music of fading rock bands. We would ask each other "How would you feel if you had to play the same song over and over, the one you wrote when you were in a depressed stupor 35 years ago?"

Now, I can smell this distinguishing smell at train stops, walks in the park, walking through an art school campus, at restaurants, at the post office, in a grocery store... I smell THIS smell more frequently than the very local gag-reflex-causing-raclette-smell. I am not living in Amsterdam. I am living in Zurich. And yet, it is tolerated because... well, I don't know why. Of all the rule following rule lovers here, this one seems to be a little relaxed.

CLAP

Imagine concentrating on your computer screen, then suddenly out of nothing comes this CLAP sound. Your first reaction would to be look at where that sound came from, startled, then wonder why the hell the person clapped once, and returned to their work. Now imagine that happening throughout the day, at spontaneous intervals. You will be thinking "Tourette Syndrome", or just plain messed up. These must be the thoughts of my co-workers and family members, observing me throughout each day lately.

I am obsessed. There are these tiny little bugs that fly at my face throughout each day. Tiny. These tiny little flies (smaller than fruit flies) land on my nose hairs, on my eyelashes, on my lips... all freaking day long. I kill them all the freaking time, and yet 4 more spontaneously pop into life in place of the one I just killed. It is an annoying nonstop video game of Asteroids, but in real life. I am so embarrassed for my surrounding colleagues having to tolerate me.

Then I come home, try to have a glass of wine. I put down my glass, and out of nothing appear 6 fruit flies, also enjoying my glass of wine.

Then I go to bed, and I am sucked dry of my blood supply by mosquitoes that somehow enter my existence through wormholes. I am freaking nuts.

Tram restrictions

Here's a list of things you can't do while riding a tram in Switzerland. Evidently, you cannot:

1. Blow your cigarette smoke onto the head of the person sitting in front of you.
2. Pull out your empty pockets inside out and wave your arms up and down.
3. Play your guitar and sing.
4. Saw the seat next to you.
   
5. Put your golf cleats onto the seat in front of you.
   

Lines

I stand in lines at Vapiano's to have my pasta made to order, or to order a pizza. I stand in lines at the bank, the grocery store check-out stand, the post office, and the ticket counter at the train station. I stand in lines at the cafeteria at work, to enter a revolving door in a mall, to get in to see a movie. Lines are everywhere here.

So why the hell do people rush in front of me when I'm stepping onto a train, a tram, a bus, an escalator at the Zurich Haupt Bahnhoff, or passport control at the airport? Why don't the same queuing rules apply in these situations? And why is it ok to pick your nose in public here, or sneeze all over everyone? What about these things are not staying within certain lines?

Switches

I've been working a lot more lately. I'm feeling tired on weekends, but still working to catch up. When I was in the US, I would work at a frenzy in the morning until after lunch. From my New York or Kansas perspective, these are the hours the Swiss are still working. Then after lunch, I would catch up, sometimes until late at night. Here, the energy is focused from morning until night, then I often continue with my American colleagues for a while after. This is a big switch for me and for my manager, who used to do this, and may still, but perhaps not to the same energy level of before I landed here.

Speaking of switches, my wife asked me last weekend to help her hang some lighting. In the apartments here when one moves in, there is no lighting anywhere. Just wires hanging from ceilings in places where lights should be. Maybe the bathroom has a light or two, but nothing in any other room. This is normal here. When you move, you strip everything... lights, window treatments, everything.

For a short-term stay like mine, we are faced with a decision on how much to invest, feeling anything we bring in we will either try to sell, or throw away. We chose cheap, of course. And to remain within our limited budget, she asked me to help her hang and wire them. To know me means you will also know my reaction. I am not the handiest mate. My work is better when left to thoughts. My manual execution skills produce things that end up not what was hoped, expected, anticipated. My hands are about as useful as a couple of flopping fish. American light switches are about my pace. They are clearly labeled "on" and "off". I like binary thinking. It is simple to me, and it matches the simplicity needed for my fish hands. As long as the electrician did their proper job, all will be safe.

her: I need you to help me connect this light.
me: I don't speak German.
her: Come on. Just help. I don't know how to do it or I would.
me: You can look it up on the Internet.
her: So can you. So do that, then help me.

I look up the wiring on the Internet. Blue, brown, green stripe. These are (sometimes) the colors hanging from the ceiling. These aren't exactly the colors that match the lighting, but one of them does, the blue one. I think I'm smarter than the average light switch. Me and my fish can figure this out.

I connect one. I fiddle with the other.

me: Baaararararuarahgfhwqruigy
her: What?
me: Uh... can you turn off the power to this one? I just absorbed 220V.
gus: What was that? What happened? (He comes running from upstairs).
me: Oh, nothing. I was just laughing at your Mom. Sorry to bug you.
her: Well how do you know if it's on or off?
me: When you hold them both, it does or doesn't hurt.

More things I miss

Over coffee, one of my colleagues told me he switched to a Vegan lifestyle within the last few months. I had to ask him several questions about this when he told me. He says he doesn't miss the food he's given up, although he does see finding the food he wants to be more of a challenge. I could relate the part about finding the food I wanted being a challenge.

Near the building where I work, the building with the crazy people-grinding doors, there is a well known after-work place we frequent. The probability of seeing a colleague there is very high every night. It's close. It's convenient. It's directly next to a train station. They serve beer. But it's also branded as "an American Pub". The name of it is supposed to be modeled after what the Swiss (and the rest of the world) believe to be American. They serve hamburgers, fries, other things that are somehow fried in oils. Their hamburgers don't taste like hamburgers. They put some form of what we call Thousand Island dressing on it. It's not simple. Now I really want a US hamburger. And I want the beef to be laced with antibiotics, antimicrobials, hormones, and other non-regulated US additives. Add US home-grown genetic manipulation to this so that the cow stores more fat. If the manipulated fat tastes like bacon, great. In fact, add bacon, too. Not this flimsy prosciutto-like-pork-strips-faking-to-be-bacon. The real carcinogenic stuff.

Here's a few more things I've realized I miss:
- Men's Wearhouse: We know you'll like the way you look... cheap. I bought a suit here a couple of weeks ago. Omg. The cost of clothing here is unreal. I bought a suit because my clothes aren't fitting me any more. I'm losing weight. I'm so angry about this, too. I really did enjoy looking like that chap in the picture. I was so contented then, living with my conveniences, my hamburgers, my TV shows, driving everywhere, walking from my car to inside wherever. At this rate, I will be buying unrealistically expensive clothing, wearing them a couple of weeks, and buying more. It's ridiculous, and I've had enough. Send me real hamburgers, PLEASE!
- Cheap dry cleaning: can't say more than that.
- Cheap anything.
- Fluffy bagels with eggs and cheese. Mmmm.
- OK Joe's BBQ: Guuhhguugguguugugg.
- Noisy kids.
- Harley mufflers rolling through at 2am, rattling the house. I can't sleep with all the quiet here.
- Magazines I can read: every convenience store (brand name is Kiosk) here has rows and rows of magazines in German.
- Stag's Leap Artemis: my affinity for California red will never be surpassed by the great ones they have within proximity of these borders. I'm a snob for CA grapes. ;)
- And of course, my family and friends. At least facebook helps me keep up on their statuses, even if one of my cousin's statuses is simply "I'm pooping".

1970s

Three years ago, one of my first complaints to a colleague about the locale of my new Swiss employer (through an acquisition) was that there was an underlying theme of 1970s. Not so much in fashion or styles as Zurich is at the forefront here, but more toward conservative business practices. They agreed, but through the eyes of their perspective. This colleague was an American female. I've also learned that once a person declares something, whether or not disputed, there is much energy spent collecting evidence to support such a declaration. I admit the following is my collecting evidence to support wild generalizations and skewed observations. Please read it as such, and not a political view.

Americans are seen by the rest of the world as being excessively litigious. Of course, there are good sides and bad sides. One of my Swiss colleagues described a family member enduring medical procedure horrors, with no satisfying recourse. Here, it is understood that people make their own decisions, and therefore accept the consequences. Social medicine here is wonderful when it works well, and can be very painful when it doesn't. I have lots of friends and a few relatives who are attorneys. Even Americans recognize the craziness of litigation practices, and most know a good lawyer joke. The Swiss seem far more self-controlled, self-governed, visible pride about knowing and following the rules so that order for each is respected. Fairness for all seems a core value, even if to me fairness is an illusion granted by those who have control of a system. For now, living among them, I like this. At some point, I can sense I may find myself a victim without recourse, and will then complain about injustice.

Women in the corporate world in Switzerland also face many challenges that America seems to have addressed since the 1970s. Daycare is rare and very difficult to find. The public school system sends children home for lunches, making a cohesive workday impossible. There is a spoken belief that mothers are to care for their children. Equality in pay, still an issue in America, seems also to be a recent issue here. At least in government, more women are becoming visible. But it is still very noticeable when looking around the ranks in conservative corporations. I can imagine my female colleagues feel privileged and accomplished to be where they are in strong positions, but also see the challenges in working with the male networks, the systems in place that have worked for generations, and still being able to further their goals and experiences.

Sexual harassment, a behavior changer in America, also has a view here tied to both litigation and American awkwardness in courting. Here, men can openly comment on the beauty of a local woman in the office, joke about being a blond, discuss openly the chances of winning the affection of a female colleague to enhance the success of a project. They are deathly fearful of doing the same while in America, so they know the difference. "La bise", or greeting with a series of cheek kisses, is a custom performed locally, 3 for close, 2 for acquainted, including during office greetings. I was recently described as "shy" for not respecting this custom, and while I attempted it my first time with friends two evenings ago, there was still an internal reaction which broadcasted my American awkwardness. I am still shy because I have been wired this way.

My 11 year old daughter brought these home the other day. She loves to spend her francs on candy.

kris: Ohhh, these remind me of Ava and the 5 and Dime. I would take a quarter and come back with a bag of candy.
me: When was that?
kris: I was just a little girl, maybe 4 or 5. Everybody in Ava was smoking real ones, I would smoke these.
me: So, the '70s?

My first reaction to seeing these was a parent's reaction to finding real ones with their child. It was an overreaction of course, but it led me to wonder more about the cigarette companies, and how their profits are largely made from non-Americans. Tort law just isn't the same here... yet. I have to wonder if it is something to come as our local cultures continue to mix, merge, mash-up, or if litigation as a means for justice satisfaction will be resisted. Anyway, the gum sucks, just like it did when I bought it in the 1970s.

Coke Light

This crap is not Diet Coke. It doesn't taste the same, it doesn't have the same name. Ask for a "Diet Coke" here, and you receive a) a Coke Light, b) a Coke Zero, c) select words in Swiss German, or d) a combination of any of these.

I hear a lot about the health quotient of the average Swiss citizen. Granted, the majority are fit. Very few look chubbier than I am, and the majority of these are not authentic Swiss. Even the aged folk (nicknamed Billy Goats within the expat community because they outpace the average American youth on hill climbing activities) are sprightly, well versed in Swiss diets, and are filled with pointers on living long and large. An example is "one glass of quality Swiss wine every day."

But when I go to any restaurant, or walk through the open-air train station, I am choked by the smoke exhaust of thousands of cigarettes. Apparently, smoking here is still considered healthy, but aspartame is not.

On a side note, last night I had a steak. The only reason I ordered it was because there was a footnote, something to the effect of Chicken is from France, Veal is from Switzerland, Lamb is from New Zealand, Beef is from US (caution: may contain antibiotics, antimicrobials, or other US allowed additives). All I can say is those things are yummy, but Coke Light is crap.

Size matters

Any non-driving co-worker who has attempted to enter the building where I work through the front door with a briefcase, a backpack, or their canoe will know the thoughts that follow.

A couple of days ago, I stepped into one of these security devices carrying my backpack. I don't carry much in my backpack. Some papers, my reduced-size German laptop. It's quite portable. The doors are a bi-directional revolving door. I am supposed to fit into one quarter of it as I enter or exit. Just entering into it is not enough. One is asked to coordinate a scan of one's security badge, mounted on the outside of the revolving door, while stepping inside to the one-quarter space. I can do this quickly as I step in, or I can step in and reach around, quickly retracting my arm before it is chewed off. This time, a couple of days ago, it just about got chewed off, luckily only bruised like a bottom-of-the-crate apple.

Now, most people who live and work in Switzerland are quite fit. Most are very attractive, very distinguished, polished. So to see me fold into one of these things, reach around for the scan, and then take 50 tiny baby steps until the door completes its one-quarter turn, now that's a sight. But to see me get chewed up and spit out on the other end like a side of beef becoming a hamburger, that's worth the CHF 8 for the Quarter-Turner With Cheese.

her: You should call that post "Size matters"
me: Hm.
her: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha... I'm so funny, I should be writing your blog.

Schnecken

My posts have been getting more and more intolerable, not just to me but also to the 4 readers of this blog. So I should decide to change, or continue the pattern.

Here's a picture of a Zurich slug. "Slugs" (or "snails") translates to "Schnecken" in German. This summer, walking to work or to home has been an obstacle course. These disgusting creatures are everywhere, sliming their way to rotting on a sidewalk, or just plain rotting. I don't see them anywhere else except in my path. I'm told they eat plants, usually the ones people like to eat, so they are also a nuisance.

Bear sniffed this one on an outing because it was in the way of us getting from here to there, at which point I had to wait an extra 3 minutes just for it to extrude its eyeballs again so that I could take this photo. I'm told every creature has its place. This one tends to be more on the bottom of shoes.