I started off this week in bed with the kid, still. We were supposed to be escaping Carneval on skis but after that terrible flu, there was no way I was making Diva hit the slopes; she could barely stand up for days after her fever finally went down and so even though she was technically well, we both thought it in her best interests to stay buried in blankets instead of hitting the road or staring at the shitshow that is the Rosenmontag parade. Die Zeit said that the festivities employ over 40,000 people in Cologne full-time but they seem to have hired more sweet sweepers than style-makers. Always in bad fashion, that event.
I hit the local kids’ parade on Tuesday where we were showered in gummy bears and swapped the ibuprofen out for Smarties, which seemed to work like all other homeopathic pills: you forget you’re sick long enough to actually maybe feel better. Especially when there’s this much of it:
I got over myself and dug further into reading Karl Ove Knausgaard’s My Struggle books and am pretty glad I did. He’s fabulous with words and a fantastic viewer of everyday banality and it’s only his lack of action that makes him so tough to read.
I don’t like to talk about my work here but this week was a fucking headache in that department, partly because it’s Fashion Week everywhere this month, which makes my work explode, and partly because I didn’t get enough work done while Diva was sick and the city was shut down (the shitty part about living in Cologne is that you have no kindergarten for 4 days but your clients in Berlin DGAF about Catholic holidays). But every so often, I get a perk and this week, that perk was an interview with some super talented musicians and an amazing amazing concert and then that made it all okay, I guess. I’ll be back to hating work tomorrow.
Finally, I found this You Tube sensation @Flula whom I had never encountered before and haven’t been able to stop laughing all week. This one’s for all my German friends who love basketball and that fact that Dirk No-irgendwas proved Wesley Snipes wrong. White Men Can Jump, though they sure really can’t rap (however, as Liv has pointed out, they sure do have a great sense of humor about their lack of rhythm). Enjoy your week, folks!
P.S. Don’t forget to send your questions for Dear Divorcee to me!