Back to topic. All began last Friday. Was about to post on movieforum of TheeveningNews, about Ralf Tanner and the slap. Bugclap4 said nothing going on any more with him and Carla Mirelli, while icu_lop thought still something to be saved. I was one who knew more again, had read something on another Web site, but when I wanted to go public, noticed I couldn’t post any more. Wouldn’t work! Whole load of error messages each time, and because it stank I just called up.
Okay, okay, okay, okay, clear already. Didn’t think. I know. But evening before to top everything banged heads with mother again: you can cook for yourself, you can wash your own stuff, like that plus more, finally me back “So live alone, pay your own rent!”
Then her: “Never wanted to move here! And you’d really rather be with some tramp!”
Then me: “go back to flyspeckland, cow!”
Around midnight, kiss-up scene in cinemascope, but next day I was still cross-wired and all down-side up, otherwise none of it would have happened.
So, looked up number, dialed. So furious, could hear heart thump-beating.
Voice answering man. Me: “my postings aren’t being posted! Already the fourth time.”
Voice: How, what, postings where? No explanations there.
Me: explanations, explanations, blablah, then him “connecting you now!”
Then second and third technotype, and that’s exactly when Lobenmeier came back and smiled like a moosehead while the technotype asked for name and location and IP address and Ethernet ID. Then typed, yawned, typed, stopped. “Give me the IP again.”
Me: “Problems?”
He typed, stopped, typed, then asked if it’s possible I’ve already posted twelvethousandthreeehundredfortyone times on TheeveningNews.
“And?”
Him again: “twelvethousandthreeehundredfortyone!”
“So?”
Him, third time. This not going anywhere. I hung up.
I know you’re uproaring with laughter. But no one is a hundred percent on alert, and shit occurs. When I tried again, the posting went through at once, and there was so much to do that I didn’t give it another thought. Discussion already far along, high time for someone to bring voice of reason. Ralf Tanner and Carla Mirelli, I wrote, it will never be anything again, he has sawdust in his head and is as ugly as an ox, you can forget it!
Only hours later did I begin to suspect I had done a really dumb thing. Real names, real addresses, the IP. I was now a whole load visible. Very bad feeling, and for real. Was chain-ganging again and no way to brainwave: major fight going on with lonebulldoggy on Thetree.com and at the same time I had to check through some Achtung from the technical department about mess-ups in the phone number bank that the boss had slapped on my desk. I’d had it for two days. Had forwarded it to Hauberlan, who obviously felt he had to send it on upstairs, probably just to darken me, the Überswine is in league with Lobenmeier. And suddenly the boss calls.
Result: general brown-trouser alert and whole load of heartrace. Of course thought: must be the IP thing already. Stand up, go, tell myself to stay cool as a fridge. I’m not a No-gump, have already written things in the German Chancellor’s online Guestbook but they got all erased no one can just flatten me like that, I can dish it out to anyone when I have to.
So am standing in front of the boss, and he’s looking at me. Piercingly. Like Saruman. Or Vorlone-Kosh from Babylon 5. Looking at me and me looking back. Fridgeorama. Two men, one look. Giant screen encounter.
Blahblahing about Congress of European Telecommunications Providers, Startgo day after tomorrow. Wanted to go himself, couldn’t. Department had to be represented, also presentation made: National versus European frequency norms.
Took me some time to figure out. Oh fuckingshit. What? You have to know I hate the travel thing a whole load. The seats in the trains are crazy narrow so that normal human person can’t get backside into them. And a presentation in front of strangers, I don’t think so.
Me in sequence: no, and won’t work, and have other plans, but him: nonsense, you have to, you’re the best. So what to say? Me: “Okay boss!” And him: “You’re my man!” and me: “no, no stop!” and him: “but it’s true!” and so on back and forth and back again, then me back in my office.
On the way home to tranquilize, the new book by Miguel Auristos Blanco. Writes that you shouldn’t take things to heart: learn to accept. Bingo! Which is better, to cover the earth with a carpet or to put on shoes? Must write that down. Wow. Where does someone like that find that stuff?
Then more row with mother. Away whole weekend, oh really, and how would she spend her time, and if I don’t care.
Me: “So go out. Go to a movie!”
“Don’t know, don’t want to! And don’t believe you, you’re meeting a tramp.”
Me: “Rubbish, nothing there” and so on.
Her: “Don’t pretend. You’re meeting one. And me alone at home. If only I’d known that thirty-seven years ago, you were such a darling, so little.”
Me: “So move out if it doesn’t suit you!” What I always say to her, now you know.
“And who will cook for you?”
Okay. Point for her. So leave her standing, slam the door, lock myself in. Leaf through Auristos Blanco and try parallel move to get into Moviechat with DotB. No chance of course, server overloaded, everyone trying, logical outcome. Become one with things, one with becoming one, one with your oneness with them, one with your anger too, and if the atom bomb should fall, then become one with the bomb. Big Bang Theory. I know, I’m too busy, too much work, too much day-in-day-out, but the super-thoughts, recognize those asap, soon as I see them. Then distracted by lordoftheflakes, usual bullshit, and by proctor, zheligoland, and pearfriend who’ve got hits on his site, and two new posters I don’t know at all and have to bellyslash right there. (Could also be that lordoftheflakes had new Nicks. Sort of thing drives me nuts, disgusting. Have three other names, me too of course, but only use them when baddest bad guys leave me no choice.) Transparent that I ought to have prepared my presentation, but it wasn’t until the day after tomorrow and I couldn’t concentrate right now. Shortly before midnight, a couple more private sites. Sweet, if you understand one, none of those brutal ones, they’re not for me and then went to bed.
Next day: train trip. Felt sick, seats too narrow— surprise—but not full-full so I could lift armrest and spread over two. Out there little house, roads, meadowswamp things, the whole view-from-the-train bit. Then exit, escalator down, escalator up, hard to breathe, sweating like a pig. But made my connection, more meadowswamps, farmhouses, fields of mustard. Six hours, already crazy-nervous could barely remember last time offline for so long. Finally arrive, driver with minibus to collect me and other Congress types. All ties and briefcases, the usual.
“Traveling: hell,” I said to the neighboring nerd along the way. “And for what! We could do everything from home by V.IP! I’d see you, you’d see me, everything easy-peasy, no stress.” But the nerd just stared and then slid away along the seat.
At Reception, I demanded instant Internet. The woman looked at me like an obelisk. “Internet! Hello, Internet!”
Her: “not working right now.”
“Pardon, what, how, huh?”
Her: yes, so sorry, service interrupted at the moment, usually the rooms have wi-fi, but not for now.