Back to the Empirical Logic, part II


So the first performance went well. I’m doing my best to not be affected by the fact that when I appeared in my boxers, the audience burst into laughter. Hopefully that means I was fulfilling the fleshy duties of my role.

With some early practise for my new role at Surrey as Marketing and Outreach Officer, marketing of the production is going well, with 3x the amount of interest in the past couple of days alone. This comes in perfectly for the sudden requirement to begin on a brand new set of hausarbeiten, ripe and ready for the new holiday. Now would be a good time to have some actual idea what the fuck to write about. Received a letter from Surrey this week, asking us to detail our final deadlines and end of placements as we’re now reaching the end. A feeling beyond the words of even my pretentious vocabulary. September, Heidelberg felt like an indefinite lifetime, this was my home for a year. Now, Heidelberg feels temporary, short term, with the end of it rushing up to meet me. Neither of which feelings did I have a bloody clue how to handle.

Anyhow, proving once again that people have a habit of literally accepting anything they’re told and are even capable of forming an opinion based on no evidence whatsoever, Facebook today was blasted with a series of photos detailing how it was the day of the future that Marty McFly arrived at, in Back to the Future 2, a world filled with hover boards, flying cars, alternate fuel and motion controlled video games. The photos showed self-congratulatory chastising of the ignorant futuristic predictions, idly sidestepping their own incorrect information with beautifully elegant irony. Forgetting this folly, and moving past a slight loss in humanity that even on facebook with all the net at your disposal, people are still so willing to jump on an unsupported bandwagon, given the fact that Back to the Future predicted video phone calls over inter-connected computer systems, people uploading all their profiles with likes and dislikes onto this system for ease of access, money being transferred from account to account at the push of a button, recycled produce as energy fuel, holographic walls and video screens capable of containing many windows at once all displaying video systems, not to mention ID chips and retina recognition, I’m half expecting hover boards to be on the market soon. Especially given hover flight has been achieved just without ease of motion. I wonder if had these predictions not been made under Zemeckis, would some of them have happened in real life? Much like how Spiderman invented the concept of the GPS tracking device, go Spidey! We still love you, even if the Avenges don’t.

Mind you, criticising those not looking for empirical evidence does leave a funny taste in my mouth, given I’m supposedly a Christian.


Love Nibbles Nipples


So here I am, sat on the sofa backstage, first night is ready, audience will be filing in soon, tomatoes at the ready, their salivating mouths awaiting our clumsy performances and forgotten lines. It wasn’t all that long ago that I was sat in the anglistik common room just chillin’ like a muthaluvva, when I watched an audition take place in front of me. So why not just jump in and audition, for the lols?

Since then, I’ve lived those three months back in England, completely forgetting about the script I’d been emailed until I returned for a fantastic semester at Heidelberg, where I found that I was going to be on stage within 2 months, wearing my boxers and feeling the impatient bite of a temperamental whip. What better way to ease one’s sexual frustration?

Curtain up is soon and I am already in costume, just hidden under the rest of my actual clothes. One of the few actual times for me that getting dressed entails the complete opposite. Hopefully the audience will appreciate the pinkness of my nipples.

Nimble Nibbler


So England lost to Italy yesterday? I guess that ball was just too greasy for them to handle. Normally I approach football like I do any other form of entertainment; follow its progress, enjoy the games, discuss and banter over it with my mates. Like watching a film, when the game is on screen, I feel the fun and ride the excitement, and when it’s over I turn it off and return to my daily life. Last night however was possibly the first time I’d actually felt a sense of disappointment continue post-match. I’ve looked at Football fans when their team lose and fail to conceive just why they would let something so detached from the real world negatively affect their emotions. Even now, I find it ridiculous. Football, and its following, is the geekiest thing in existence and the emotional discharge is just as illogical. I admire any passion, and look up to anyone who can harbour such love for a pastime, but can only shake my head in confusion when actual depression follows failure. I may have already announced my loyalty to the German squad but still I feel England could have, or possibly even should have, gotten further. Alas.

Somewhere that could have done with going further and perhaps in the right direction was mine and Zoe’s escapade to Bülder Haus in Rohrbach. Just some casual rock climbing to pass a sunny evening. One and a half hours later, and we were still searching for the bloody place. It would appear that Germans, like Lawyers, will insist on giving you an answer even when they have no idea whatsoever. It was this process that left us being confronted by American Military Guards, characteristically not speaking a word of German, and getting stuck in a surreal Ghost town of children’s playgrounds, fenced-in front lawns and dark windows that is Mark Twain Village. I’m sure that if the literary realist and charmingly witty pontificator was aware that a village had been constructed in his name he would have been confused at best. Throw in that it’s a military town and I dare say mister Twain would’ve thrown a whimsical fit.

A few cheeky hours later and I saw evidence as to how rock climbing genuinely outclasses sex, after all, you can choose the length and width of your rope, leave your protection for guys after you, there’s lots of cracks and the only rubber you wear is on your feet. Either that or I really need to improve my understanding of intercourse.

Bit on the fence about that…

Saturday came and went. With Barbecues and Betch Shoes thanks to the internet reminders of the inexpoundable Gian, we took the to Neckarwiese. Mind you, generally the main function of grilling together is to actually have a barbecue; a subtle expectation that may have slipped us by. Thankfully it wasn’t long until a few culinary saviours came to the rescue with their disposable barbecue grills. I then realised that maybe I should’ve brought some food, so off to the horrifically expensive, but delightfully close, Rewe for some meaty meat.

The evening arrived and so did the necessity for predrinking. Utterly defeated by the buzzer system in the modern Neuenheimer Feld buildings, I ended up sneaking in after a couple of randoms, after having memorised which room number Graham lived in. A number I promptly forgot before entering the building.

THE PLAN: a trippy art studio near Halle, Breidenbach, which only opens its doors for events once a month. THE PROBLEM: A large queue and expensive entry prices. Told there was no chance of entry we sat down in the alleyway across from the club. When lo, what befell! Casting our eyes aside as the object did present itself, we meet our nemesis; a steel fence, not ten feet high. A challenge indeed! With alcohol in our bloodstream, confidence in our eyes and peer pressure in our hearts, we scaled the fence, scrabbling up the metal like drunken monkey masters. I guess that’s Darwin for you, when in doubt, go back a few evolutionary states and you shall find your answer. Suddenly this outdoor arts fest of tripping music became all the more scintillating when you earned your way in through climbing over two fences. With its two story nightclub, in which I couldn’t decide whether to “bust-a-move”, or just “move, buster”, floating chairs and inflatable crocodiles,, the Breidenbach event took itself quite well.

My only regret is I left before Spanish Jesus appeared. Now that would’ve been a Revelation.

I’ll let you ride my Speyer

One of the many Doms of Speyer

So, decided to have a night in, just because. No harm in it. Facebook chat a few people, relax and sort out committee stuff. Wake up and there’s a chunk of my heel missing and blood on the bed… Maybe I should stick to going out. At least with alcohol I only end up with bruises.

So, with my phone thankfully returned due to the heroic Denis who battled hell and heathen to collect it from the Keller, I am free to roam again. And roam we did, as ol’ Northern Matt and I excursioned ourselves to the little town of Speyer. A town that allegedly appears in the Doomsday book, what better place to go on a Friday afternoon?  Like a smaller version of Heidelberg, with less hills (Yes, Heidelberg is my main point of reference for ALL of Germany), and far more Bavarians, Speyer proved to be a beautiful pocket of Allemagne. Was supposed to be going travelling today but a night of insomnia left me better starved for sleep. Probably best for my wallet. Though after this post is done, it’s onwards to the Neckar for sunshine, giggles and barbecues by the river to celebrate the coming of age of Mr Neil and Sir Graham. Titles are not hierarchy.

With my helpful little surfstick (the credit on which I’m sure I’ll use up within a week), I’ve been able to indulge in a little bit more internet at home, which has helped me see all the beautiful faces of those acquaintances I associate myself with on a regular basis, in the form of bitrated communications online. MADSoc committee meetings sure are a hell of a lot easier when you’re able to see their faces.

… for better or worse…

Summer Heights Nigh


Regardless of when our production may be set, I think it would be suitably anachronistic to be playing with a smart phone on stage. For this reason in last night’s test performance on stage, I ducked my phone out of view somewhere backstage. And there it stayed. Hopefully I can pick it up but having no phone, this makes arranging to meet somewhat difficult. Alas poor iPhone, I knew you brief. The performance on the hand was great fun, getting to have fun on the stage was a good experience of progression as it enabled us to see what quite works and what doesn’t; the Keller stage is very weird. And yay, I only forgot one line. That’s… Ok, right?

The Euro Cup is well underway, with Germany hitting in a wicked win against holland last night. I had been rehearsing during the England game but was told in a delightful phone call from Isabel that apparently the second half was soporific to say the least. Mind you, this was a phone call made before I had left my phone in the theatre. Though that would have been skilful.

So today is the second day of the End Of Year Show back in Surrey. Hopefully they’re enjoying the Skream, Feeder and other gig nights that are going on. Not to mention the obliteratingly wonderful hog roast on PATs field which everyone should totally go to for a good porking. Beyond conception is the idea that those smelly british lot are finishing their year whilst I have another 2 months to go. That’s a point, I’ve confirmed my return; 16th August shall see my final morning under the Heidelberg sun. Or Heidelberg rain, cloud or sleet. Nothing surprises me anymore. And then it shall be driving back to Britain, to do… I’m not quite sure what.

Hmm, I should probably start making plans.

Rehearsal Reversal


If there’s on issue I really should get over in regards to my short sightedness, it’s squinting at a figure I may believe to be a friend, but upon conclusion that it is indeed a fellow amigo, making no gesture or action, leaving the friend to believe I have just glared at them and then walked off with an unnecessarily big smile on my face. (the smile is just because walking is awesome.

In view of this time of weird facial expressions and odd movement en mass, Saturday and Sunday were the heralds of our glorious rehearsal weekend. A time I knew would be coming and yet never really prepared for. Indeed, not actually buckling down to learn my lines until that morning, because Shakespeare is clearly so easy to improv. Given this, I’m almost impressed I learned the lines in such a short space of time, but then again, I really should have started learning a lot earlier and then there wouldn’t have been he muff ups that there were. Having had 3 rehearsals since my return in February, it really still is amazingly difficult adapting from the intense 3-rehearsals-week-whether-you-like-it-or-not. It shouldn’t be and yet I am the only one who views our performance being a month away as being absolutely ages.

Truth, I can’t say I was impressed with my performances this weekend over. The rest of he cast were wonderfully fantastic, in dress, thumb wrestling or banging away on a delightful ukelele. Being on the fragility of recently learned lines and no fully absorbed verse, each portrayal was frantic and overexcited, something I did deliberately just to have a laugh as I still can’t take these sessions seriously. The “fear” in which I actually take a production seriously has yet to kick in. Push the role to its extremes and the roll it back in is something I like to play around with if I get the time. Even if this did make it seems like my character had taken a does of ecstasy before hitting stage like an udder-dry lionness…

With “Love Bites” right around the corner, it looks as if I’m going to be living in the Romanische Keller for a good month or so, jumping from production to production. Hopefully the temptation to slip into iambic pentameter when talking about dead cats, or getting ready to be whipped by a dominatrix whilst fighting my surly younger brother can be resisted. Until then, get on with the lines, remember the evil people don’t jump and try not to tease a fake boob. For now however, it is to the shisha bar with the Anne to the De and whatever adventures may be waiting us on this Tuesday night.

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