regional economy

Last night I went to a meeting of people who are organised in Food-Coops and want to strengthen ties to regional agricultural producers. The regionality aspect being my main motivation for being interested in a food-coop in the first place, I was eager to go. I'd met the people at a Food-Coop information evening they'd organised in January.
The meeting was smaller than I expected - three people from three different FCs, another guy who had come to the information evening in January, and me. We met at one of the FC people's place, a large, comfortable family flat 20 minutes away from my place on foot. (I still managed to be late. But, and unlike common misconceptions about the Germans, being late is expected, at least in academic circles. Any time for a meeting is instinctively understood as meaning "c.t.", i.e "with time", so fifteen minutes later than indicated - the "academic quarter". Seminars for instance don't ever start at 10 but at 10.15. )
I was a bit nervous to go, as I didn't really have any clear conception of how the regional agricultural economy worked in the first place, and thus how it could be strengthened. It's always a difficult position to have - the interested but ignorant person. Surprisingly and fortunately, everything went a lot smoother than expected.
First off, it became very clear that my expectations and conceptions were very similar to those of the FC people. The other non-FC man however, and although he monopolised the discussion way too much at the beginning, quickly realised that his vision didn't fit in - much too commercial and "consumer" oriented, rather than interested in the human, solidary and direct ties linking us - and not any old anonymous consumer - with the producers.
It became so comfortable and natural for me to be there, that eventually one of the FC guys invited me to join his FC located near my place. Of course I originally didn't want to join a Food Coop but rather found a new one, but seeing as I'll be away for four months, I came to the conclusion that I should wait until I'm back to start with this project. So I was pleased to get the invitation, especially as one can only become a member of this particular FC via an existing member.
As soon as I start working in the coop, I will have a much better understanding of the potential logistical problems that have to be considered when trying to organise more direct relations with farmers. I'm looking forward to it all.

buying freedom

A month or so ago, I got a punctual job from a large German governmental agency via someone I don't really know but am sort of connected to via a network of environmentally-focused ex and present political science students. It was two days of work and got me the same money I get in two weeks at my usual job. That's when I definitely decided that buying my four months of freedom this summer would not be too much of a problem after all.
Indeed, the customers were happy, and last week I received an email from another person who works at this agency, offering me another translation job. I always find giving my prices difficult - I tend to think I'm a lot cheaper than a translation office, but when I calculate my line rate for a whole document, I end up staring at four digit numbers on the calculator which I simply don't feel comfortable asking for or even receiving. So I reduced my rate a little and will get the equivalent of my usual monthly salary for a week's work. My four months of freedom are already mostly covered for now.
In a way, if I could feel certain that I would get a constant flow of work, I wouldn't mind being freelance again. But the benefits of my present contract are obvious - paid vacation, stable hours, stable pay. If I were freelance, I would never be sure of when the next job comes and would run the usual risk of freelance existence, namely either no work or overwork. There's rarely any in-between.
And it's not like these translations are more in keeping with my principles. Bob knows they are not. It's as bad as what I presently do - under the blanket of working for Good (environment, helping out poor country), uncritical mainstream economy-over-people concepts are propagated with a smile and, for most of those who work in such institutions I suspect, with a happy conscience.

The Extravagant Story of Mister K., PhD

I forgot to say that Mister K got accepted at New York University for a Phd and offered wallops of dollars, a flight to and weekend in NY, a theater evening, probably a few cocktails, but most probably no loose women. The professor who wrote him the email, now nearly two weeks ago, to tell him he was accepted, is just what I hoped for after K. sent his applications. An intellectual who doesn't care about superficial details, and who thus wouldn't care about K.'s leaving some of my comments and some typos in his CV and statement of purpose, but would still be impressed by the genius of his essays. The professor himself made several typos in his email which he didn't even bother to finish before sending - it's cut off in the middle of a sentence.
Of course I was pleased - I spent nights during my Xmas holiday working with Mister K. on messenger and trying to get him to write decent statements of purpose that gave more of an idea of his intellectual personality (rather than his first attempts that sounded more like a child's holiday report written under duress). But obviously, and although I did all the last minute pushing and whipping, the merit is all his. Naturally, he's already found ways of diminishing his achievement:
- Sure! I'm one of only 16 candidates who have been chosen! But there were probably only 17 candidates to start with, and the 17th sent his application two weeks late, couldn't write and had mental deficiencies.

Well whatever. He'll be so proud to get his first business card with "Mister K., Phd" written on it, that he'll probably print 10.000 of them and send them to everyone in his address book, with a little note explaining, as the Germans would, that the title is part of the name. That's exactly the sort of person he is. Ex-act-ly.

Meaning of Life

Last Thursday was one of those Panic Days at work. A fresh new co-worker was supposed to finalise and send off a proposal to the European Commission, and I was meant to help out. At the same time, London-boy M who had worked at the institute last summer was in Berlin and planned to have beers with the Popular Chilean and me before catching his plane back to London. He had to leave for the airport at half past seven.

The proposal was disastrous, the content weak, nothing was going right, and at half past seven I was still trying to correct the English, not get too depressed by the obvious lack of credibility of the proposal, copy the necessary number of copies and bind them up with our broken binding device, find envelopes that are big enough (there were none) and answer Popular Chilean's pressing phone calls from the bar across the block.

Eventually I decided that this project proposal to the European Commission was too shitty to waste my time on, so I told the poor new co-worker how to use the binding machine for the last copy that needed to be bound, wished her good luck, and sprinted out of the building and towards the bar. I ran and ran, London Boy should already have been on his way to the airport and I didn't know whether I would still get to see him at all. While I was rushing up the street, a candid looking young man who obviously lacked all ability to read people's states of mind tried to stop me.
- Sorry? Entschuldigung?
- no, I'm sorry, I've no time

He looked like a fervent mormon or any other religious type who would want to talk to me about the bible, talk to everybody about the bible, and how God is Great, and how wonderful it is to feel the Love of God guide his life in his heart. I squeezed past him and threw myself on the door of the bar - the worst bar imagineable, for sports' fans - but lost time pushing the door instead of pulling. The guy behind me didn't give up.

- excuse me? What do you think the meaning of life is?
- ... no, really, no time.. what?? the meaning of life?

I was struggling with the door, with short time, with all the thoughts that come up to me when I think of the meaning of life. I had to answer his question, but there was London Boy, his plane, my lateness... I had to find the short version. Was this guy really asking passers by for the meaning of life? He looked like he'd arrived in Berlin that day, and so boringly innocent.

- The meaning of life? It's, it's... to be happy, I tentatively threw in his direction as I hushed inside the sports' fan bar.
With "Happy" I meant: be strong, live according to what you think is right, emancipate yourself from any form of authority, question, be nomadic, communicate, have close ties with humans, take time to reflect, be indenpendent, look for your utopia, be good, learn what you want to learn...
Before the door closed, I heard him utter a "thank you, that's what I think too". He probably came to the conclusion that my understanding of happiness was to rush into sports' fans' bars to get totally pissed after work.

London Boy was still there. We accompanied him on part of his trip to the airport. An hour later, he called to say he'd missed his plane. We made him come back to the city and went out until I remembered shortly after 3am that I was meant to be at work at 9am. Three hours of sleep, alcohol mix, work at 9 - followed by six or seven hours spent at my place with my learning group discussing democracy theories. I was exhausted, but it was all worth it, as they say.

Mixed feelings

Last week was the final week of classes for the semester. I wrote an exam on Monday and that was it. Finito. No more classes. Not just for this semester, but basically, for ever. Once I write my paper for the political anthropology class and my research design for my final thesis, I have all the credits required and I can just move on to the final thesis.

And this is where the Mixed Feelings come in. This last semester was great. It was the first time I felt I was truly making the most of my studies, being immersed within my classes. This semester fitted the image I had in mind when I was 18 and before I even knew what studying actually meant - there was a lot of intellectual development. There was joy going to uni, and joy coming back. And frustration as well when discussions didn't turn out the way I would have liked them to. There were thoughts and ideas fusing around my head. There was jotting down of ideas in my Little Book of Ideas. Flashes of understanding, creating bridges between ideas. There was more self-confidence, and the feeling at last of becoming what I expected and wanted to become when I started studying. There were discoveries about myself, what I wanted for my future, how I expected my life to fit with my convictions. I felt I was experiencing what being a student was all about - at last. Why now? The last two years have been a slowly accelerating move towards this point, and I can't exactly say why I didn't get this sense of intellectual development in the first two and a half years of my studies (Grundstudium).

So it was a Good Semester, a Special Semester, and experience I want to repeat. But also, possibly, the Last Semester. I feel like there is still tonnes I need to read, especially in political philosophy. To reach the ability to fairly quickly formulate reactions, I would need another semester or two. And in a way, it should be my duty to take this time and reach this point - it is people who took the time to reach this level and could juggle with ideas, who still sat in seminars without needing any credits who helped me develop further.

So why don't I just?
There are always all sorts of mainly psychological barriers to taking another semester. Originally, I had planned to graduate this coming summer. This turned impossible as I couldn't squeeze in all the work for the necessary credits in the short time left before the date for signing up for the final thesis. So then I thought I would sign up to have the final exams in December. Which would still be possible, but would require writing the thesis from June to September, and thus leave no time for gathering material beforehand. So I eventually decided to take it easy and sign up in May for the one-year option, write the thesis from mid October to mid February, and have time to prepare before the final orals in June.
Of course, nothing really stops me from deciding otherwise. I could say I sign up in January, write from May to August and have the orals in December 2008. But? But nothing really... Except that I don't want to stick to my present job. And I'm also ready to leave the city, in a way. And my present plan seems so good on paper.

I might just go to certain classes for half the next semester - including one on radical democracy and another on critical social theory, before it's time to leave for wherever.

The Real Truth

Some sources (which I will not quote as they would uncover my well guarded identity) have been spreading calomnious representations of me and my relationship with Mister K. My PR team pushed me to publish a position statement in order to clarify the matter and appease the public, which I will thus now undertake.

1) The Real Truth is that nothing has changed...
Mister K came back from Paris in early February and has been staying with me. Inspite of having to share a limited closed space, we have had a comfortable time including biting one another, playing catch, hiding, making hot drinks for one another and further similar pleasant activities.
So why does Mister K's team of spinners claim that something is different?

2) ...except the paradigma
Following an evolution that is closely linked to my studies, to my last research project, to my visiting Longo Mai, to my talking with lovely M about relationships (she can't imagine ever having a "monogamous heterosexual relationship"), to my then thinking about the evolution of my convictions on relationships (which would require another entry), I felt that I had reached a point where I wanted to emancipate myself from the Couple Conception. Not that I met anybody else, wanted to be with anybody else, or stopped loving Mister K. But I felt the relationship could stand on its own and shouldn't be chained up to the couple concept.

Actually, this isn't how thoughts came out. It's difficult to remember what path the thoughts followed, but from today's point of view, it seemed it went somewhat like that: I felt I didn't want to be put back in a couple setting, and imagined this meant the end of the relationship with Mister K. At the same time, I felt that this was silly, considering I hadn't stopped loving Mister K. I was thus nervous about his return as I wasn't sure I would be able to reject the couple aspect without expressing rejection for him.

So far though, it seems to have been possible. Mister K. insisted for a while on naming the new paradigma "Estranged ex relationship" but seeing as it blatantly had nothing to do with reality, the term "Special Relationship" has now come to be widely accepted.

Prostitution

Last Friday I unexpectedly ended up at my institute's graduation ceremony. I had left work much later than planed and wanted to go read and think in the OSI library for my written exam next week. When I stepped into the OSI hall, I noticed that Things Were Different. There were high round tables set up, larger ones with glasses and bottles at the back, and, most disturbingly, two orderly and virtuous looking girls standing on each side of the entrance holding a stack of programmes. The blond one on my left handed me a programme and asked if I intended to go to the graduation ceremony. I opened the programme with surprise and muttered that I hadn't planned to. Before I could glance inside the flyer, the blond stopped smiling, her mouth violently moving downwards with spite, and she grabbed the paper back, adding as if I'd wronged her, that this was only for graduates and guests. I said "Ooooh but I understand", put on my best Hurt Face and headed for the library as planned. An unusually high ratio of people wearing suits and/or their best clothes gradually started appearing.
I was focused and concentrated and managed to do what I'd planned more quickly than expected. Which was just as good, because eventually the institute's director started his Pointless Boring Speech which carried all the way into the library.
It sounded so absurdly boring and pointless, thanking as he was the family of the graduates for enabling them their studies (by bearing them?), that I thought I should go and listen. The programme was a long list of the worst speech-makers available that day, including the stuttering university vice-president and a union-woman who teaches at the institute this semester and held an affirmative speech validating her experience, choices and path as the best example, in twenty chapters with footnotes, digressions and annexes. She interpreted every bold collective attempt at bringing her to an end by clapping on those rare occasions when she needed to breathe as signs of enthusiasm.
I looked at the students. A large number of them was wearing expensive, well ironed, clean and tidy suits. They exchanged self-satisfied looked, and I could feel a lot of them felt united in the identity of the Young, Beaming, Successful Urban European Academic. A guy arrived behind me. Thick black suit, red tie, brand new leather shoes, fancy mobile phone - and besides him his mother, out of place, with tacky clothes, an imitation jaguar-skin top. He had climbed up the social ladder, was obviously proud of having reached a better social status than his parents. He was showing off. I disliked him on the spot.
As I continued to look around the room, I spotted well-read L., whom I'd last seen in the U-Bahn a few weeks ago, and next to her Little Creative Genius D., who had been in the same seminar where I got to know L. and made me even more shy than Well-Read L. L. waved and I went over. She greeted me as a strengthening element for the Undisciplined Fraction they were trying to build.
Eventually the buffet was opened and there was wine galore. We ended up outside in the snow drinking, and Mister Social Status unexpectedly walked up to L. "Didn't we do our Abi [A Levels] together?"
L. accepted to engage in a communication process with the man, although every remark we could catch was disturbing. Eventually he said he was now working. Lobbying. He wouldn't say for whom when I asked, but turned round to me and said "Well, you would also open your legs for those who pay, wouldn't you?" I think we all looked at one another in shock and horror.

Closet outing

At long last I made the jump. Not only did I write that email to my HR manager to demand four months of freedom in Summer - I also came out of the closet and told the Policy-Oriented, Unconsciously Neoliberal, Technocratic-Elitogarchy Loving, We're-Working-For-The-Environment (let's order sushi and leave more lights on and print some more documents we'll never read) People at work about the way I planned to use this freedom. I hesitated at first but decided there was no point hiding anyway. I did try to reframe my topic in a way that appeared less radical anarchist, I suppose. Coward that I am.
I wrote something like:

Dear [insert name of bitchy-doll personel manager],

I'll start writing my final thesis in October. My topic will probably be the transformative potential of implemented political "Utopias" (although I will only finalise my project design in April). In order to write this, I would like to collect material and data, especially field observations and interviews in and around various solidary, environmentally-friendly (alternative) societies, probably in Germany and France.

etc etc.

This email went to HR Manager and the two researchers I work for, who are Nice People but not quite the Utopia type. It will eventually be given to my boss who has the final word. (Obviously he can't refuse, because otherwise I quit.)
Let's just look at this first attempt to indirectly tell my boss that I basically despise the work he's been so kind and generous to create for me. It's mild, it's soft, and it has words like "implemented" and "environmentally-friendly". Yes, it does have Utopia, but then in inverted comas! Inverted comas! and "alternative" in brackets! I didn't even mention communes. It's a timid first attempt. I can predict that Boss will call me in for a Personal Development Interview soon, something he's been wanting to do for a while already, to prode me around and figure out once and for all whether he can hope to have me start there as a researcher eventually.