envy is good

this is the age of emotion. we all have learned, from tabloids, from our favourite soaps, from diana, that expressing your feelings is a good thing. all feelings but one, that is.
envy.
envy is bad, we know. it makes you ugly, it makes you a loser. but what, i wonder, is ambition without envy? how would we be motivated to get off our behinds and aspire to something greater, if not the desire to have what the neighbour/boss/soap star has? and why is it always rich bastards that condemn envy in *little people*?

in an adaptation of gordon gekko's *greed is good* speech:
the point is, ladies and gentlemen, that: envy, for lack of a better word, is good. envy is right; envy works. envy clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. envy, in all of its forms, envy of life, of money, of love, knowledge — has marked the upward surge of mankind and envy, you mark my words — will not only save your own ass but that other malfunctioning body called earth.

genova, scythe and mangle

i just spent a wonderful long weekend in genova with r. i tried to see myself living there, in a country house surrounded by cypress trees and olive groves, with a vespa and a fiat in the drive way, and a small country lane connecting us to the nearest village.
not a bad thought.
now back in london, surrounded by noisy hedge cutters and sirens. i think about the ways my grandparents spent their days, and the things they did that even people of my generation will not have heard or seen. my grandfather used to go out and cut the grass around town, with his scythe and a wooden cart for the grass, which he would then feed to the rabbits he bred. sometimes we would have one of those rabbits for dinner, but that's a different story.
my grandmother, at the same time, would go out to the local laundry mangle and dry and press her linens, table cloths, bed sheets, everything wide and flat. i would sometimes go with her, and would always be warned about keeping my hands away from the large rolls that suck in the linen. they were dangerous! i can see the scene clearly in front of my eyes.
nostalgia... o that takes me back...

end of my summer break or: ten german bombers

my wembley night watching the germany-england match was exciting enough to return from my little break. after all, uni hasn't started yet, i still haven't finished my essay on muslims in europe, we are still flathunting in berlin, and maddy is still missing, but very present in the tabloids. so the match was a highlight. not that watching 22 people the size of needle heads running around on a green field was such great fun. but i was in the english block, and the songs by the good old english fans were quite amusing:

-there were ten german bombers in the air
-two world wars and one world cup (a classic!)
-EEEEEEEENGEEEEEEEEERRRRRLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND!!!
-even heskey scored, 5-1

against the german chants:

-football's coming home (they stole that one, cheeky bastards... the english were not amused)
-es gibt nur ein (jogi?)
-auf wiedersehn! auf wiedersehn! auf wiedersehn!

even angela m. was in the stadium, wearing foxy orange. talking about colours: since when do the german players wear RED SOCKS? red shirts and socks, that's the english colours. and the english wore white shirts and black pants. they looked so german!
as i was the only one who sreamed TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR! twice last night, i was a little worried for my health when looks that could kill hit me. i know r., who was with me in the stadium, tried to keep a low profile. but they were only looks, the english fans were true gentlemen in their defeat. well, they are used to it...