Alexander's

I got my first model plane when I was about twelve. I scrapped together all my pocket money and got a really nice radio controlled glider. It took me weeks to assemble and then, just before the maiden flight, Georg accidentally sat down on it -- the plane was destroyed before it ever flew.

Years later I finally worked up the courage and I decided to try my luck again and after working all summer I had enough money to buy the top of the line electro helicopter.

It was beautiful! Black body with white rotors.

The whole family gathered in front of the house, I let it hoover right before my eyes -- a moment of pure bliss -- which ended abruptly when a gust pushed it into a nearby tree trunk.

It went off like a splinter bomb.

For weeks my father was still picking up broken helicopter parts while mowing the lawn.

So when I decided that it was time to unleash my inner ace pilot again, I had a plan.

Of course I bought the plane that I wanted to fly, but I'm a married man now and therefore much more responsible. So I also got a super cheap one. You know just to get back into the hobby again.

The first flight was a full success. I was using my environment to it's full extent -- a totally random three dimensional walk through the park. The innocent bystanders were like frozen puppets staring wide eyed at the chaotic wonder that was zooming above their heads.

When I finally crash-landed -- after thirty long seconds -- I felt spent -- like a fighter pilot after a hard battle.

For my second flight I shot up twenty meters, turned around, narrowly avoided the ground and ended up in the tree right behind me -- pure adrenalin.

The third flight was probably the best and longest. Like before I had absolutely no control over the plane whatsoever, but managed to avoid hitting any of the spectators for at least 45 seconds -- until I landed in a tree top, from which the plane was totally unrecoverable.

I guess Christof put it best when he said:

Ali, once you manage to bring one back in one piece you will know how to fly.

As some of you might know I'm getting married this December[^1] -- in Taiwan.

The great thing about getting married in a foreign country is that you get to fully appreciate the bureaucratic hurdles and quirks of both countries.

For example to get my single certificate[^2] I just had to go to some Austrian government office and ask for it, but since I want to use it in a foreign country, I needed to verify my government issued document. Verification in this case means that I had to pay 33,90 Euro to the very same office that just gave me the document, just so they put one more stamp on it and make it more official.

Great so now that there is a government issued stamp on this government issued document it's really official -- right?

No sadly not. Only if you have collected enough stamps -- four in my case -- will it magically become valid and legal.

But let's be honest -- these days the Austrian government gives these legalized papers to almost everyone,[^3] so it's better to check once more. That's where the Taiwanese consulate will help you.

So after finally holding my magically verified, translated (also verified) single certificate in hands, I asked at the Taiwanese consulate if there are any other documents I need.

I have no idea -- maybe the birth certificate[^4] -- yes some people need that!

[^1]: I have quite a backlog of blog posts [^2]: Some sheet of paper to testify that not yet married [^3]: who can pay for the stamps [^4]: In Taiwan they don't even have birth certificates!

The charger for my electric shaver was missing!

It was a Saturday evening and I'd spent it turning my flat upside down -- still there was no trace of the charger. Even worse, no shop had a suitable one in stock.[^1]

Monday morning 5:45 a driver would be waiting to pick me up and bring me to the airport, so I could spend another week working in a far away country -- without a working shaver.

Sure many people think that a three day stubble is really sexy, but sadly my boss is not amongst them -- either that or he does not want us to be sexy.

So it seemed like the only viable solution was to get a safety razor[^2] and scrap the beard off my face -- the old fashioned way.

I guess I lost more blood than beard, but in the end all my stubbles were hidden under a thick layer of dried blood.

The only good thing in situations like this is that Ting will always listen to my problems and is there to comfort and help me when I have troubles.

I found your charger online. Oh and it's so funny how the japanese housewives complain how stupid their husbands are to loose such a big thing -- by the way, how did you loose yours?

[^1]: Not very surprising, since my shaver isn't even sold in Austria. [^2]: I wonder why they are called safety razor, when in reality they should be called skin remover.