A toddler? Or drunk?

Completely comfortable without pants.
Photo by Kata

What is a toddler other than a younger, cuter version of a guy at a party who's had too much to drink but doesn't know it?

Start with the coordination issues. He stumbles over his own feet. Walks into door frames. Slides off chairs. Am I talking about the toddler or the drunk who doesn't know he's drunk? They both fall face first, then get up, play it cool, and keep going towards whatever they were pursuing (usually food) like nothing happened.

You certainly can't tell them they've had too much of anything. Tell a toddler he's had enough cookies and you have a temper tantrum. And our drunk who doesn't know he's drunk? You tell him he's had enough, and you get a scoff that's way too slurred to take seriously and a "I'm cool, man," as tries to nonchalantly lean on something (and miss).

They're both sloppy eaters. Food flies everywhere, in all directions, like shrapnel in a blast zone. It's not just all over their faces. It's all over their clothes and in their hair (or beard). And they don't even know it, they're laughing and spraying bits of partially eaten crackers. Then you arrive and they come running to hug you, smearing apple sauce or Shwarma sauce (or a mixture of both) all over your clothes.

Both get easily carried away. A toddler will forget about the concept of self-preservation as he chases a ball under furniture, over the tops of tables, and around open ovens.

Our drunk will get carried away on the dance floor. Arms will flail in all directions, knocking over passers-by. He might even cut open his chin in a goth bar during a futile attempt at the Worm.

What else? There are the spilt drinks, and the tears from both over the spilt drinks. There is a wild enthusiasm when his song comes on. There’s the deep focus while they’re eating tacos. 

There's the babbly talk. A drunk that doesn't know he's drunk will slur on and on at you about the thing that's on his mind until he stops suddenly, because he forgot what he was talking about. A toddler, our cute drunk without the drink, will babble on in his own language about something, anything, but the conversation will go off the rails when a train comes into view.

A toddler loves his bicycle. Even when it's just a little too big for him and he tips over every time he tries to move a foot or two.

 

Our drunk who doesn't know he's drunk also doesn't know he's in no condition to ride his bicycle. But he'll walk it just out of sight of his concerned friends, then hop on and pedal away, laughing maniacally, before falling over.

The one difference between the toddler and the guy who doesn't he's drunk is the morning of the next day. The guy who doesn't know he was drunk awakes with the painful realization in his head and gut that he was indeed drunk and party is over.

The toddler wakes up the next morning as right as rain, has his diaper changes, and resumes the party, like it never stopped.

Punk Rock Pomodoro Productivity

 

Why does hyper productivity seem like the turf of business executives, entrepreneurs, and tech bros?

Where are the productivity hacks for the pixel-pushing designers? The emailing-phone-calling-project-managing-busy-body? The full-time mom trying to get a side gig off the ground? Or the regular dude just trying to get things done before Happy Hour?

These are the people who need productivity hacks the most. They have bosses, deadlines, distractions, and better things to do. It’s time to bring productivity to the people. It’s time for Punkrock Pomodoro.

Read the full post on Medium.com

 

Notes on Moving to Berlin

 

In any other time, moving from Dusseldorf to Berlin probably feels like something that resembles normal. Of course, it was for from normal, so here's a smattering of the abnormal things I noticed on the long road from the Dorf to Berlin.

Bringing Up the Toddler

 

These aren't normal times, and no I'm not talking about this Covid crisis, I'm talking about our Toddler Times. Moving across the country with a toddler is tough, so tough that Berlin felt like it was on the moon at times, not the other end of Germany.

Let's start with the stuff. Back in Toronto, I'd invite a few of the same friends to help me move (I moved five times in four years), and while I grumbled about how much stuff I had, they loved a Marshall Move because there was so little to move, and they still got free beer. I was a minimalist and didn't know it.

 

Then we had a baby and our stuff expanded exponentially. There are loads of baby clothes, blankets, towels, and wipes. There's a changing table, a bed, a bassinet, a wardrobe, and boxes, small tables and chairs, and bags of toys. There are toiletries, creams, lotions, powders, diapers, and other baby things whose purpose befuddles me. 

 

Plus, we moved into that last flat in the Dorf with the intention of staying a while and bought some decent, non-disposable furniture that we wanted to bring with us to faraway Berlin.

 

 

Outsource the tough stuff

 

It's funny how easily I pissed away my time before I had a kid. Call of Duty, fixing my bike brakes on my own, watching Sons of Anarchy, waiting in line at bars, and the list goes on. As a parent, I'm painfully aware of how little time I have, both hours in a day (because that's potentially sleep I'm missing out on) and hours in my life (because the more tired I get, the more I'm of aware of my own mortality).

 

For our move, we hired fixers, a German start-up called Smoovr that hired a moving company for us, estimated the needed truck space, dealt with the city parking permits, and so on. It lifted a small burden off our shoulders, but it helped, because this was the stuff that would start out a small and then metastasize into major, German-language problems.

 

A caveat. I'm not saying you should outsource everything but, until we invent time travel, you can't get the time you waste back. It isn't like money, you can't earn more time.

 

 

Berlin housing is nuts

 

Everything you heard about Berlin housing is true. It's crazy. Not Toronto crazy, but it's getting there. Prices are rising year on year on a dwindling amount of homes. Even during a pandemic, people were lining up to view flats, crowding into small-ish apartments, and ignoring the social distancing rules.

 

The shortage also brings out the predators. The City of Berlin implemented a rent freeze, which might not be legal, depending on what Germany's highest court decides. While everyone waits for the final judgement, landlords must charge lower rents. But, they advertise the non-frozen rent. Then, when you visit a flat, they flash you a pen-scribbled calculation of the reduced rent and recommend the difference gets set aside, because when the law is struck down, they say, you must repay that amount retroactively.

 

In one case, a landlord offered us two contracts, one for the apartment and another for use of the cellar and bike racks in the courtyard, so he could charge the standard full price for the apartment from the two reduced rental contracts. Sneaky stuff. When I asked what happens if the law is struck down and I'd be facing two full rent payments, he said I could trust him to keep it reduced. Of course, he wouldn't put that in writing. I tried to negotiate, he didn't budge. 

 

This wasn't even a nice flat. It was a ground floor unit on a busy Neukolln street, across from a bar, within site of a playground where two drunks started a sloppy, but very real, fist fight while kids played on like nothing out of the normal was going on.

 

I turned down the apartment, but he didn't seem to care: there were plenty of desperate home hunters who would probably sign both contracts and regret it later.

 

Nothing goes to plan

 

I've written before about how enjoying Berlin requires going in without a plan. But! You need a plan to move. Yet! You also need the flexibility to change that plan or at least allow events and circumstances that are beyond your control to do what they're going to do.

 

The elevator is out of service when the movers arrive? Lend a hand and carry the stuff up the stairs, so they're not working all night. There's no storage room in the basement? Use what you've got (and accept a generous offer from your father-in-law to put storage shelves in a closet).

 

Berlin, and the world in general, but especially Berlin, is indifferent to your wishes, whims, and plans. When your plans work out, be grateful. When they don't, look for another way, because the universe won't budge. This is something I'm still working on (replace universe with toddler, and you'll understand) but it's useful to remember.

 

In those times, I think of something someone said about Hungarians: "A Hungarian is someone who enters a revolving door behind you and comes out ahead of you." So, when things don't go as planned, I try to tap into my inner Hungarian and see how I can use the situation to get ahead.