Tag Archives: switzerland

Guide dogs are overrated, especially their use for the blind.

The Swiss IV or Invalidenversicherung, social services specially targeted at the disabled, need to spend less. Billions of Swiss Francs drain from already tight pockets, more and more residents need to apply for financial support. Or, as certain parties like to stress in the blindness of voters’ loyalty, apply with no need but loads of criminal energy.

But do the blind need guides? Apparently, not.

Hey, who asked them blind people to get dogs? There’s loads of Accessibility Services in modern computers, screen readers, and GPS that talk to you! And well, you have a family, don’t you? Okay, your sister lives in Morocco and can’t go shopping in your stead, but – tough luck! Why should social services, the public pay this much for food an medical care for a dog? Dogs are pets, hence: luxury items. You have more important things on your mind than remaining self-determined. We paid asked dog health specialists, and they said our rates are well beyond the reasonable. Hey, there’s always tidbits from the slaughterhouse if you really think you need a guide dog, so stop complaining. We have mucho real issues to deal with. Here, have a leaflet, and don’t vote SP or Green, thanks a bunch.

It’s quite clear why the IV sticks with the label “invalid” to describe both its insurance system and its clients. In-valid. I agree with 50 % of that.

Eidgenossen: please stop bashing Ze Germans.

Bitching about your neighbours hardly ever is a wise move. Being passive-aggressive about said bitching doesn’t make things better just because you appear to be “polite”. It makes things worse as you’re spewing memes like mad, infecting others and creating problems that simply aren’t there. This is especially true in questions of nationality.

Calling Germans living in Switzerland Schiis-Schwoobe (Shithead Swabians) and blaming then for hogging job opportunities is stupid enough to begin with. Without them shitheads, half our health care would break down. And hey, at least some of them Schwoobe are flexible enough to relocate 1 000 miles to start with a new company. Whereas you guys moan if it takes you an hour to get to work, but refuse to move 50 km closer. Well done!

Cheering when the German team loses a match – what for? Did Schweini bugger your vuvuzela or something?

My personal gripe in this nationalist pseudo-discussion, though: First complaining about how Germans arrogantly dismiss the Swiss language just to get angry at immigrants at least trying to learn local dialects. This is not a sign of a sane society. And the media cater for such an audience, too, kindling the fires underneath an issue that mostly exists in your head.

A wise man once said: “The Swiss are polite. They are not friendly.” I am inclined to agree.

We all live on the same ball of dirt called Earth. And don’t forget good ole Newton: Actio et reactio doesn’t only apply in physics, but in human relations, too. So don’t complain if the bitchee bitches at the bitcher, i.e. you.

The True Blues Police.

Blues gigs are always the same, aren’t they? Heavy smoke fills the room, geezers sit at small tables, tapping their booted feet. Sometimes, a tear falls into the stale beer or the whiskey chaser.

Well, that’s what I thought. Used to think, that is.

You see, the whole genre has passed by mid-40s midlife crisis junkies and has reached the crème. Or whatever floats on top of the pond. Or rather, enjoys sitting in orderly rows reminiscent of the local philharmonic orchestra. And if there’s only a limited choice of seating, well, that’s what you carry your portable stool with for, isn’t it?

(No, not that kind of stool. Albeit I have to admit certain individuals appear to have the contents of their bowls compacted to nigh-diamond density which might actually work as a makeshift chair. But I digress.)

So, yeah, the new geriatric target audience of Swiss clubs – or as in this case, cantinas – asks for certain adaptions to the tried-and-proven formula of the Blues: No smoking. No whisky. The beer is sold by a caterer whose green logo starts getting on me nerves. And them damn bloody seats in rows that remind me of a Punch and Judy show.

And then, the proverbial Blues Police makes an appearance, too. You know. People who are very concerned about 12-bars patterns and I-IV-V progressions. People who develop hives or syphilis or whatever when there’s, say, an additional chord. Because that’s not “true” or something.

They don’t have much trunk with the elderly audience, godsblessem, but nowadays often arrive in the cloth of the rabid “progressive” metalhead. You just realise they don’t like Blues per se, they’re only interested in technicalities. To brush over “bass dude can’t even play syncopated 32nds! And he doesn’t slap or tap at all!” drivel no mentally sane person is interested in, they employ abovementioned Blues Police approach. Because they talk music, you know. Who cares if you don’t get Blues, can’t see behind the structure. You know what them black dots on the sheet mean, so who cares about emotions? Bugger having fun! Bugger being touched by the lyrics!

But hey, at least you can impress pimply band mates with “Descent gig last week, but they included a VII!” You will also receive knowledgeable nods from your fellow musical automatons. Nothing says “binding” more than bitching about that band that dared to deviate from The Blues as given to Moses on mount Horeb. True, true.