Month: October 2026

“Fremdscham” is a rather exclusive word in the German language. It means you’re embarrassed on someone else’s behalf. While traveling with my in-laws before and after my wedding, I felt a bit of it every time we ordered at a restaurant.

“Can we swap the mashed potatoes for fries for the schnitzel?” “Is it possible to get rice as a side?” “Can you make this well-done instead of medium?” We were a large group with kids and elderly people, so, often, restaurants already had to put in extra effort just to host us. Then, the custom requests began, and I shrank a little more into my chair with each one.

Of course, in the end, it was never a big deal. Most requests were met. Some weren’t. And life just went on. After we returned home, however, my wife and I kept reflecting on why her family’s Asian restaurant behavior seemed awkward to me as a European. Eventually, we realized how differently “eating out” works on the two continents.

In Europe, Germany in particular, restaurants serve “dishes.” A dish usually consists of a protein, some carbs, and at least one side—but the dish is self-contained. If the menu says “steak with rosemary potatoes and green beans,” that’s what the restaurant has planned for, and that’s what you’re getting. The idea is that if each person eats one main dish, they’ll be full, and everyone leaves happy.

In Asia, sharing food is the default. The whole table will be covered in small and large plates with various veggies, meats, and sauces, and everyone can take a little bit of everything. It’s totally standard to say, “Give me some rice, some duck, and some mushrooms.” Menu or no menu, food will appear.

Now, why is this the case? I can only speculate, but I believe it has to do with how cooking works. Many European dishes vary a lot. Spaghetti bolognese is an entirely different recipe than a hot dog, which again is totally different from Käsespätzle. The prep, processing, and order of steps for each dish is vastly different. Therefore, each one comes with its own procedure, and the more you have to deviate from said procedure, the more potential timing problems you incur.

In Asia, rice is the standard and, often, only form of carbohydrates. Each restaurant has several rice cookers going all the time, so they can throw out bowls of rice like nobody’s business. The ingredients are also varied, often more so than in European cuisine, and while there are of course different methods of cooking, much of it comes down to chopping vegetables and proteins, steaming them or frying them in a wok, and adding in the sauce as the dish is made. This isn’t to say Asian cuisine is simplistic, but it is often a lot faster. I sometimes order at a Vietnamese place nearby, and they hand me my food within three minutes. Unthinkable at a Bavarian restaurant!

This isn’t to say Asian chefs are faster or that European dishes are more sophisticated. But the whole dynamic did teach me an interesting lesson: The how determines the “huh?” What’s considered normal and what makes you scratch your head depends on the culture, but, in many cases, it also goes back to how the sausage is made—sometimes literally.

A great bolognese is meant to boil for hours, and there’s also great fun in trying a bit of steamed chicken in the same meal as eating crispy duck. Test new dishes, sure, but also: Give new ways of dining a chance, yet don’t be afraid to return to comfort mode when you need it—even if it makes your brother-in-law sweat a little more than he would otherwise.

Thus go the words of Stanley Adams. Though the tune to go with them dates back to a special lady: María Grever, the first female songwriter and composer to break through on an international stage. In her 30s, Grever moved to New York City and stayed there for the rest of her life. Between 1900 and 1951, she wrote over 1,000 songs.

The one most of us know and remember is usually sung by Dinah Washington—and not in Grever’s native Spanish either. That one was written in 1934. “Cuando vuelva a tu lado.” “When I return to your side.” It would be 25 years before Washington’s English version hit it big and won the latter a Grammy.

What a difference a day makes
24 little hours
Brought the sun and the flowers
Where there used to be rain

Grever never witnessed the song taking off, though she did find relative success in her lifetime. Washington’s career, too, was cut short by an accidentally lethal dose of prescription medications. What a difference a day makes.

My partner is considering a career change. For the first time in a long time, she has a week off with no travel or activities planned. Within 24 hours, she has blossomed from a state of heaviness to that of a child skipping around in the sunshine. She’s full of ideas, excited to go shopping, which she usually hates, and about to try a new recipe for dinner. Maybe all she needed was a little bit of space. What a difference a day makes.

It might take 1,000 days of writing 1,000 songs for that one day where one of them is played on the national radio to materialize. But it might not take 1,000 days to shed a rusty piece of identity armor and become a new person. At least from that one particular angle people usually view you from.

Believe in possibility, and a lot can happen in 24 hours. In the end, it’s not about the lyrics, the music, or even the job. As that old song from 1934 already knew:

What a difference a day makes
And the difference is you

Every now and then, you need to. And it’s entirely subjective.

It’s not what your boss thinks is worthwhile. Not what society would see as “something useful to do.” Not even the dishes your spouse wants you to take care of, which would totally help!

Sometimes, your subconscious will send you an idea packaged with lots of conviction. There are only so many times you can ignore these ideas before your spirit really wears down.

When one of my childhood besties got married and had a daughter, I felt the urge to give him and his wife presents for themselves. Little mementos to remember that for all our family duties, we are still our own people. It was a lot of work, but I just ran with it. Their faces when they unpacked their goodies on our terrace were priceless.

This blog is supposed to take me 15 minutes every day. Over the last week or so, it’s been almost an hour. That hour came at the expense of other “worthwhile” stuff—but I just really needed to sink some brainpower into these tiny pieces. Little ideas I had collected from movies and my most recent travels. It felt rewarding to give them the treatment they deserved rather than some rushed fly-by coverage. In a year’s time, no one, probably not even I, will remember—but my soul will always know and, for now, benefit from the nourishment.

Take one for the team, sure. But don’t forget to take one for the feels either.

It’s hard to tell a 15-year-old not to jump down a whole flight of stairs in one go because it’ll hurt his knees for the long run. I used to do this in high school. People were always impressed how far I could leap. I don’t think there’s a universe where I wouldn’t have done it back then. But today?

Two years ago, I went on a hiking trip with a friend and my girlfriend. When we made our descent, I walked backwards a third of the time or so. It’s easier on the knees, and my patellas are misplaced, leading to a massive increase in strain on the legs while walking downhill.

In my teens, this whole problem could have been fixed with a few simple cuts near the knee caps, but my doctor missed it, and, at 18, it was too late. So now, instead of prevention, all I have left is damage control.

At 35, I’m a young, healthy man. But I can also feel I’m no longer 25. There is a difference.

My left big toe goes numb when I wear tight shoes for an extended period of time. That’s new. My wedding was the third time this happened. I’m still waiting for it to fully recover weeks later. The doctor sent me to the neurologist, but when the nerves were fine, he had only blunt words of inspiration: “I suggest you get married only once”—aka “just don’t wear tight shoes if you can help it.”

Prevention, especially with regards to health, only gets more valuable as you age. For one, it means you’ve survived yet another year without major complications. But carrying that good health forward by being cautious and diligent will also prevent you from an ever-lengthening recovery cycle. A skiing accident at 45 will be much tougher to heal from than one at 25.

There’s no way to avoid all risk, bodies are meant to be used, and we’ll all arrive at the end with at least a handful of scars. Still, try to avoid mending what needn’t be broken in the first place. Pay attention to prevention. It’s not glamorous, but it can carry us a long way.

People have sold books on the streets of Paris for over 450 years. After the Pont Neuf, then a “new bridge,” as its name implies, was finished in 1607, the city had a new, central traffic point. Not only would it remain the widest bridge across the Seine for a long time, it was also the most convenient. It had proper pavement and, instead of houses along its edges, there were bastions, which made it easy to step aside and let horses and carriages pass.

Naturally, traffic of all sorts flocked to the bridge, and, with it, so did the booksellers. But a bridge is only as good as the number of people it allows to cross, so when vendors of all kinds started blocking the flow of traffic, the city of Paris made numerous efforts to drive them away. Several decrees were issued in the 17th and 18th centuries. By the halfway point of the latter, the booksellers finally had to find a new home. They chose the next best spot: right along the Seine.

This came with its own problems, but, for one, it split the crowd of salesfolk in two: some set up on the north side of the river, the others on the south. For another, it was now easier to formalize their activities. The “bouquinistes,” as they are today officially known, received official slots along the river in 1859. Each bookseller could now rent a stretch of 10 meters along the river for annual costs of about 50 francs. They were allowed to install four boxes each to store and sell their books out of, the color and design of which was later also standardized.

Suddenly, what was once a sore point in the city’s image became one of its most endearing features. In the years that followed, the model quickly thrived and expanded. And while some politicians threatened the bouquinistes with removal throughout the years, time has only made them more integral to Paris.

Today, over 200 bouquinistes protect, manage, and trade over 300,000 books spread across 900 iconic green boxes, covering a stretch of over three kilometers along the Seine. The river banks themselves were already declared a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1991, and, in recent years, the city has been making efforts to get the booksellers recognized in their own right as well.

Initially, you could barely stroll across the Pont Neuf. Today, you can wander over that bridge, 11 others, as well as six kilometers of beautiful quays north and south of the river—all while perusing old books, contemporary magazines, as well as postcards, newspapers, stamps, and the occasional souvenir. The Seine went from “the river folks struggle to cross” to, according to the BBC, “the only river in the world that runs between two bookshelves.”

The people. The river. The books and the knowledge that’s in them. Everything must keep flowing. If we want life to move, so need we. For nearly half a millennium, that’s what the bouquinistes have been doing. If they keep it up, they’ll only become a larger part of the percolating powers that make up Paris.

At over $2 billion at the box office, Spider-Man: Brand New Day is officially the highest-grossing Spider-Man film of all time. It has also entered rare air: only eight films in total have so far surpassed this mark.

One reason is that the film uses superpowers to highlight the complexity of the human experience, not the other way around. It’s not, “I’m strong and hopeful, and that’s why I can use these powers well.” More like, “What do these powers even mean when I’m feeling sad and alone?” The supernatural aspects dial up the consequences, but, at its core, this is a film about becoming an adult. About growing up. Being any adult, really. And the responsibility of dealing with our inner worlds as much as our outer realities.

In Spidey’s case, the external fight is one he can’t win: The villain is way more powerful than he is, so more webs and jump kicks aren’t gonna cut it. In the end, it’s not a punch in the gut that knocks out the enemy. It’s a memory Peter Parker shared with his deceased aunt May, which he passes on.

Soon after his powers first come to light and the action begins, aunt May sits down next to Peter on his bed. She tells him that his new life can get scary fast, and that things will keep changing in ways no one, not even Peter, will be able to imagine. Having just defeated some crazy bad guy while swinging from a skyscraper, Peter says he knows, but aunt May shakes her head.

“I don’t think you do know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a really special person. And I would hope that that will always make you feel really great about yourself—but I know sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes, you’ll be really lonely. And sometimes, because you’re special… people can do dark, monstrous things to you.

This is what I want you to know: You’re beautiful, and the people who love you… we love you not because you’re special, love you because you’re you.

I want you to remember that. Even when it feels like you’re totally alone. That’s your deepest responsibility. Never forget that, no matter how powerful you become.”

To the people we love, “special” means “special.” To everyone else, it just means “different.” And since we’re all different to most people, most of us, even those without superpowers, can relate. That’s why, at this point, we all sit crying in the theater, and why the villain, too, suddenly gets it. No fatal bullets or Hulk smash needed. Merely the power of words and human connection.

Whatever makes you special, be it your brain, your status, or some physical anomaly, please remember: Special can be lonely—but it never means you’re actually alone.

I had to wait over a year to write yesterday’s post. As soon as I read that line in Letters of the Dragon, I knew I had to comment on it. Did Bruce Lee really make “the fuckingest action motion picture that has ever been made?” But in order to comment, first, I had to learn.

Thankfully, I’ve been watching movies my whole life, so I have a pretty big stock to draw on. Kung fu movies. Crime movies. Spy movies. Action movies. Superhero movies. But I was clueless about Bruce’s movies. So, after finishing the book, I started watching: His early, small movie appearances. His TV shows. And then his blockbusters, ending with the supposed pinnacle: Enter the Dragon. I also watched Jaws and Live and Let Die, and I’ve seen Star Wars: Episode IV.

Of course, there’s always more to learn. What about Dirty Harry? What about Drunken Master? Still, I felt the most important prerequisite to assessing Bruce’s claim was to see all of Bruce’s work. So that’s the journey I went on, and then I shared my ideas once I was ready.

I don’t know if I’m better at this than the average person or not. But in a world where AI spits out instant answers and full-fledged results for almost anything, and most people can barely sit down and focus on one task for a few hours at a time, multi-year patience is a superpower. Are you willing to wait? To do not just some but all the work that’s needed?

Payoffs are never guaranteed, but there’s always one reward waiting at the end of the high road: the pride of not having taken any shortcuts. Take the long way around.

Barring Game of Death, which only includes incomplete footage, I have now seen every major Bruce Lee film and TV show he ever recorded. Like many an artist’s career, his, too, got crispy at the end.

After The Green Hornet, where Lee played the best sidekick in order to one day be the best hero, his opportunities in the US dried up. Frustrated, he went back to Hong Kong a few years later. Filmmaking standards were not on the level he would have liked them to be, but at least here, people were willing to work with him and finance his movies.

With his next three releases, things finally came together. The Big Boss, Fist of Fury, and The Way of the Dragon went on to make $50, $100, and $130 million US dollars, respectively, each one completely shattering the global box office record for a Hong Kong–based movie set by the last. With budgets of $100,000-$130,000, these movies earned back between 500 and 1,000 times their investment.

Lee was happy but not satisfied. He was already reaching the world, but it would take another stage to send the most important message: Only once he starred in a Hollywood film would the movie industry—and the West at large—hold Asian actors equal in star-power to their white counterparts.

His real mission, however, always remained artistic. He wanted to push the boundaries of filmmaking all while creatively, genuinely expressing himself and his ideas. And though he would not have chosen to return to Hong Kong had the universe not sent him back there, it was precisely his successes there which ultimately opened the final door to him.

Between January and April of 1973, Bruce shot his first and, sadly, last, Hollywood film. It was a co-production between Lee’s Hong Kong film company, Warner Bros., and Golden Harvest, the company behind his previous movies. Towards the end of the shoot, in one of the last letters he ever wrote, Lee implored Ted Ashley, a personal friend and then head of the US film studio, to be fair, genuine, and give this one all he got—just as he, Bruce, would do the same:

You see, Ted, my obsession is to make, pardon the expression, the fuckingest action motion picture that has ever been made. In closing, I will give you my heart, but please do not give me your head only; in return, I, Bruce Lee, will always feel the deepest appreciation for the intensity of your involvement.

And? Did he do it? In Enter the Dragon, Bruce conveniently stars as Lee, a Shaolin monk tapped by British intelligence to investigate a mysterious martial arts tournament used as cover for a former disciple’s drug and prostitution ring. The film has everything you’d want in a great kung fu movie: multiple prominent fighters with different styles, a compelling story and dialogue, combat with and without weapons, and lots and lots of fighting.

But to really understand it, I not only had to look at the numbers. I also had to watch another movie: Live and Let Die, released only a few months later, the first James Bond movie starring Roger Moore as the then-already-legendary spy. That movie, too, has lots of stuff you’d want: car chases, clever agent gadgets, and beautiful actors delivering clever one-liners. But compared to Enter the Dragon, it feels almost hollow. A blockbuster busting lots of blocks but without soul.

The Bond movie is fun, but it feels comical and lacks emotional depth. It’s as if the eponymous hero was mostly on holiday seducing women while occasionally wandering into a Black drug cartel’s traps. The film had 10 times the budget of Lee’s, and you can feel it. Bond gets out of his quagmires so easily and nonchalantly, one has to wonder if he is human at all. He has a magnetic watch which he uses extensively. There’s a car chase, a bus chase, an airplane chase, and a boat chase—which led to the destruction of 27 speedboats, eight planes, and at least one double-decker bus. Live crocodiles, real sharks, and automated guns hidden in all kinds of places: The creators spared no expense—and yet, much of what happens doesn’t make all too much sense.

Much like Lee, Bond is tasked with garnering evidence against a drug lord’s illegal activities. Yet every time he gets close, he either escapes with only his life or destroys much of what he is supposed to report. He patronizes women along the way which nonetheless throw themselves at him—a harder sell now than it was back then, but even by 70s standards, their behavior is hardly believable.

Running on $800,000 instead of $7 million, Enter the Dragon had none of these options, and it forced everyone to rely on good writing, the creative use of sets and props, and, most of all, excellent physical combat. The result is that Lee’s film shines with ancient Eastern philosophy, strong characters standing up for themselves, and the most ingenious fight scenes ever devised up to that point.

In its initial run, Enter the Dragon grossed over $100 million US dollars. It was a bit shy of his last Hong Kong film but a resounding success nonetheless. Live and Let Die raked in $161 million, being the eighth film in an already successful franchise. But unlike Bond, who moved on to the next installment soon thereafter, Lee’s last movie kept getting re-release after re-release. To date, it has grossed over $400 million, which makes it the highest-grossing kung fu movie of all time. Adjusted for inflation, this also puts it on par with modern world record holders like Spider-Man, Star Wars, and the Avengers. It would take over 50 years for another low-budget movie to eclipse its success—and that’s to say nothing of the thousands of kung fu movies, camera shots and angles, and movie tropes it inspired in the decades hence.

Ask any global kung fu star—Jackie Chan, who even has a small, uncredited role in Enter the Dragon, Jet Li, or Donnie Yen—they’ll all name Bruce Lee as a major inspiration. Without Bruce, the entire genre of film would not exist as it does today.

So yes. Congrats, Mr. Lee. That really was the fuckingest action movie ever made—and every step you had to take to get there was exactly the one you were meant to make.