On Saturday night in Pilsen, I stood in the middle of a club with my teammates, the music loud, the lights moving, everyone laughing — and I felt nothing. Not nothing emotionally. I was happy to be there. But my body was empty. My energy level was so low that even lifting my arms felt…
The breakthrough came midweek. The website worked. Pages loaded.The structure held. For a brief moment, it felt like arrival. It wasn’t. Beneath the surface sat an eight-page calendar architecture — elegant, layered, beautifully user-friendly — and almost impossible to keep stable. It functioned. It just refused to remain predictable. Every update rippled across dependencies.Caching began…
Not Time. Not Discipline. Energy. You don’t lack ambition.You don’t lack intelligence.You don’t lack ideas. Most of the time, you simply lack energy. And that changes everything. This month, we are not talking about productivity hacks or motivation tricks.We are talking about the invisible currency of your life. As one of our core texts puts…
The silence in the house wasn’t the peaceful kind—at least, not at first. It was the heavy, expectant silence of a family waiting for a little green light to flicker back to life on a plastic box. Last Sunday, I made a conscious choice to leave the laptop closed. I had things to do for…
On Wednesday, the internet cable was cut. Literally cut. Janita was reporting from mobile data like a war correspondent, while somewhere else a washing machine was being defended like national territory, and in Scotland a man was checking whether his tail was still attached. It was that kind of week. Mr Mayor began by asking…
Or: Wi-Fi, Excavators, Egg-Topped Burgers, and the Art of Not Losing Your Mind “Are we live, Fruitloop?”“We are live.” And like all responsible spiritual leaders, The Mayor immediately escalates. “Raise your hands. Middle finger and thumb together. Close your eyes. No cheating. Repeat after me. Episode 36. I will give the mayor grief.” Thus begins…
Good evening began with a tiny identity crisis. “Hi, Janita.”“Good evening, Natalie. Whoops.”And then, like a curtain lifting on a familiar stage: “Hello, Mr. Mayor.” It had that Lunch feeling instantly—warm, slightly chaotic, affectionate, and already laughing at itself . Today’s table had four seats filled: Nathalie (South Korea), Rosii (Brazil), Fruitloop (South Africa), and…
Wednesday, the internet cable was cut. Not metaphorically. Not philosophically. Literally cut.Men repairing the water mains managed to sever the fibre optic line, and suddenly Janita — my co-host in this civilized experiment—was joining meetings on mobile data like a field reporter in a conflict zone. Outside: municipal chaos.Inside: HTML. I was deep in code….
When the Mayor announced, with great dignity, that his bushy tail would be on the back as well, nobody in the video call was prepared for what would follow. In English, it sounded innocent. Woodland. Squirrel. Possibly festive. In German, however, Schwanz—tail—has… range. And thus began Martin’s January mission to Edinburgh. Operation: Angel Fish The…
I have a litre of excellent homemade pork knuckle stock. I want to use it as a basis for one week’s worth of cooking; budgeting should be fun, effective, and nutritious. List me one week’s worth of recipes, using the stock as a foundation, even a perpetual recipe. Mr Mayor, that’s liquid gold. A proper…
