german-industrial

2

HK433

Heckler & Koch’s newest rifle is a hybrid of the G36 and 416. Featuring the ergonomic controls of the AR platform, it ditches the buffer tube setup to allow for an adjustable side-folding stock. It has the expected modular features that many modern day rifles offer, but I thought the internal maintenance free round counter was interesting. Apparently it uses RFID technology to count how many rounds have been through a particular rifle and the information can be downloaded. I guess kind of like a service check up for a car after so many miles. (GRH)

I once, too, was Spargel Conservative. I once, too, valued my part of Germany’s way of “correctly” eating Spargel and put it above other ways.
But I changed my attitude, as Spargel does not deserve this Einseitigkeit. Spargel is great in its Vielfalt of Zubereitungsmöglichkeiten and I do not discriminate anymore. I’ve changed my Spargel ways and I hope you consider all other Spargel possibilities, as well.

3

Die Öxnadalsheiði mit dem Fluss Öxnadalsá in Nordisland. 

The Öxnadalsheiði with the river Öxnadalsá in the North of Iceland.

©islandfeuer 2010. All Rights Reserved | Please leave captions + credits intact


Advice to people who know or meet famous people.

Please be aware of their right to decide who their friends are and what their interaction with you ‘means.’

Example:

My mother is a reasonably well known radio DJ in my hometown (well known enough that a new waitress at our usual lunch spot was starstruck, well known enough that I get ‘Oh my GOD, she’s your MOM????’ from total strangers). Once at a road show, a fan of hers brought her a diet Coke. She took it and said thanks. Later on his Facebook, he tagged her bragging about how he ‘had a drink with her.’

Also have witnessed well known friends (people who said to me ‘I consider you a friend’ so I feel all right in saying that) being referred to as ‘My friend so-and-so’ by both near strangers and people who, while my friends are nice to them, are most assuredly not friends for one reason or another.

Please, please, I know a lot of people think this is harmless, but there are a lot of people who used closeness to celebrities as a way to move through social and business circles or as ‘bragging rights.’ Please do not misrepresent interactions with people this way, even if you’re not trying to gain anything from it, because it perpetuates that subconscious attitude that celebrities are ‘fan property’ and are whatever we want them to be.

You must know sometimes I enjoy watching the Merlin series in my native language dub. The translation mistakes tho xD but everytime I get reminded that their german voices…

Originally posted by katiemcgrath

… are also their german voices:

Originally posted by the-bigbangtheorygifs

… and then I crack myself up xD

frangipanidownunder  asked:

49 for the prompt list.

This is a re-write of the scene in “Dreamland” (Part 1) when Mulder tries to make Scully understand that he’s Mulder and not Fletcher. I used some of the actual dialogue. Prompt was:  “Hello, pot. Apparently, I’m kettle.”

“Scully, it’s me, Mulder.” His stare, he realizes, is penetrating and he watches as Scully, not believing one of words he’s just uttered, backs away from him. Her expression is devoid of any friendliness and he’s surprised how much that simple fact hurts.

“Sir, Mr. Fletcher, you called me and now I’m here. So could you please tell me what this is about?” He recognizes this voice; it means business. She never talks to him like this, but of course she doesn’t know it’s him.

“Scully,” they’re interrupted by Fletcher’s wife spewing obscenities; Mulder can’t blame her, really, but Scully takes another step back and he needs to convince her before it’s too late, “you need to believe me.”

“Mr. Fletcher, I don’t have time for silly games like these so if you could just-”

“It’s me, Scully,” frustration seeps into his voice, “I’m Mulder. Fox Mulder, your partner. That other guy, the guy you think is Mulder that’s the real Morris Fletcher.” She blinks, bored, unable to even entertain the idea. Mulder can’t help but wonder how good the other man is at playing him. Maybe he’s a better partner, a better guy altogether.

“Look,” he tries again, taking a deep breath, “Your full name is Dana Katherine Scully. Your badge number is… hell, I don’t know your badge number. Your mother’s name is Margaret. Your brother’s name is Bill Jr. He’s in the Navy and he hates me,” her expression doesn’t change, remains as stoic as ever, so he decides to dig deeper, “lately, for lunch, you’ve been having this six-ounce cup of yogurt, plain yogurt, into which you stir bee pollen because you’re on a bee pollen kick even though I tell you you’re a scientist and you should know better. Or maybe it’s some kind of twisted joke on your behalf reminding me of that moment in the hallway before that bee stung you when we-”

“What did you just say?” Mulder hears the tiny gasp in her voice and his heart beats faster hoping he is getting through to her. Or maybe it’s because this is the first time they’re talking about what happened, or almost happened, in that hallway. Naturally it would occur at a moment like this.

“That moment in the hallway, Scully. How would anyone know about this except you and me?”

“This really isn’t funny. I don’t know how you obtained that information but this is not funny.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m serious, Scully. I wouldn’t make fun of this or that moment, for that matter. I meant what I said. I meant what I was- I wanted to kiss you then. Just like I meant it when I told you I love you after that disaster in the Bermuda triangle.” She steps back further, this time it’s obviously in shock, though. She needs to get a better look at him, he thinks, as her mouth opens in another gasp and her eyes search for any clue that he’s telling the truth. But he still looks like that other guy, he still looks like Morris Fletcher, and he knows Scully. He knows her much too well.

“How do you know these things, Mr. Fletcher?” Her voice takes on a darker edge and her eyes narrow. He sighs; what else can he tell her to finally make her see? His Scully needs scientific proof, something tangible, and he cannot give it to her.

“Scully, something happened out there. I don’t know what, but I need your help to figure it out and to reverse it. Tell me what to say so you’ll believe me.” It’s a plea, it’s him begging, and he searches her eyes for any indication that she’s at least considering it.

“What did you – what did Mulder give me for my birthday in 97?” She raises her eyebrows in an obvious challenge. He bites his lip to keep from grinning and clears his throat.

“An Apollo 11 keychain. Come on, Scully, if you want to quiz me, ask me harder stuff.” This time he can’t stop the grin and it feels like it always feels when he’s looking at her like this, except her face is nothing like what he wants to see. There’s no sparkle in her eyes, no gentleness around her lips, none of the typical signs he’s come to notice when he makes a joke. This is the first time in all this mess that he really misses his life, his own body. He misses the way she looks at him; misses the way she feels comfortable around him. Who is he when the only person who matters in his life doesn’t recognize him? He’s no one. No one he wants to be, anyway.

“This can’t be…” she murmurs. At least this is something he knows and he waits, impatiently, for her to make up her mind. In his favor, if possible. “Well, then…” she lifts her head, her eyes meet his, and it’s not the same way she normally she looks at him, but it’s damn close and he feels relief flood him, “Hello, pot. Apparently, I’m kettle.” Mulder laughs and the sound sounds strange in his ears, and Scully’s too, judging by the looks of it.

“So you believe me.”

“I- I’m not sure, but… Mulder, I mean my- whoever he is – you, or Morris Fletcher, he hasn’t been acting like… well, you.” He wants to take her into his arms, hug her tightly and never let go; he wants to kiss her and never stop. Not as Morris, though.

“We need to find out what happened, Scully. I want to be me again.” She nods and he can tell that she has no idea about what to do. That makes two of them.

“Go and talk to the Gunmen. They might be able to help.” She glances up at him, tears shimmering there, and the need to draw her near is almost unbearable.

“Mulder…” she tries it out and he doesn’t flinch, gives her a smile that he hopes at least reminds her of the real him and urges her to go on, “Mulder, the things you said… about the hallway, about what you said in the hospital-”

“I meant it, Scully. I mean it. When all of this is over… maybe, instead of pretend nothing ever happened, we should have a talk,” she nods tentatively, “you know, talk about the birds and the bees.”

“I’ve had that talk, Mulder.” No hesitation this time.

“Not with me.” He grins and she grants him a smile, a real one, the one he knows. The one that say you might be crazy, but I still kind of like you. Likewise, Scully, he thinks.

They part, they have to, to both investigate what they can in any capacity that they’re able to. When they reverse it, when everything is back to normal and Mulder goes home, he feels like something is nagging him; did he forget something? He wonders as he unlocks the door to his apartment. He should call Scully, ask her if she thinks anything seems wrong, or off, to her. He feels like they have unfinished business about something. Maybe she remembers, he hopes, as he closes the door behind him.