27 November 2012

Portuguese People and Ed Sheeran!

Oh hey!

Yesterday Al and I spent an absolutely fabulous day in Hamburg.  We got up super early because it was a three-hour drive (or sleep, if you were me), and we had PLANS!

Plan 1: The Portuguese Consulate

Sigh.  Yes, I was way-overdue for a trip to the motherland's far-flung German outpost, namely because I moved nine months ago and never went to them to get my address officially changed.  I came prepared with every document I've ever gotten from Portugal (birth certificate, parent's marriage certificate, receipts for the hundreds of dollars said certificates cost), and of course neglected to bring any documentation proving I had changed residences.  Damn.  I was like, hey, from one porkchop to another, please? And Consulate Man was like, nope, need something with your address on it.  So I searched around in my wallet and found my organ donor card, which incidentally I had received two days before.  And filled out, by scribbling my address on there in the off-chance the doctors feel the need to notify Roommate that they're borrowing my liver in the event of my untimely death.  Somehow, this was accepted by Consulate Guy without comment.  And that is how I changed my address at the consulate.  With the hand-written information on my organ donor card.  Portugal win.

Although Portugal is apparently entirely uncaring about the official-ness of your supporting documents, they are exceptionally obnoxious about changing things.  I have to wait for a letter in the mail, which I then have to bring in person to the consulate in order for the change to be official.  Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but that's a ten-hour round trip train ride, in the middle of paper season.  Thank everything we ride the train for free, or else I'd suffer the loss of the 3 euros I paid to get the damn piece of paper anyway.

At any rate, Al and I got to enjoy forty-five minutes of Portuguese cooking shows.

Plan 2:  The Christmas Market

Hamburg's Christmas market opened yesterday, HOORAY!  I love love love Christmas markets.  Even though I had a God-awful Christmas in Germany last year, the Christmas markets were the one redeeming aspect of my life, and my love for them has not waned.  They are fabulous.  They are fabulous because you look at shit and eat things.  Al and I split a  a 3 foot piece of licorice, a bag of roasted almonds covered in Nutella, a thing of fried dough covered in powdered sugar (Schmalzkuchen), and then caved and got our own individual fish sandwiches.  I got the children's version because it came with a lollipop.  Which I didn't share.  And everything about everything was amazing.  And I love Christmas markets.

Plan 3:  Ed Sheeran concert!

Al and I had tickets to the Ed Sheeran concert!  Actually, Al surprised me with those tickets a couple months ago and I was SUPER pumped because I really really really like Ed Sheeran because I'm a girl like that.  And it was brilliant--the things that boy can do with a loop pedal are pretty spectacular.  I was a little nervous when hearing that the venue holds ten thousand people, only because I pinned Ed Sheeran for super coffee house and reserved practically to the point of standoffishness.  Nope.  It was fabulous fabulous fabulous he was so good and so cool.  Epic points to him.  And the guy that opened for his was pretty awesome too, although it took me about a minute of listening to decide if I liked it, at which point I decided I did, very much.  Here, have a song:


What I'm trying to say is.  Go see both of these people in concert.  And I think it's very tragic that Ed Sheeran is opening for Taylor Swift on her next tour.  He's fabulous, she can't carry a tune in a bucket, but don't tell my sister I said that.

Adios!

25 November 2012

5 Things I (Still) Do Not Understand About Germany (And Probably Never Will)

At this point, I have lived in Germany for a little over a year and a half, and let me be clear, I love it.  And even though there have been a lot of things over the past eighteen months that have struck me as weird, stupid, ridiculous, or just plain offensive, I've managed to get myself more or less squared with most of them in the name of open-mindedness.  However, my year-and-a-half anniversary has caused me to reflect on a couple things about German culture that still baffle me, and at this point I've accepted that they will, in all likelihood, be beyond my comprehension for the rest of time.

Here we go.  In no particular order:

1) Living in two cities

From what I understand, this isn't horribly uncommon, especially in academic circles. I know plenty of people who do it, and I cannot for the life of me fathom it.  The game is this.  You live in Berlin, which you rather enjoy.  But then you get a job in Hamburg, which is a 6+ hour round trip away.  In my brain, you have two options: a) move, b) make lots of mixed CDs because you've got a bitch of a commute.  In Germany, however, there exists option c: get a second house in Hamburg, live/work there from Monday-Thursday, then go live at your other house in Berlin for Friday-Sunday.

I don't get it.  I know people with children who do this, and it blows my mind even more, that instead of moving, they'd rather only see their families three days a week.  I think to me personally, that would feel like a divorce more than anything.  Plus, there is no place on the PLANET that I love enough to spend my life floating in limbo between it and a city that's not as hoppin.  Sorry Germany, I will not ever get this one.

2) Washing dishes in dirty water

In all fairness, I don't think this is specific to Germany--I know Claire and I had a conversation once about how her English relatives do it.  You plug the drain, fill the sink with water and dish soap, and then do your dishes.  But after like two dishes the water turns brown and bits of things start floating in it and the entire  dance really, really grosses me out.  For whatever reason, it doesn't bother me when other people do it, and I'm never refuse to eat off your plate because you wash your dishes like this, but I personally cannot make myself do it.  I know it's saving water and I'm being American and wasteful by only doing my dishes under a running tap, but I can't help it. I can't make myself put dishes in brown water, and I don't understand why this is culturally acceptable.

3) Refusing to form lines

Really, Germany?  Really?  Would it be so hard to form an orderly line instead of fighting over counter space at the bakery like hyenas over an elephant carcass?  Aren't you guys the masters of order and efficiency?  Why have you not figured this out yet?

4) Putting my change next to my outstretched hand

Jean asked about this one when she came to visit me, and I had no answer for her, but it irritates the CRAP out of me.  You're a cashier.  I have just paid you, and am holding out my hand for the change.  Why, in the name of all that is holy, would you put that change on the counter, next to my hand?  Seriously, how antisocial do you have to be that you would rather place my change next to my hand rather than take the risk that your fingernail might come into contact with my palm for less than a tenth of a second?  It almost makes me want to start slipping cashiers a note with my money assuring them that my outstretched hand is not a bear trap and has not been dipped in poison.  You can in fact put money in it without dying.

5) Being really health-conscious and then smoking like a chimney

But by far, the winner of the Things That I Still Do Not Understand list is how Germans can, on the one hand, be super duper health conscious and eat organic and wear tribal jewelry with their hand-woven garments of natural fibers, and yet turn around and smoke more than a fire made of rubber, wet leaves, and animal fat.  I just don't understand how the turnabout happens.  And I don't understand how and why everyone starts smoking when they're like, fifteen.

The End.

18 November 2012

Spanish lessons and Thanksgiving

As I've mentioned a few times, I'm learning Spanish.  Because I need it very very badly for Mexico, and I need it competent and communicative by August.  This means that as much as I'm getting from my roommate's Spanish book slash whatever online resources I can find, I'm not getting it quickly enough.  So yesterday I rethought my strategy, and decided to start watching Spanish-language television.  Also known as Telemundo.  Yes, that is correct, I am currently watching Spanish soap operas with names like Corazon Valiente and Rosa Diamante in the effort to speed up the learning process.  And while I have no idea what's going on 95% of the time, I am pleased to at least be able to say that I am rapidly accumulating the vocabulary necessary to discuss pregnancy, affairs, and medical emergencies.  Just today I've learned the words for "aggression," "compassion," "bastard," and "tramp," all of which are very useful in the right circumstances.  Plus, I'm becoming very familiar with the wide spectrum of the "shocked" face that accompanies personal tragedy and scandal. Which, from what I understand, happens on average every twenty-two seconds.  For crying out loud, one guy just found out his maid is his mom.  Awkward.  On the plus side, there's a shocked face for that.

In other news, Thanksgiving is around the corner and I have to work until six, which means I'm taking Estonian friend up on her offer to come over and make pretzels.  This is the second year in a row that I'm missing out on anything resembling Thanksgiving, and I'm kind of sad.  I really, really miss Thanksgiving.  More than that, I miss Portuguese Thanksgiving, also known as that weird blend of Luso-American tradition that we've got going on every year.  Too many people crammed into a room too small to fit them.  Lots and lots of wine.  My mom's cheesy mashed potatoes.  Gross Portuguese green soup that is gross.  Fighting with my sister for the remnant's of my mom's pie dough so we can make mini-pies.  Tia's cod cakes.  Not eating the aletria. When I was a child, all of these things used to make me insane, but I guess the older I get and the longer I'm away from our weird awkward culture, the more I miss it.

But at least this year I know I'll be in the States for Portuguese Christmas, and that's exciting.  Too many people crammed into a room that's too small to fit them.  Lots and lots of wine.  My mom's cheesy mashed potatoes.  Delicious Portuguese chicken soup that is delicious.  Making vomiting sounds every time someone suggests I eat the octopus.  Tia's cod cakes.  The baby pig in avó's oven with the apple in it's mouth that is still terrifying.  My mother addressing all the presents from Santa and insisting that he is real.  Still not eating the aletria.  Being terrified by my mother's over-sized Annalee doll collection and installing signs in front of them saying things like "I want to eat your soul."  Exchanging gifts with my sister on Christmas Eve, a tradition we started back when we were too impatient to wait until Christmas morning.  Jesus jokes.

I can't wait!

15 November 2012

Balls in the air

You know how I feel right now?  Like this guy:

Except minus the resemblance to Carrot Top.  And with pants that fit.  And I don't give the people around me the impression that I love little children inappropriate amounts. But other than that, I feel exactly like that guy.  

Because I've got a lot of balls up in the air, and I can't actually say that without giggling.  Balls.  HA.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I got an internship at a tiny little institution on the Danish border that's working to preserve a dying German dialect.  This is how I got the internship:

Me:  Hello, do you guys offer internships?
Them:  You want to intern?  With us?
Me:  Well, yes, if you take interns.
Them:  When did you want to come?
Me:  I was thinking early February after classes end, for a month.  
Them:  Awesome!  Just show up.  Can't wait to have you!

In fact, the process was so easy--they didn't ask for any documents or contracts--that I considered finding another internship, one that would give me the proper amount of hassle and irritation and make me fill out a stack of forms and dredge up documents more irrelevant to my life than the Dead Sea scrolls.  It was Al who pointed out that it's a solid institution, and their complete laid-back-ness about me interning was probably due to the fact that I was the first person in the history of the all things white and European that had ever called them up and asked for an unpaid internship in the Middle of Nowhere, Practically-Denmark.  I'm going to go with his reasoning.  Mine was longer and more complicated and involved words like "science experiment," "zombies," and "copious amounts of hallucinogenics."

What this means, though, is that I've successfully launched one more ball in the air. "Internship" is now up there with "Work," "Organizing Mexico," "School," "Grant Proposals," "Papers," "Presentations," and "Occasionally Sleeping."  Somehow, I've got to get Mexico organized, funded, vaccinated, and booked by August.  I've got to turn in five papers by early February.  I've got to produce two presentations by mid-January.  I've got to write between three and seven grant proposals with due dates ranging from mid-January to mid-March.  I've got to learn two languages.  I've got to find someplace to live (and someone to take my apartment) for the month of my internship. I've got a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it.

What I'm trying to say is, I've got a lot of balls up in the air.  Also, I love little children appropriate amounts.  

The End.

12 November 2012

All the good newses

Hey all!  I've got good news by the barrel and I'm really excited about it.

First, I've finally got a thesis!  It involves oral storytelling traditions in indigenous...Mexico!  My mother is pretty sure I'm going to get kidnapped by a drug cartel, but I'm really really excited (about the thesis, not the theoretical kidnapping) and have already started hitting the Spanish book I borrowed from Roommate.  Hitting that book rather hard, if truth be told.  I've also started doing background research, planning my project, and looking for avenues of funding--so if you or anyone you know has approximately 4,000 euros that needs disappearing, please talk to me before you start folding it into koi fish or spit-balling homeless people with it.  Or whatever it is rich people do with money they don't need.

Second, I got a scholarship!  It's not a crazy one that pays per month, but it basically takes care of my tuition next semester, which is thrilling.  I say "basically" because I do plan on spending approximately 30 dollars of said scholarship on a sweater, because I am seriously hurting for warm clothes right now.  Tank tops don't really cut it in German autumn, regardless of how many layers of fleece I pile on over top.

Third, I started my job!  I'm a student assistant, which is a fancy way of saying I scan books for a really kickass research institution.  It's still early in the game, but thus far, I'm a fan.  Everyone is super nice, all the things I have to scan are interesting and I get to skim through them, and it's just generally fabulous all around. I'm so happy to finally be doing something with myself.  And because it's a distinct possibility that I might one day work for this institution (or one like it), I'm really enjoying being able to check out how it works.  Plus, it's nice to finally have some direction.

All in all, this semester is starting out about a thousand times better than the last one. I finally feel like I am in control of the ball, as opposed to standing in the net and getting continually hit in the face with it.

In other news, Al and I went to a Poetry Slam last night, and it slammed almost as hard as my psychotic neighbors with their doors.  Most importantly, I learned that while my German is fluent enough to write papers in and take classes in and fight with institutions in, it is apparently not fluent enough for poetry slams.  German humor doesn't frequently go over my head--chances are, if the Germans are laughing, I am too.  But there was one kid in particular last night whose poem had everyone on the floor howling, and I sat there with my eyebrow raised trying to figure out what was so goddamn hilarious about a trip to Romania in verse.  Apparently, it was all one giant euphemism for having sex with a transvestite.  Yeah.  Missed that bus.

Fun things that happened today!  I got yelled at not once, but twice, by people who disapproved of the way I was riding my bike.  The second lady actually stopped me in the middle of the road to inform me that I was riding my bike on the wrong side.  I pointed out that it was a one-way street, and since she was going against traffic, technically she was the one messing up.  She sat there for thirty seconds watching the cars (going one way), before informing me that I was incorrect.  At which point my anger bubbled over (second random yelling stranger that day, don't get on my case if you're the one in the wrong), and I very politely suggested that she go fuck herself.  In English.  And then felt much better.  This should probably be taken as a sign that the eighteen months of living in Germany have not succeeded in making me any more German, they've just made me aggressive.  My mother was right, I'm way too sensitive to live in this country.  Maybe I should move to England, where people are polite to the point of being annoying.  

At any rate, the universe balanced itself out five minutes later when I asked a nice old man for help finding the building I had to drop my scholarship form off in, and he walked me to it.  All the while congratulating me for getting said scholarship and complimenting me on my lovely French accent.  Which I have, apparently.

Good times, Germany, good times.

07 November 2012

The German Election Party

Oh hey!

So yesterday was election day, as I'm pretty sure every breathing creature on the planet has already figured out unless they are deaf/stupid/make their seaweed homes somewhere off the Great Barrier Reef.  I was entirely unenthusiastic about this election--apathy plus distance times sheer disgust with the American political machine squared equaled "Fuck voting, I don't feel like paying the postage."  But then my boyfriend pulled the "I want to grow up to be the chancellor of Germany" card, which was nice, but it meant I had to vote.  Apparently, future politicians find such things important.  Go figure.

So I voted (read: filled out the paper and then let it sit in my purse until Al got tired of my hem-hawing and paid for the postage), and, having done that, decided to ignore the rest of the election--except; of course, for those times when it resulted in particularly hilarious SNL sketches that I could watch in the 17 minutes between their upload to the web and their violent death at the hands of German Youtube's distinctly Hitler-esque copyright team.  And that was it for me.

But then yesterday rolled around, and I was suddenly faced with the unpleasant choice of either watching the election or doing bullshit Swedish homework.  Writing John a postcard about Stockholm's Nobel Prize Museum vs. mudslinging.  Trying to remember what the past perfect does vs. the opportunity to be a cynical bitch at the TV screen, and let's be honest Tina, you probably won't get another chance like this until the next time ABC airs Twilight.  Fine.  Let's go to the election party.

Yes, there was an election party.  No, I do not understand why anybody three thousand miles away who is not American and has no connection to America feels obligated to stay up until 5 AM watching various experts discuss about how unlikely a tie is shortly before they freak out about all the horrible things that would happen if there was one (Fox News field day, Sarah Palin interviews, more hurricanes). However, there were a surprising amount of people who cared, surprisingly few of which were American.  But I did meet a seventy-year-old dude who works for Democrats Abroad. He was very nice, and if he ever runs for the position of Santa Clause, I'll be perfectly happy to vote for him.  I'll even pay the postage.

Anyway.  Back to the election party.  So there were little American flags everywhere and weird muffins and free waffles, which was a win.  There was even a camera crew--I'm not sure from where, or why, but they were there and filming.  The best part was when they came in to film the crowd's reaction to the first few Obama states. Everyone flipped shit and carried on like donkey kong, with the exception of me and Michigan friend, because we have far too much experience watching the electoral college votes roll in to stand up and pump our fists over Delaware.  This may come as a shock, Germany, but Delaware is not a game-changer.

Things I learned from the German election party:

--I can't be bothered to stay up until dawn watching my own election, let alone one for a different country.
--Santa Clause is a really nice guy who refers to everything below Massachusetts as "West of America."
--10 AM the next morning is a really inconvenient time to realize that by being the only two people not cheering on camera over Delaware, you made yourself look like a Romney fan.

The End.

01 November 2012

November! And, what happened to our pumpkins.

Well, classes are in full swing and I'm is back to being productive.  I wound up doing a last minute change of my life and switching up half the classes I was in, but I've got it all worked out and everything is good.  Aztec is interesting, Swedish takes place at an ungodly early hour, and for my Africa class, I have to do a presentation on, wait for it--Kony 2012.  The fact that I wrote a really long paper on this last semester makes my life that much easier; the fact that I have to do this presentation in tandem with a random girl I do not know does not.  Meh.  Back to life.  I also decided to be kind to myself and take a single class in English (I deserve it, dammit), and it's really nice to not lose the thread of the discussion if I tune out for more than a minute.  I'm also the only person in another one of my classes.  Under normal circumstances, the class would probably get canned, but since the professor is my advisor, it'll all work out anyway.

Other things that are fun!  I finally started riding regularly at the barn, and had a lesson yesterday--it was great!  I also started my job today, which I am retardedly excited about and thankful for.  From what I can tell, I have to do a lot of copying things, but all the things I have to copy are pretty interesting.  So I read with one hand and copy with the other.  Living on the edge, you know.

In the world of entertainment, the Gypsy kids in the building across from me are proving to be the continual winners.  The other night as I went to light up the pumpkins out front, I noticed that one had been stolen.


Farewell, bicycle-face.  You served us well.

A little sad, I went about lighting the survivors--and you know the adage "like moths to a flame?"  Incorrect.  It should be "like small Gypsy children to a flame," because I was surrounded the second I pulled the lighter out of my pocket.  Five different children each insisted on lighting  a candle (or "accidentally" blowing one out so they could re-light it, as the situation required), while others yelled at me that they knew who had taken the bicycle-face and could they have the ones that were left?  No, I explained, if you take them then nobody can enjoy them.

"But what will you do with them tomorrow?"
"Light them up."
"And the day after?"
"Probably throw them out, they'll have started to go rotten by then."
"PLEASE DON'T THROW IT OUT, WE WILL TAKE YOUR PUMPKINS."
"You can't take the pumpkins, they'll be moldy and soft and make gassy noises when you poke them."
"OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE."
"No.  I am throwing the pumpkins out."
"Can we have them now then?"
"Please do not steal my pumpkins."
"WE CAN TAKE THEM!"
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID."

This somehow resulted in a very long discussion about pumpkin ethics, namely, whether the passing of that special day made the pumpkins on your stoop fair game. When was Halloween, they wanted to know? Wednesday, I said.  This was Saturday.

Tuesday evening the doorbell rang.  Thinking it was a friend, I buzzed him in and went downstairs to meet him.  Not friend.  Actually a horde of small children holding bags.

"Hello Tina!  Halloween is today!"
"It's tomorrow, dears."
"IT IS NOT, IT'S TODAY."
"Voices down, my neighbors eat children."
"It is not, it's today"
"Today is Tuesday.  Halloween is tomorrow, the 31st.  Remember, we had this conversation?  And then I asked you not to steal the pumpkins?"
"But someone stole one!  And it's not even past Halloween THAT IS NOT FAIR!"
"What?  I haven't thrown those things out yet?"


I went down to see, and sure enough, creepy Estonian pumpkin was gone.  But I looked around anyway, checking in the bushes and behind the trashcan.  You know, just in case creepy Estonian pumpkin was hiding.  He wasn't.

At that point I got a good long look at the surviving pumpkins, witch pumpkin and raven pumpkin-- neither of which were doing particularly well, both of which had been left out long past their last vestiges of autumnal dignity had shriveled up and been chewed on by stray cats.  The weird back-and-forth weather had taken it's toll: witch pumpkin needed Botox, and raven pumpkin looked like a heap of dead.  If I hadn't known better, I would have put rough 50/50 odds on the fact that it had ever been a pumpkin.

"Oh man," said I, poking the pumpkins with my shoe.  "Look at this mess.  This shit is sucking at my soles.  I think these pumpkins have got to go."

The Gypsy children panicked.

"NO NO NO DON'T DO THAT, WE WILL TAKE YOUR PUMPKINS."
"They're starting to smell like dead people."
"OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE WE WILL TAKE THE PUMPKINS."
"Your mother will have me arrested for assault with a stinky vegetable.  On principle."
"PUUUMMMMPPKINPUUUMMMMPKINPUUUMMMPKINPLEEEEEASE."
"You mean you show up looking for candy, and you're content to take rotten vegetables with you instead?"
"PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE."
"Oh for the love of God, take the moldy pumpkins.  It'll save me a trip up the stairs to get a trash bag."


And that is the story of how half our pumpkins were stolen and half were given away to small children while in advanced stages of decomposition.

The End.