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!

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.

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!

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.

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.