RIP

This blog is dead.

You may have noticed that already, but now it's official.

Since I'm moving back to the states tomorrow, I'm pulling the plug. Or whatever you do to a dead blog.

It was great sharing my experiences with you all. I hope they amused you a little.

Thanks for reading!

Luke

P.S. I already miss you, Berlin!

Berlin, Paris, London, Stockholm

What a month!

Here are the pictures from the month so far. Stay tuned for pics from Prague!



You can also see them all at once and comment on them by going to my Picasa gallery.

Androgynously Anime

I hated the old H&M ads featuring a very creepy Vincent Gallo ogling women.



But I love the new ones featuring German emo boy band Tokio Hotel.

Nose Holes and Chest Warts

Here's a quote from a funny post about the often painful literalism of the German language. It's from the entertaining but seemingly defunct "Nothing for Ungood" (a blog whose title is taken from the German version of the phrase 'no offense', i.e., Nichts für ungut):

"Maybe because of the change of weather or due to the stress of learning to live in a different culture you develop a cold sore. Instead of stopping by home to grab your German-English dictionary to look up the new term, just stop and think about what your condition is. Lip herpes. Lippenherpes. While you’re at the pharmacy you may want to pick up something for your sinuses. Don’t know the word for sinuses? That’s ok. They are kind of like caves near your nose. Nasennebenhöhlen. No problem."

Pictures from May!

Kegeln

Kegeln is bowling with a few differences.

First, everything's smaller: You can cradle a ball in one hand, the pins are miniature and the lanes are about a foot wide.

Second, the pins are on strings, like marionettes. After you knock them down, a machine pulls the strings taut so that the pins stand up straight again.



Third, there are only nine pins and they are arranged in a diamond shape, making it impossible (for me) to get a strike.

One thing that is the same, however, is that I suck at both.

I was disappointed that neither the Germans, nor the French, nor the Italians seem to have a special name for the Bulls eye. The Germans have redeemed themselves, however, with their term for rolling a gutter ball, which, according to my friend Tobias, is known as Pudel werfen, that is, "throwing a Poodle".

Google's German Stereotypes

I just received the following funny and revealing email from my sister, Rachel:

"I typed "Why are Germans " into Google and here are the suggestions they offered about how to complete my question:
Why are Germans...
1.Why are Germans called huns
2. Why are Germans rude
3. Why are Germans so smart
4.Why are Germans called jerrys
5. Why are Germans so efficient
6. Why are Germans so tall
7. Why are Germans called Krauts
8 Why are Germans so hot
9. Why are Germans called hun?
10 Why are Germans evil?
Interesting questions.
-R"

Interesting questions, indeed! Thanks for the message, Rachel!

Never Too Jaded

You know how sometimes you drop something round, like a coin or a bottle cap, and it spins like a top, spinning, spinning, spinning for what seems like a ridiculously long time?

When that happens to me, I go crazy. I shout at the object, "ENOUGH ALREADY! WE KNOW! YOU FELL ON THE FLOOR! WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT FROM US?! STOP SPINNING ALREADY AND JUST DIE! DIEEEEE!!!!!!!"

And that only lasts about five seconds.

That's how impatient I am.

I'm so impatient that when a Web site doesn't load within *three* seconds, I frantically hit the back button and then I have to go email everyone I know about how horrible the Web site was (in the latest case it was the Web site for the new Star Trek movie).

So today was very hard for me. I had to wait at home for 8 hours for the Vodafone guy to come install my Internet. 8 hours. That's three seconds times 9600.

And as all friends of the blog know, that's on top of the seven months I've been waiting since I moved to Berlin to have the Internet at home. That's math I can't even do.

But I didn't shout. I didn't fume. I didn't blog (well, I didn't haven the Internet, but you know).

I was being so good! I just sat around the house and read (Kafka--nothing could have been more appropriate) and tried not to look at the clock.

Then at precisely 15:00, after seven months and seven hours of being uncharacteristically patient, I got a text message from Vodafone. I was so excited because I thought my waiting was finally over--I could talk over Skype to my friends and family, watch Hulu and YouTube, check the weather and find out all sorts of exciting tidbits about this fascinating country!

Instead, I got this message:

Ihr Vodafone-Anschluss konnte heute nicht realisiert werden. Bitte rufen Sie uns hierzu unter ##### an. Danke.

"Your Vodafone-connection could not be realized today. Please call us about it at ######. Thanks."

Typically German. No apology. No explanation. Just a matter-of-fact, extremely punctual, "you get nothing".

So I called. I navigated through three levels of German voicejail. I endured five minutes of horrible hold music.

Finally, I was connected with a real person. We spoke. He was polite. I was polite.

End result?

At some date in the future, they will give me another appointment. They couldn't tell me when. All they could say is that it will be at least two weeks from now.

When I think about it, what happened to me is actually *exactly* the plot of Kafka's The Trial.

Well, I mean, except that it's about getting the Internet, not getting executed. But I bet if Al Gore had already invented the Internet by the time Kafka was writing, his book would have been called Der Anschluss rather than Der Prozess.

I know what you're thinking. How stupid am I? Why did I not see this coming?

What can I say, dear readers? I had the audacity to hope.

Blame Obama.

Premature Celebration

Like a battered woman, I am now grateful for the tiniest crumbs of humanity. I understand that Berlin doesn't want to do it. It has to. Sometimes a yank just needs to be Deutsch-slapped.

What I'm grateful for is that moments ago I got a text message from Vodafone telling me to stay home on Monday between the hours of 8 and 16 because they're going to INSTALL MY INTERNET!

Yay!!!! Three weeks after I signed a contract, a robot at the Vodafone headquarters has seen fit to send me a text to tell me I have the honor of being granted the cable-guy-style unbinding and indefinite all day appointment next week! I'm so lucky!

Of course, something inexplicable is going to happen to prevent me from getting the Internet in the end, as it always does. But for now, I'm pretending them chickens is as good as hatched.

The World Needs a Heroine

I found out at a German dinner party the other week that everyone in the world, regardless of race, age, or creed, knows that Jessica Fletcher was a resident of Cabot Cove, Maine.

Also that Cabot Cove has an astoundingly high murder rate.

Interesting, too, is the number of different titles the show has had in different countries.

My favorite is still the original title, "Murder, She Wrote", which I remember puzzling over even as a child. But some of the titles from other countries are also pretty weird.

There's the failed whimsy of the Spanish title: Se ha escrito un crimen, or "A Crime has Been Written". Then there's Portugal's strangled attempt at a translation: Crime, Disse Ela, or "Crime, She Said".

Perhaps weirdest of all is Quebec's boring literalism: Elle écrit au meurtre, or "She writes about murder".

Bonnet Seeks Bee

Reports of the death of this blog have been greatly exaggerated. Well, mildly exaggerated.

But it is true that the fire in my belly about blogging has cooled a bit.

Remember when every day in Berlin was like breaking in a new pair of shoes? That is, both excruciating and debilitating?

I bet you miss that.

Now every day in Berlin is like...a day...somewhere.

Not so interesting, is it?

Well, my schadenfroh readers, it has happened and I'm not sure what to do about it.

Take today. I figured out how to print stuff at the FU from my laptop. Nothing special. Just googled "Zedat drucken" (it's an FU thing, don't ask), was taken to the FU Web site where I followed the straightforward German instructions.

Of course it took an hour and a half to install the driver, but whatever. I wasn't bothered. Well, I wasn't *that* bothered. I mean, not bothered enough to blog about it.

I mean, I'm blogging about it right now, but not in a ranting, venting, steaming sort of way, like I normally would.

And the thing I was printing out? Oh, nothing. Just a fax I had to send to Sallie Mae to let them know I'm still in grad school so they wouldn't make me start repaying my student loans.

Wait, a fax, you frantically ask? How are you going to send a fax? You don't have a fax machine! You may be forced to *go* somewhere! But where!? And what if they make you speak German?!

OK, folks, chill. No problem. I just walked to the copy shop by the FU and asked, in German, if they'd send a fax to the US for me. It didn't even matter that I didn't know the international access code. "Null, null, eins?" Suggested the friendly copy shop guy. "Why not?" I said. "Let's try it."

And it worked. Of course it cost three and half euros, but I wasn't bothered. Not *that* bothered.

I just don't know what's wrong with me! Nothing bothers me anymore! It's so frustrating!

Another thing is that my German is totally functional. Spoken, written, whatever. Es ist mir egal, as the Germans say. It ain't pretty, and I sound like an idiot, but I'm not afraid of total communication breakdown anymore.

So, look, I'm not saying it's not still *hard*. It can be very tough to keep up with people and to make sure I don't say the *completely* wrong thing. But it just doesn't make me want to go home and blog myself to sleep anymore. What can I say?

I guess you guys could always hope something terrible happens to me. Well, not so terrible that I can't rant humorously about it. You know, just terrible enough that my head almost collapses every time I think about it. I wouldn't hold it against you. After all, what's a bonnet without at least one bee in it?

(Please stop picturing me in a bonnet.)

Notes, coins, disapproval

Ach, this blog. Ever since I saw how few people were viewing my vlogs on Youtube, I've lost the Lust to blog.

The other day I did find out something cool though.

I don't know how many of you know this, but the smallest euro note is a five. Under that, it's all coins. Which means I *always* have a pocket full of coins.

And yet, somehow, I never actually have any change.

I know how this happens--every night I put all my small coins in a piggy bank (actually an old cashew can from Aldi). Of course I've got to keep at least one one euro coin on me at all times so I can get a grocery cart or a locker at the library. And of course there are one- and two- euro coins, which is like, real money, so I've got to keep those with me.

Why do I hate change? Well, I hate the bulge, obviously, and the jangle, and the possibility of them falling out when I sit down, and the endless fishing in my pocket when I want to find something.

But the thing I don't get is why cashiers always ask me for coins. Like, if I hand you a note, just take it and shut up! That's probably considered rude or something, paying with a note. Whatever.

This gets really annoying, especially because when I say "no", the cashier is always able to make change. It's like, so why the hell did you ask me for coins if you weren't out of them?! So I could do you the favor of making your life more convenient? Danke sehr.

One time the cashier *didn't* have enough to make exact change. So she short-changed me.

Would that happen in the US?! I really doubt it. I think in the US, if the cashier (THE CASHIER, for crying out loud, 4/5 of whose job is making change) didn't have exact change, they would either find a way to borrow some from another register, or give you five cents too much.

Not in Berlin, where the customer is always wrong.

So, anyway, my news is that I discovered a way to instruct the Deutsche Bank ATM to give me lower denomination notes!

I'm totally psyched about this, because handing someone a fifty in Berlin feels like asking them to do you this huge favor.

I don't think you can do this in the US, can you?

Words, words, words

I went to a German dinner party last night and I came away with a pair of edifying cultural observations about language.

1. Well meaning people usually respond to foreigners by being either pedantic or patronizing, often both.

Shame on them.

This is just an example of how the best intentions are rarely enough. Being friendly is a skill--for most it requires cultivation. In other words, it doesn't "just come when you cook the meat."

First, pedantry. Talking to a foreigner is not a chance for you to play teacher. If you want to be a teacher you should, I don't know, learn something and get a job teaching it. The teacher-student relationship is hierarchical. So no matter what your intentions are, when you play the teacher you subordinate the person you're talking to.

Being patronizing. The first thing any human being wants from you is respect; being patronizing by complimenting someone's basic language skills is inherently disrespectful. It's like when well educated blacks find themselves being called "articulate". Praising someone for doing something you find easy is tacitly to acknowledge their inferiority. That's something self-respecting people are loath to respond well to.

2. Native speakers abuse and take their language for granted.

What a waste.

Native speakers talk too fast, run their words together, don't speak in complete sentences, and don't make enough use of fun, interesting, or nuanced words and phrases.

It's nauseating. We've got 600,000 crayons in our box and we're scrawling with the nubs of seven of them! It's an embarrassment of riches, and we squander it.

Instead of floating like butterflies and stinging like bees, we merely buzz like flies.

What I wouldn't have given last night for a silver tongue instead of this lingua of lead!

German FAIL

Riding the U-Bahn with my German language partner the other night, I wanted to express to her that I had been so tired when I left her party earlier that week that I almost went to sleep in her doorway.

Here, in excruciating but exact detail, is the thought process I went through in order to find the words I needed.

1. What pronoun do I use? Well, I'm talking about myself, so that's first person singular, i.e., "ich".
2. What is the tense of the verb? Well, I'm talking about the past, so I'll use one of the two past tenses.
3. Which of the two past tenses is best? One is more formal, the other conversational. I should definitely use the latter.
4. What verb do I want? I don't remember how to say 'to fall asleep'. I know how to say 'to sleep'. Is that good enough? Wait, maybe "einschlafen" means to fall asleep. I'll try it.
5. Which helping verb do I need to build the past tense? Let's see, is falling asleep a change of location? No. So I guess I have to use 'haben' instead of 'sein'.
6. What's the past participial form of 'einschlafen'? I think it's a strong verb, which means perhaps it's 'eingeschlafen'. Remember that so you can stick it at the end of your sentence.
7. How do I conjugate the helping verb? First person is 'habe'.
8. What's the German word for 'doorway'? I have no idea. I'll just say 'door' and hope that suffices.
9. What preposition should I use? I don't think one can say 'in the door', I think I have to say 'before the door'. 'Vor' is the German word for before.
10. What case does 'vor' take? I think it's one of the ones that can take either accusative or dative. So, is there motion to or from somewhere? I don't think so. Then I must need the dative.
11. What's the gender of the German word for door? I have no clue. I'll guess masculine.
12. Would a German say 'your door' or 'the door'? They seem to use the definite article a lot. I'll go with the latter.
13. What's the dative form of the masculine definite article, 'der'? RESE, NESE, MRMN. Right, 'dem'.
14. How do you say 'almost' in German? Oh yeah, 'fast'.
15. Where would I put the 'fast' in the sentence in relation to the 'vor dem Tur'? Time, manner, place. OK, almost is manner, so I'll put it before place.

Result:

"Ich habe fast vor dem Tur eingeschlafen."

And my German language partner's response:

"Huh?"

I think the only two of those fifteen steps that I got wrong were a) the requisite helping verb is 'sein', not 'haben', because change of state counts the same as a change of location, and falling asleep is a change of state, and b) 'door' is feminine, not masculine. So "ich bin fast vor der Tur eingeschlafen" should have been sufficient. 13/15 is an 87%, which, in the real world, turns out to be a total failure of communication.

It would be nice if three years of grammar and six months living in the country rendered one capable of speaking a single sentence of the language. Wouldn't it?

Too Close to the Source

One of the great things about living in Berlin, and I imagine Europe in general, is that there are lots of little markets where it's easy to get fresh bread, cheese, and fruits and veggies.

Since I can't avoid eating altogether, Rachel helped convince me to embrace the beast and go more often to buy preservative-free food that actually tastes lecker.

So here's a picture of yesterday's lunch.

Von 2009 March

But sometimes, Germany food can be a little too close to the source.



I really, really don't want to be reminded first thing in the morning about exactly where eggs come from.

La, la, la...I can't hear you!

I'm on the U-Bahn. I'm listening to my iPod. I look up at the middle-aged woman across from me. She has her fingers in her ears.

Passive aggressive Deutsch-slap?

Good...for an American

On Wednesday a man named Wolfgang gave me what I assume was meant to be a compliment.

"Your German is very good", he said, "for an American."

This happened on Wednesday at the karaoke bar that I frequent. And when I say "frequent", I mean when I walk in the Swedish DJ, Nils, comes over to my table to chew the fat. And when the waitress comes over she says to me, "wie immer?" meaning, "the usual?"

OK, so I'm a karaoke junkie. Leave it.

Anyway, I'm sure Wolfgang thought he was being nice. And you know what, that's actually probably the best thing one can say about my German. But it still stung.

The funny thing is, it's *my* low opinion of American German-speakers that makes it such a cringe-inducing remark. Americans, by and large, only speak English. And with justification--there are almost no practical reasons for a native English speaker to learn a foreign language. And when Americans do speak German, most of them sound like they're speaking English, except with all the wrong words.

The truth is, people compliment my German all the time, and they just can't be trusted. It must be the polite thing to do. Last night on the train, for instance, an old couple interrupted my Peruvian friend and me as we rode home from the opera speaking German. They wanted to tell us how funny it was that two foreigners were speaking German to each other.

"Your grammar is so good, too!" the old woman said to me. "Well of all the ridiculous compliments I've ever gotten...", I thought. I just hate being patronized.

Why is there sometimes nothing more embarrassing than being complimented in the wrong way or for the wrong thing?

The Office, German edition

Did you know there is a German version of The Office? It's called Stromberg, and you can watch the first three seasons online.

I haven't seen it yet, but evidently it has been pretty popular in Germany. And having been chewed up and spat out by German Bürokratie a few times, I can understand why.

Evidently there has also been a French, a Canadian, and even a Chilean version of The Office. Ricky and Stephen must be rolling in it!

Knowledge and Shame

I've always thought it was weird that when Adam and Eve ate of the tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil the first thing they did was to get dressed.

I mean, nakedness is generally connected with shame, not guilt. If they became aware of their guilt by eating the fruit, you'd expect them to wash rather than dress. Feeling dirty or stained--like Lady MacBeth's hands--that's feeling guilty. Feeling vulnerable, exposed, naked--that's feeling shame.

I felt shame and humiliation yesterday morning when the Hausmeister yelled something in my face.

He yelled at me because, you know, I can't understand German unless it's REALLY REALLY LOUD. And as the word AUSZIEHEN echoed down the hall, I realized that it must mean, among other things, 'to move out'.

That coincidence of learning and shame made me realize that to learn something is dependent on realizing there was something you didn't know. One can't put on knowledge without also sensing one's own shameful, naked ignorance.

So the Genesis story makes more sense to me now. When Adam and Eve ate from the tree, it must have been gaining knowledge that made them feel ashamed, not gaining the knowledge of good and evil that made them feel guilty.

Incidentally, the word I learned, ausziehen, also means 'to get undressed'.

...like Robert Duvall in the Godfather

Went with Phil to see Carmen at the Deutsche Oper last night. I thought I would like it more. It's got three super-catchy pieces of music that I had in my head all day, and there's the whole femme fatale thing. But it just didn't stab my inner cigarette girl, if you know what I mean.

The Classiccard is such a wonderful thing. For only ten euros we got to sit in the same row as Sir Simon Rattle, the director of the Berlin Philharmonic. You know, the best orchestra in the world?

Plus we sat next to a guy whose mustache curled up in giant waxy circles!

Since it was St. Patrick's Day, we went to a pub called Limerick afterwards where I took this terrible blurry photo.

Von 2009 March

We were promptly kicked out at 11:30 after one pint. I guess there's no Irish-Germans in Berlin.

Pics uploaded

Von 2009 March

See all the other pics from Rachel's visit and the month of March in my Picasa Web album.

Döner Flavored Chips

Rachel and I had Döner three times while she was here. Because it's that good. So why not try to capture the flavor of that mysterious meat in a chip?

Von 2009 March

Better grab them fast, because these chips are "lümütüd edition".

Special Vlogisode!

Rachel's Vlog TEIL 2

The vlog gets extra silly as Rachel returns with a wrap up of our crazy week!

Rachel's Vlog

Chocolate Gedächtniskirche

Rachel's visiting! Stay tuned for a new vlog!

In the meantime, enjoy these pictures of Rachel next to both the real Kaiser Wilhelm Gedächtniskirche and a chocolate one!

I am same again there

When speaking a foreign language, it's never enough just to know what the words mean. No, that would be too easy.

You also have to know how and when to use the words. That's why one of the best things about having a language partner is her mistakes.

I'm not talking about Schadenfreude, which is, incidentally, the best German word of all time. Well, OK, actually I *do* love to see her suffer. It's really the best revenge for the humiliation she puts me through each week.

But I mean, when she says makes a mistake like saying, "that's in the near of your apartment" or "we meet us at 8 o'clock", it gives me insight into, how do I say this diplomatically, the screwed up an nonsensical way that German is actually spoken.

Like when Anton told me you call it 19:45 o'clock but you would *never* call it a quarter to twenty. What are you, doof? 19:45 o'clock is a quarter to eight.

Anyway, when Claudia says "in the near of", it reminds me that, in German, one says in der Nähe von when one means 'near'. And "we meet us" reminds me that wir treffen uns is how you say 'we'll meet'.

A good example of the difference between knowing what the words mean and knowing how to use them is the phrase ich bin gleich wieder da. Technically, it means "I'll be right back." Literally, it means "i am same again there".

Stay tuned for pics and vids of Rachel's visit!

Mural Building in Kreuzberg

I was walking in Kreuzberg on Saturday when I came across this radically painted building.

Von 2009 February

Von 2009 February

Von 2009 February

Von 2009 February

Von 2009 February

Anthony Bourdain Wuz Here!

As promised, here are pictures of the world-famous (really?) Curry 36.

Von 2009 February

Von 2009 February

The people in the bottom right corner of that last photo look like I caught them in the act!

Torn Curtain Vlog

This week's vlog is all about going to see Torn Curtain, the first movie I've seen about Berlin since living here.

DEN KINDERN EIN VORBILD!

Claudia was right! I found a crosswalk button that says: "Only on Green: A Good Example for the Children!"

Partymusik!

What would you get if you took a stadium full of rowdy, drunk, costumed football fanatics and put them in a small, dark room together?

Answer: Karneval.

The most interesting part of Karneval is so-called German party music.

You don't dance to German party music. You hop up and down. Or you form a circle with ten of your best buddies and sway from side to side in time to the music.

You're supposed to sing along, and they'll play the same songs multiple times throughout the night so by the end of the night you'll know all the songs even if you didn't when you came in.

Be careful. The following video is really loud.



Cologne is the big Karneval town in Germany, kind of like New Orleans is in the U.S. So a lot of the songs were about Cologne. For example, they changed the lyrics from "New York, New York" to be about Cologne.

My favorite song of the night was one called Wasser von Köln, a gospel ode to beer.

Germany.

Work Your Tongue

I don't want to talk with an accent.

Some accents, if they're not too thick, are crazysexycool. Like a Russian accent. Or a Spanish accent. Or French.

But I don't think an American accent is like that. My guess is that it sounds just plain dumb. You know, like a Chinese accent, which sounds like a speech impediment. Or a Boston accent, which sounds like the aftereffects of a trip to the dentist.

Berliners have an uncanny knack for speaking English with only the faintest accent, but one of my favorite things is when they intentionally lay it on thick. They sound exactly like Augustus Gloop.

I can instantly recognize an American accent, and the biggest problem with it is that it makes the German language sound terrible. It's the worst of two worlds: all the sloppy sh's and schpl's of German with all the hard ick's and rrr's of English. It sounds like a nerd trying to curse.

I'm pretty good at foreign accents and I've always looked down on students who were too embarrassed even to try making strange sounds. But the more German I speak, the harder it gets to speak without my native accent.

You see, speaking with a foreign accent is a *physical* as well as a mental challenge. I mean, it's actually physically difficult to make the sounds. When you're only saying a word or a single sentence, it's not so bad, but when you've got to talk for several hours, your tongue and lips just get tired!

If you learned to talk in one accent, it is pretty difficult to talk in another. Every syllable requires deliberate effort. And it tends to fall off when you're tired or...otherwise impaired.

You know, it's like back when you learned handwriting. Remember how your hand used to hurt from holding the pencil for so long, and how it took so much concentration and effort to make sure you stayed within the lines and made the right shapes?

Well, speaking German is like practicing grammar school handwriting, except you have to write with your tongue.

Karneval!

You're getting spoiled. It's a NEW VLOG!

Cruel Trick

The other night I made some lady get on the wrong train.

Well, I didn't *make* her. And anyway, that's what you get for relying on a stranger to navigate your trip through Berlin at 1 am.

I've told you before that on weekdays öffentliches Verkehrsmittel (that's public transportation to you Yanks) goes completely off the rails after midnight.

By that I mean trains between points A and Z just suddenly stop at point E and the conductor tells you to get off. Then you have to wait 10 minutes for another train to come along and take you to point F, at which time the conductor tells you to get off again.

You know, German's not the most pleasant language, but I have to admit that "Bitte alle aussteigen" sounds a lot more polite than "Everyone please get off."

Anyway, so that's what happened. And there I was standing on the platform in the cold. That's when some lady asked me, in English, which train went to point A.

I told her I didn't know. Then I told her that the train I had just gotten off of had come from point A, so it probably wasn't that one.

Unfortunately, she believed me.

She went and got on the other train.

No sooner had she done so than the doors closed and the train she was on started going in the wrong direction.

Then the train I had warned her away from, my old train, closed its doors and reversed its course, heading backwards toward point A.

The funny thing was, the wrong train that I made the lady get on? That's the train *I* wanted to be on. I had to take a series of buses home.

Germans are Stupid

Friends of the blog know how I feel about jaywalking. I eagerly promote it. And I scoff at those who object to it. I scoff heartily.

But in Berlin, jaywalking or bei Rot laufen, is seen as bad behavior. I've been publicly scolded for doing it. Deutsch-slapped. An old woman literally shouted at me across the street.

Well, Germans are just stupid.

Or so I thought.

You know how Europeans don't drink tap water because there's this sort of common understanding that tap water is dirty? (God knows why they don't use ice).

Well, it turns out there's a similar explanation for why they don't cross on red.

My language partner explained to me that she was once stopped by the police for jaywalking. Now, that's reason enough to be careful. But *why* would the police stop anyone for jaywalking? It's just absurd.

Then Claudia explained that the police rebuked her for...setting a bad example for children.

You see, according to German common sense, jaywalking makes one a veritable pied piper. All the children within sight will follow your lead, step off the curb without looking both ways, and get hit by speeding cars.

When Claudia told me this, I couldn't resist shouting in German at her across the table at the restaurant: "YOU ALMOST MURDERED A CHILD!"

Not nice, I know, but I had too. My favorite moral equivalence arguments are the ones that equate something totally innocuous with murdering babies.

So you can see, can't you, why jaywalking would be so highly frowned on here? I mean, insofar as you see something wrong with kids getting hit by cars. Which is the part I'm still having trouble with.

I told Claudia that parents are solely responsible for their own kids. I'm not responsible if I set a bad example for your dog and he follows me out into the street and becomes roadkill. Keep him on a leash. The same goes for your kids.

I know some American lady once wrote a book called "It Takes a Village", suggesting (at least by the title) that one is responsible for raising other people's children. Which is clearly foolish.

Right?

Suppose, for the sake of argument, that I make the world a more dangerous place for children by jaywalking. Have I done something wrong?

Buongiorno, meune Freunde, und Bon Apetite! Now Let's Eat Sushi!

It's Vlog time again! Hear all about my exotic new language partner.

Addendum

No sooner had I learned yesterday's German phrase than I started to see these posters all over Berlin. They advertise Berlin's Museum Island with a play on yesterday's phrase.



They promise "mehr sein als Schein", or more substance that show!

Incidentally, I took this photo while waiting for the night bus. I missed the last train to my neighborhood. Ugh. Don't go out during the week if you live am Arsch der Welt.

German phrase of the week

mehr Schein als sein

My language partner taught me this week's phrase. She was referring to L.A. (although she's never been there).

"Mehr Schein als sein" (mare shine alce zEYEn) literally means "more appearance than being", which sounds rather Heideggerian, but it actually just means all flash and no substance.

I Hate America

OK, so that's not true. I don't hate America. I love America. America's the best. No other country really holds a candle to it. America, you are beautiful, in every single way. Words can't bring you down. I would rather be American than any other nationality. Except for maybe half French/half Japanese like Sophie Fatale in Kill Bill. But then, she got her arm chopped off, so which is better in the long run: an American philosopher with both arms or a Franco-Japanese assassin with only one? Too close to call. So I'm sticking with American.

Nevertheless, could somebody please, please take a second to answer this simple, straightforward question for me: American beer, really?

After living in Berlin for five months, I've come to expect certain things from beer. Things like variety. Things like alcohol content. Things like flavor.

On all fronts, American beer, you disappoint me. Deeply.

I wouldn't water the plants with American beer.

If all the American beer in the world were on fire, I wouldn't pour one ounce of German beer on it to put it out.

If I were dying of thirst in the desert and I came across an ice cold American beer, I would use my last drop of bodily moisture to spit on it and keep crawling.

Yes, sometimes Germans do weird disgusting things to beer. Like combine it with green syrup, shots of alcohol, or soda. That's because German beer is indomitable. It's resilient. It can take all sorts of humiliation and still not lose its essential dignity.

I don't know what it is. I don't think it's the often-touted 500 year old Reinheitsgebot, the German beer purity regulations, which are no longer enforced and are often subject to exaggerated claims of compliance.

All I know is that German beer is to American beer what a French baguette is to Wonder bread, what a fresh Krispy Kreme doughnut is to a marshmallow Peep, what Manhattan is to any other island in the world.

I'm looking at you, American beer. You ought to be ashamed.

German Food

I've collected a couple interesting photos of German food for you.

I saw this at the grocery store yesterday. It's a package of trail mix called "Student Feed".



At McDonald's they have, for a limited time, as they say, special rustic Austrian treats, such as this burger on a cheese and onion bun with bacon and a hash brown in it. It's called the Big Rösti.



I had one. It was good, but the burger alone was 4 euros. McD's and BK are both a lot more expensive here.

And finally, I feel like I no longer qualify as an American after preparing for myself this lunch of pickled herring on bread yesterday.



It just doesn't look much like something an American would go for, does it?

Green Beer

Elizabeth tried to explain to me how and why the beer I ordered for her was green.



Evidently this one beer (Berliner Weisse?) is supposed to be really bitter. So you can order it with a shot of syrup added. If you order it red, they add raspberry flavored syrup and it turns red. If you order it green, they add Woodruff flavored syrup and it turns green.

Do those words mean anything to anyone? Because I'm still deeply perplexed and more than a little frightened. Berlin is like Wonkaland sometimes.

Europe Officially in Decline

"Smoke-free Train Station". Really, Berlin?

The Nazis Return to Berlin

Speaking a Foreign Language is Like

...being quizzed on the multiplication table, except the table has 750 rows and columns, and the questions are embedded, so it's like "What's 623 times (117 times (58 times (345 times 6)))?" And then you have to answer by giving the square root of that. Times pi.

So I finally got a German conversation partner! Here's what I learned in 90 minutes of intense cultural and philosophical conversation:

1) All that grammar stuff you learned really matters. Like the genders, the cases, the prepositions, the conjugations. They matter because everyone notices every mistake you make, and each one makes you difficult to understand.

2) Speaking German to non-Germans doesn't count. It's like the difference between playing Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots and having an actual street fight.

3) When your partner says, "there are people in Germany who speak worse German than you", she's actually trying to boost your self-esteem, not make you feel worthless.

4) Evidently, there are people in Germany who speak worse German than I do! Take that, migrant workers, tourists, and mentally disabled people!

Ladykracher 4. Staffel - Deutschunterricht

Does anyone reading this blog have any idea why this video is so funny? I saw the sketch, about a woman teaching German to some Turkish students, on TV a few months ago and was very tickled.

The funny thing is, their German is *perfect*, and what she's teaching them is the vulgar, sloppy, street German that, in the world of the sketch, is the proper way for Turkish Germans to speak.

I hope you can enjoy the sketch knowing no more than that. Well, also it might help to know that "du Hure" means, "you whore".

Berlinale Vlog

Today the blog gets too big for its britches. Forget blogging, screw podcasting, it's time for a vlog-about-town extraordinaire!

Ironically, the editing is *terrible*. I blame it all on my software.

I am eating a boiled potato sandwich

All Aboard the Flirt Express!

Move over, Paris. Berlin is now Europe's most romantic city. On February 13th, the S-Bahn becomes the love boat. All aboard the Flirt Express!

Anthropology

I forgot my PIN at the grocery store checkout on Monday evening. They took my groceries and I had to walk home to get the PIN and take the bus back. Fortunately, all my stuff was there in my cart waiting when I returned.

I discovered that under stress I can neither speak nor understand German.

I went to the mall and stopped into a store that had Levi's. Their dressing rooms were booths with short doors, so you could actually stand there without your pants on and look all the other shoppers in the eye.

I realized that when I'm nervous, like when I'm standing half-naked in the middle of a store trying to speak German to a salesman, I sweat a lot.

Podcast

The podcast is back and better than ever. Listen, learn, love.

Sweet or Salty?

I love popcorn. Probably not as much as my mother does, but still, it's one of my favorite snacks.

When I moved to Germany I had no idea I'd be giving it up. But that's what happens when you don't have a microwave.

After four months of deprivation, I decided popcorn would be a nice treat. So on Friday night I went to the movies with the goal of eating a popcorn dinner. Well, that, and seeing Vicky Christina Barcelona. But the movie was secondary.

Maybe that's why popcorn is so expensive at the movies -- because people without microwaves will pay almost anything for it.

Just like in the US, popcorn and a drink was the same price as a movie ticket. Of course one difference is that Bier rather than Coke is the drink of choice at a Berlin movie theater.

Speaking of that, do you know the difference between beer and Bier? Just this: there is no such thing as a) bad Bier or b) expensive Bier. Ah, Berlin.

I asked the concession stand girl for a medium popcorn. Unexpectedly, she asked (auf Deutsch) "Sweet or salty?"

Now, it's a well known fact that sweet popcorn is completely disgusting. Like salty milk. Anyone who likes it is infantile. Or German. Or both.

So, with a horrified expression I responded, "NOT sweet." She understood. Disaster averted.

But when I got the popcorn I realized, to my great disappointment, that it was white. Not yellow. Where was that artificial butter powder that makes popcorn so savory? Missing. And where were the giant tubs with the levers that squirt artificial liquid butter? Nowhere.

It's not the little things, you know? It's not having no friends, no family, no holidays, no car, no Internet, no personality, and no clue what anyone is ever talking about that get you. It's the big things, like the lack of at least two different matter states of artificial butter, that really make you homesick.

German Word of the Week

der Vokuhila

Short for vorne kurz hinten lang, or 'short in the front, long in the back', Vokuhila (fo koo HEE luh) is the German word for mullet.

A modern version is actually quite popular at the moment in Neuköln and among certain Berlin hipsters.

Time for your Weekly Vlogging

Watch it! Love it! Understand that when I say "non-fictional" I really mean 'fictional' but I wasn't going to rerecord the whole video just to fix one flub!

Move over Herbert Groenemeyer

I was so moved by the following song, I just had to share it with you guys. It had me in tears. Tears!

I'll translate the first stanza for you:

"I had seen him on the TV, for over a year.
At first I was skeptical, but at the end it was all clear to me:
if one man can change something, then surely it is he.
And if I were there, I too, would have cried:
Yes we can!"

And I used to think German pop music was mostly middle aged crooners singing overwrought, earnestly sentimental rubbish!

Finally, an interlocutor!

My cousin Drew just sent me the most amazing gift: my very own Nietzsche finger puppet!

 

Now I've got a German language partner, a philosophical interlocutor, a conversation piece, and a new toy, all in one. Thanks, Cuz!

Captain's Vlog

Hooray for Bollywood!

They sat within view of the Brooklyn bridge drinking Starbucks.

The woman was impossibly beautiful and the man was an unattractive goofball. I guess he was supposed to be charming. They spoke English (if my lip-reading skills can be trusted) but they were dubbed into German. Suddenly, they broke into an extravagant song and dance number in some language I didn't recognize, except for the refrain, which included the phrase "Rock N' Roll".

This must be Bollywood.

The film I saw this afternoon on German TV, whose German title, Bis dass das Glueck uns scheidet, roughly translates, 'Til Fortune do us part', was a basic cheesy romantic comedy set in Manhattan, with a few differences.

All the characters were Indian. I wonder, is it typical to set a Bollywood movie outside India? I guess that's pretty typical of Hollywood movies, too.

The men were overcostumed in a euro-trashy rather than the typical L.A.-trashy way. The women, on the other hand, were stunning, and perfectly put together.

Then there were the crazy Indian-pop musical numbers, which were a little startling, but that doesn't mean I didn't like them. At least the big dance numbers, which included an array of showgirls in vivid saris. The ballads, on the other hand, were shot just like a Celine Dion video (read 'very bad').

The acting was good, but the story was emotionally overwrought. More so than a typical Hollywood romcom? It's hard to say, but I think so.

It was definitely much more glamorous than most recent Hollywood movies and, ahem, most recent German movies. And that always gets two thumbs up from me.

High Tech!

I'm posting this from my brand new cell phone. Not exactly the most comfortable way to type, but at least I have something resembling the Internet at home now. Stay tuned for a thrilling new video blog post soon!

Belated Podcast

Without further delay, more E! True Berlin Story.

Germany's Secrets Revealed

I finally met friend-of-the-blog and echt Berliner, Anton, last night. Sadly, in my excitement about picking his brain for all things German, I neglected to get a picture of us.

Although I still have half a million questions for him, I did manage to ask the other half million last night. Here are just a few of his answers.

Leash laws: yes, they do have them in Berlin, but they may vary by breed and location. So, for instance, maybe in the park one doesn't need a leash (that means joggers, children, and small dogs, betreten auf eigene Gefahr!), but on the street big, dangerous dogs need a leash and a muzzle.

Das Christkind: yes, Baby Jesus does bring presents to Bavarian kids. It is unclear how he delivers them. I picture a rocket-powered manger.

Tipping the waiter: you're supposed to round up to the nearest dollar when you pay, even when the waiter corrects your pronunciation when you order, as happened to Halley last night.

Closing time: Germany is now a "liberal" shopping paradise compared to recent years, when all shops were required to close at 6 pm and remain closed the entire weekend.

And here's some bonus information I gleaned last night from another echt German, Martin. The Netherlands are to Germany as Kentucky is to Indiana, Arkansas is to Texas, and West Virginia is to the whole U.S.

It was a pleasure to meet you, Anton. Have a safe trip back to Canada, eh?

German Word(s) of the Week

das Larifari

Larifari is a word that, like Quatsch and Papperlapapp, means nonsense, hogwash, or balderdash.

I'm not sure what the various nuances of these three words are, but I know that Quatsch! and Papperlapapp! are both what my junior high English teacher used to describe as 'ejaculations'. (Do they still teach kids that?)

Evidently Wischiwaschi has a similar meaning to Larifari, but I haven't yet heard anyone say that one.

Berlin is Trying to Kill Me

People who harbor romantic fantasies about the benevolence of nature obviously live relatively close to the equator.

The weather in Berlin has officially gone from uncomfortable to brutal.

Monday was the day I went back to the FU, and it was hard enough. (Dreadlocks? Really, Whitey? Monstrous portions of potatoes and gravy for lunch? I still can't wear my coat in the library?)

But then at 18:00 hours I left the hostile comfort of the library to wait for the bus.

Of course the sky had been black like deep space for hours already. But this time when I walked outside it was like getting snow spilled down the back of my shirt. It was kalt.

There was a large clot of students waiting at the bus stop, which is usually a good sign that there's another bus coming soon. Not this time.

I stood in the snow for 25 minutes. I watched four buses come and go on the other side of the street. I went from shivering to normal back to shivering again. I kept counting my layers to make sure I hadn't forgotten one. T-shirt, shirt, sweater, jacket, coat. Five. Plus scarf and gloves. My hands inside my gloves inside the pockets of my pea coat got cold. I started to wonder how long it takes to get frostbite. I had to keep reminding myself that there were people around to stop me from whimpering.

If I had to die by fire or ice, I'd choose ice. But if I had to live somewhere too hot or too cold, I'd choose too hot.

And it wasn't even that cold on Monday evening, only -8C degrees. In Uh'muhrik'n degrees that's ((-8*9)/5)+32= 18. 18 degrees Fahrenheit! The low predicted for tonight is -14 C, or 7 degrees Fahrenheit.

That is why I've decided not to leave my apartment until spring.

The Podcastiest Podcast Ever

I'm starting the new year right with a new extravagant podcast explosion!

Yank-slapped!

I have received a perfect suggestion from a friend of the blog for a name for the American version of the Deutsch-slap. I doubt there is such a thing, but if there were, I agree that it would have to be called the Yank-slap.