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.