Hypocrisy

I have been trying to make some progress improving myself by not letting things fester and bother me for long periods of time and to just 'let things go' as it were. Chris and I had a rather dramatic discussion about our relationship several weeks ago where he mentioned that my need to control him on a constant basis was a problem. It was an interesting comment in its timing because I had begun to consider trying to turn over a new leaf with the people of the chorus by not letting things bother me so much and to just not worry too much about them. Overall, I think that I had at some point the feeling when I first came back that I waste an unusual amount of time in my life sulking about one thing or another, chewing on simple things for an immeasurable amount of time. I often find myself coming out of a funk, enjoying the drama-free time, and then getting obsessed by some other outside comment or action that sends me right back into my cave. I just got finished preaching to a friend about how he should view things as from a lifelong perspective, taking into account those things that, far into the future, will be deemed less significant as once thought. Yet, here I am wasting my time on things that simply don't matter.

How much of my life in pure hypocrisy. Never mind. I am not ready for that truth.

Farried Across

The other day, I had my weekly full day off, and Chris had taken his on that day, too. So, we drove some hour and a half away to see a car that we were interested in. When we were finished (and had decided to pass on the car), we drove to France, only about 30 minutes away. We had, in that our appointment had been in a small town north of Karlsruhe, found ourselves in rural Pfalz, and decided, rather than taking the Autobahn, to take the country roads to the French border. The rule of law with the Chris/Josh-Mobile is simple and typical. I drive. He co-pilots. German roads are excruciatingly difficult to maneuver from my American perspective, and to get form one place to another often seems like that old Newhart skit where a man tries to get somewhere in New Hampshire and is always answered with “You can’t get there from here.” So is it in Germany. That’s why you need either a navigation system or a co-pilot. You can’t get anywhere on the non-Autobahn roads without first going somewhere else. Guess that what happens when your roads are sometimes older that God Himself.

So, were traveling along. Chris is navigating. And I say (a usual line):
“Is this the right way?”
“You followed the sign that said Rheinfährte, right?”, he says.
“Yes.”, thinking that Rheinfährte is either some hokey name for a place or is some kind of industrial depot.

We turn a corner, and there to the left of the car in an instant is a huge, rushing torrent of a river. I was surprised not just because I hadn’t really thought about how close we were to the Rhein, but also, that the Rhein is a really big, powerful river not unlike the Mississippi or Missouri. In other words, even by my standards, it was big. And it was moving fast. And we weren’t looking down on it, it was just sort of right there next to us, not even a real ditch or levee separating us.

So I guess you can understand my surprise, then, considering I was just mesmerized by a giant barge floating by so close that it seems I could just reach out of the car and touch it, when Chris says:

“Stop. We have to turn left here.”
I stop the car. “Huh?” (Immediately to the left is the raging Rhein, as I said before.)
“Yeah. Back up and turn left there.”
“Your kidding, right.”
“No.”
“You’re joking.”
Insert about 6 or 7 more of these same sorts of lines and you’ll begin to understand the dialogue at this point...

I back up. I stop. Look left. There is a giant barge there, docked on the grass embankment.

“What do you mean, Chris?”
“Drive onto that boat.”
“You’re joking, right?” (Again insert more bantering.)

Trust. I must trust. (Remember that old hymn “Trust and Obey.”?)

I drive off of the road, onto the grass, approach the boat and stop again. It just seems extremely wrong somehow. This can’t be. My mind wouldn’t wrap around it. Then the captain of the boat comes out of his station and waves for us to come on, seeing that we (I) are dazed and confused at best. We drive onto the boat, pull all the way up to the little red gate (that was obviously not made to actually hold anything onto the boat, but, rather as a symbol saying ‘do not pass this point. but if you do, hey, good luck.’), stop the car, and just sit for a moment in amazement.

You know there is a reason that rivers are said to be “rushing.” It’s because, sometimes, and definitely in this case, rivers flow by at a break neck speed, giving you the feeling deep in your gut of danger. Danger if you get mixed up in it. Danger as it swallows you whole. And I’m supposed to drive our little two-seater mini European car onto it... I just can’t stop picturing the final scenes of the Mothman Prophecies as those cars fall, one by one, off of the bridge, into the murky ebb, and one sees only the cars’ headlights scattered about as they rest on the river bottom, the cries of their passengers unheard for the river’s din. Creeeepy.

The back gate shuts and the big engines of the boat begin to moan, carrying us upstream. I am stunned and, like a little kid, hop out of the car and start taking pictures. It is like some story out of a book, or something. I mean, a ferry to cross a river? This is just too funny. I look upstream to see where we will be going. There is nothing. Huh? How far is it to the crossing? I find our port, but it is directly across from the one we took off from. We just have to go upstream to fight against the current and then float back down to the other side with some deft maneuvering from the captain. Pretty cool, actually.



What strikes me as funny is that it cost us 3.70€ in order to cross. We were the only ones on the boat. This boat was a barge, really, a giant. You can’t tell me that 3.70€ paid for that. We are talking major government subsidies here. And, these subsidies would not buy a bridge? Hmmm. Someone might want to crunch some numbers. I just don’t get it. But, hey, if it weren’t for subsidies, I wouldn’t have a job. Never mind. Thank you Germany and your medieval ways!

Ass for Speed

Reading the fantastic blogs of friends has truly inspired me to tell my own, mundane story, but to tell in such a way that someone, somewhere might actually think me interesting. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Saw something so funny yesterday. Chris and I went to the Local Swimming Pool for some exercise/relaxation. They had a water slide in the complex, so we, of course, had to partake. I saw something there that I am absolutely convinced that I would NEVER see in America. While waiting in the obligatory line before sliding down, we witnessed a technique that every youngster at the Pforzheim Aquatic Park seem to be absolutely convinced works.

It works like this:
1. go up to the opening of the waterslide tube,
2. grab your swim trunks in the back,
3. give yourself a voluntary, self-imposed wedgie by making what was once your everyday, German Speedos into a thong.

Why? Well, duh, every kid knows that bare butt makes you go faster in the slide!

I didn’t try it.

I did overtake a kid about the size of my arm in the slide, though, and practically ended up drowning him when reaching the pool at the end. He didn’t seem to mind. He just smiled and ran to the waterslide steps. Kids. They’re so pliable.

Time Warp

It must be very strange to be in a time warp—to come out the other end of some supernatural, deep space travel into a completely different time and place, losing one’s orientation to such an extent that one doesn’t truly know where one is. To land somewhere you have never been, yet to which you have some sort of kinship must feel like Alice in Through the Lookinglass, reaching out to touch that which is merely a reflection, yet seems real to the touch. Being somewhere and not truly knowing “what” that “where” is makes one improvise in order to exist.

A time warp must be akin at least in some way to jet lag. Everything just seems so unreal. Like you are familiar with it, but that it is really not there. The deep-seated feelings of home, after returning to it, seem to have been lost in the journey somewhere and the soul seeks desperately, reaching out to find it

Coming back to a place that was home after having been in my mother country for 5 weeks feels foreign. Yet, my fingerprints are all over this image, indicating to my psyche that I must be home (because, hey, all of my things are here.) But, because everything seems surreal at the moment while my body recovers from these time changes, it is like I am observing a place in which I had once lived rather than coming home to a nest warm in receiving me. The time warp--like I am here, yet feel as though I have stepped into something in which I do not belong. I await some extremely strange occurrence, like bumping into myself in the bathroom peeing or something. Those clone commercials in America were freaking me out for some reason, I guess.

It makes you wonder about Doctor Who. I mean, the Doctor was basically always in a Time Warp. He had no home of his own in that he was always traveling through space and time. That must mean that his life was always like some kind of mild jet lag not unlike what I have now. It must mean that his whole existence was surreal like the one mine has been in the last few days. Poor doctor. I guess that’s why the one with the long scarf always seemed like the most aptly suited doctor personality. He was so “fly by the seat of your pants” in his ways, and random in his expression. He was the kind of person who might just be able to enjoy being in eternal surrealism brought on by his endless time warp.

I am not such a person. Frankly, the uneasiness of it all is just about to drive me mad.