Zartbitter

Is it just me or is this an extremely beautiful, yet somehow deeply sad Holiday? It’s so funny. I am listening to my own Christmas Mix CD—you know, Luciano singing Adeste Fidelis, the Ray Conniff Singers, Ella Fitzgerald, Ann Murray and John Denver. Sappy but good. Chris is in the kitchen making Christmas Cookies and Stollen, and I am sitting here, somehow sadly reminiscing over a little bottle of Jägermeister and my computer. The only thing I need now is a fireplace. Oooh...a fireplace. That would be such a good idea.

Christmas is so weird. Beautiful yet bittersweet somehow.

My favorite story this Christmas comes from my sister Shawn. She, being the honest, straightforward kind of parent she is, decided to tell my little niece that Santa Claus doesn’t exist. A pretty bold move, if you ask me. What is precious is how Emily responded to the news. She just looked up at her mother and said: “I don’t care, I’m going to believe in him anyway!” I laughed my ass off when I heard that. Blessed are the children.

PS GWM seeks replacement ass at reasonable price.

Homan

Sometimes Chris likes to act out parts of his favorite movie of all time, ok, well, one of them: the Stepford Wives. He likes to pretend that he is a robot and will do whatever I say. I like to take advantage of this by either telling him to get in the kitchen and do the dishes like a good Stepford wife, or by somehow entrapping him in some kind of activity that a robot would not do. Yes, living with Chris is pretty much Romper Room 24 seven (i.e., lots of silly fun.) This time, I was able to convince him he was not a robot by tickling him.

“Robots aren’t ticklish, Chris.”
“Ok, I am only homan.”
“Homan?”
“Yeah, I am alive, I am a homan.”
Uproarious laughter, then...
“Uh, I think you mean ‘human’. Do you know what a ‘ho’ is?”
“A prostitute?”
“Yes, so you can imagine what ‘homan’ must sound like to me?”
“Oh. Is ‘ho’ the same root used in the word ‘horrible’?”

I think he’s funniest when he’s not really trying.

King Kryzon

After having seen another great original show on MTV recently, I fished out this little story I wrote on December 2nd, 2004:

I think I saw the funniest thing ever today.

Completely consumed by jealousy at watching that show on MTV called “Pimp My Ride” every night (a show where a surprise guest with a really crappy car gets his vehicle a custom make-over, usually involving several TV screens and subwoofers, etc.), the Germans have come up with their own version. It even is shown directly after the American “Pimp My Ride” episode, and it uses the same music, logo design, etc.

Except, the German version is called “Pimp My Fahrrad” (Pimp My Bicycle.) A famous, German rapper called Das Bo hosts it, and the premise follows that of the original MTV version. A poor, unfortunate, yet usually good-looking and extra-cool young person who just happens to ride a wreck of a bike is chosen to have his bike made into an exquisite piece of pop art.

The episode that I saw took a bike that a guy from Hamburg had fished out of a canal in Amsterdam and made into an in-your-face chopper with leopard seats, an on-board MP3 player and a working tattoo gun.

After seeing his dream bike before him, the young Hamburger looks into the camera and thanks MTV for making his bike “gepimped”. (Yes, in the worst Denglish yet known to man, he said “pimped” but made it in the past tense by adding a German “ge” to the word.)

I can only recommend other cool programs for MTV after having busted a gut laughing at this. Maybe there should be a “Pimp my Riksha” for Beijing or New Delhi, a “Pimp My Camel” for a young hip Middle Easterner, or a “Pimp My Sleigh” direct from Sweden. I suppose for a special episode, one could pimp out a gondola for a Venetian, but, it seems to me those are pretty well already pimped out. I just hope it doesn’t get to the point that, in the efforts for increasing inter-generational viewing, MTV ever tries a “Pimp My Cane” or “Pimp My Walker” episode.


Funny. I had to show you that article as a background, for the next step, already one year later has been taken. “Pimp my Bicycle” has been replaced, folks. Yes, we will all mourn its passing. It has been replaced, though, with a concept that opens up worlds of possibilities:

“Pimp my Whatever” gives MTV Deutschland free reign over what it is that they may want improved upon. The episode we saw was a doghouse for a cool, yet obviously destitute canine in Hamburg.


The dog, King Kryzon, in just 30 minutes time, goes from a veritable shack in the yards of destitute dilapidation to a dog fortress, complete with turrets, and a working drawbridge. Red carpet and designer doggie toys will certainly make him happy this winter in the Northland. His new pad came complete with a stereo with specially formulated doggie music and a web cam so the world can keep an eye on King Kryzon as he assimilates to his new ritzy lifestyle. This is a classic rags to riches story, people. Ol’ Kryzon was just a diamond in the ruff ruff before he met that cool MTV gang.

Brötchen!

I just want to say that nothing in this world can compete with the taste of fresh bread. Chris just brought home a bag full of rolls that must have just come out of the oven. They’re still warm. Praise Jesus!

The Pulse

I live in Germany, but, I like to pretend that I am well informed because I read the New York Times, the Washington Post and the cover page of Wikipedia (I highly recommend this to all that are not yet addicted) on a daily basis. But, no matter what one says, to get the pulse of America, you have got to BE in America. I just know that, over the past couple of years, I have begun to lost touch.

That being said, is America about to explode? From what I have been reading, the Bush administration has been up to some pretty questionable dealings. None of this is any surprise to me, as I have called a spade a spade from the beginning. But, practically every day, there is some news about a top official being indicted for leaking CIA names, about the administration bribing the Iraqi press, or about Bush himself signing papers allowing the NSA to spy on American citizens. At what point does the camel’s back break? What bit of information is going to finally send the public, up in arms, calling for an impeachment and removal of this president? (I recommend impeachment come AFTER they indict Cheney for his involvement in the Libby scandal, but beggars can’t be choosers. Who wants to move on from bad to worse as far as presidents go?) Seriously, though, it seems that any number of these things should warrant serious backlash against the administration. But, it seems, none of it is enough to get the proverbial apathetic American eyebrow to bat. Even going to war under false pretenses was not enough. What, is my question, will finally enrage the American people?

The whole thing, though, reminds me of the time some months before it was finally found out that Nixon was directly involved in the Watergate break-in. If you have never seen “All the President’s Men”, you absolutely must. It chronicles the involvement of two very brave reporters (Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein played by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman respectively) and their roles in uncovering, over time (over months, in fact, something most people forget) the historical event. You see, the Watergate break-in was stuck in the nether regions of the Washington Post for a while. No one cared about it. No one thought it was true. Most people thought that Woodward and Bernstein were committing professional suicide chasing a dud story and that “deep throat” was a fake informant. But, through their persistence, and their constant digging, the bugging of the Democratic offices at the Watergate was eventually linked to Nixon himself. At first, no one wanted to believe that Nixon had anything to do with it. So, it is with Bush. Everyone believes that he had nothing to do with the Libby outing , with prison torture at Abu Ghraib, that he didn’t fabricate the weapons of mass destruction story, but, rather naively believed bad intelligence. What will the people think when they find out that he was directly involved with all of the above? Watergate will pail in comparison. Mark my words...

Maybe some of you who actually read this drivel I write on occasion could answer me as to what the “pulse” of the country is at the moment. Enquiring minds are dying to get it.

Everything is better with cheese.

A lot of people don’t understand that Germany is much further North latitudinally than America, and that this means some slight differences, even if the weather does not really differ that terribly much. One of these great differences is daylight. It is winter here now, and we are at the point where our days are as short as they will be the whole yearlong. The sun finishes its ascent at around 8:30 AM now, and leaves us completely dark by 4:15 PM. That’s not a lot of sunlight! And for someone who has a raging case of seasonal affective disorder, i.e., lack of light in his diet, like, say, me, this can be bad.

I spent the whole day yesterday in Stuttgart, mostly at their Weinachtsmarkt, showing Amie’s mom, fresh from the States, around. Weinachtsmärkte, or “Christmas Markets” are the rage in Germany. People are literally obsessed with them. Just about every German city has some kind of large square, where, traditionally, markets have been, and often are, held. From the 1st of December, though, these market places are replaced by large rows of tiny wooden homes that open on one side to be little make-shift, jury-rigged, yet somehow quaint, shops. They are decorated with garland and lights on the top, even going so far as to have cheesy little Santa displays with moving parts. Christmas Markets have been around since the turn of the century, but to the naive observer, they seem completely American somehow. Maybe it is the wares that make them so funny. There really isn’t much sold at the Christmas Market that you couldn’t normally obtain somewhere else. There are stands full of socks, stands that specialize in house shoes, stands that sell candied nuts (pralines), stands that sell Bratwurst, stands that sell Glühwein (literally translated “Glow Wine”, it is a spices wine that gets you really lit by about the 3rd sip. I have found that the Christmas Market goes a lot better with a couple of these down the hatch.)

Yesterday, I even saw a stand that was devoted to brushes: brushes for the radiator, brushes for your beard, brushes specially made for your bicycle—all of them very beautifully hand-made examples of German ingenuity, craftsmanship, and cleanliness. I, of course, remarked upon this to Chris to which he replied “Germans are not always clean; I’m not, for example.” A statement that could not be more true. He is a packrat beyond compare. Not missing the opportunity, I replied “there is a more than subtle difference between cleanliness and hygiene.” A slam not based on real truth but just meant to sting. The only reason it stings is because Germans are obsessed with cleanliness, kind of proving my point.

There was a whole aisle filled with these American-style QVC salesman with handless microphones around there necks, slicing and dicing with all sorts of strangely similar, but obviously different kitchen machines making roses out of radishes and collapsing onions without shedding a single tear. They invariably have a crowd of old women around them, their husbands forming a semi-circle behind them, all of whom, including the men, are somehow enchanted by the idea of crudité at a moment’s notice. I get this strange feeling that the men are actually more apt to buy this stuff than the women, partly because they are drawn in by fast-moving, shiny objects and partly because they would love to see some of this stuff, on their plates, in their soups, in their stomachs. The quickest way to man’s heart is through the stomach, and one eats with one’s eyes—those two adages intermingling somehow. That sounds dirty.

These little huts are crammed together in aisles that make the Munchkins feel claustrophobic. I, on the other hand, always feel like the Stay Puff Marshmallow man gently pushing myself through the crowded bowels of Germandom, trying not to offend my fellow Christmas Market folk with the sheer size of my body. There is something about my aura that does not ward them off of me, either, I find. They step into me as though I’m not even there. Maybe they’re just mesmerized by these one-of-a-kind objects around them that they miss the 6 foot 2, 200-something-pound American before them. I especially love the ones who have picked up some speed and, for whatever reason, bump straight into me full throttle, only to bounce off, stumbling out of their daze just in time to regain their balance. I guess I don’t look as solid as I am. The surprise in their faces reminds me of a MasterCard commercial: priceless. Then there usually is a look of fear as they assess how angry I may be at the affront. They usually laugh when they catch my face, though. I am just not imposing, ok?

Basically, I avoid the Christmas Market at all costs, except for some Glühwein and pralines. Other than that, there isn’t much use for them unless you happen to be drawn to pure cheese. Oh well, you know what they say? Everything is better with cheese.

Abortion Vitamins

I have, since I first came here, been taking pictures of funny advertisements. I never really get to use these pictures for anything other than my own enjoyment, though. So, I decided to start including some of them here.




This one is obviously a vitamin specially designed for people about to go out a-protestin' in front of the abortion clinic for the day. I am not sure what special kinds of vitamins these people must need, but in this day of performance-enhancing drugs, everyone needs to get a little juiced from time to time to get ahead.

Charles Kuralt?

Why is German so funny? Ok. I don’t know if anyone really has an answer for that.

Chris was researching on the internet for how to make little pastries called Pudding Schnecke. It literally means Pudding Snail. It looks like a cinnamon role, except there is pudding in the parts where that yummy cinnammony stuff is usually. Anyhoo... He went onto the Internet to find the recipe and had such a hard time because he kept getting hits for porn sites. I just think it is so funny that Pudding Snail is also a German expression for a woman’s private parts.

As a side note, Germans don’t have a word for “slug.” They call them “naked snails” (nackte Schnecken.) I also find that funny for some reason. The slugs here are really black, too, which adds to the weirdness, I guess. They used to collect them and grind them up as a lubricant for wheels, I guess. Interesting. Poor little guys. I guess they really did their part for progress.

Since I am already on the indecent track, I guess I can tell a little story about how I amused myself at my last costume fitting. Fittings are annoying, somehow. So, my excuse for my own stepping out of bounds is that I was just plain bored.

The only background that you need to know to get this story is that the word “Schwanz” means both tail and penis in German.

The seamstress hands me a pair of pants to try on that I wore last season, and I am having some trouble fitting into them.

“Hey, I thought you lost weight,” she said.
“I did. But, hey, I need to gather my nuts for the winter.” (an only very slight sexual innuendo in German.)
“You’re the biggest squirrel I’ve ever seen.” she wittily retorts.
“Yeah, and you haven’t even seen my Schwanz yet.” I can’t help but respond.

I know it really doesn’t sound that funny. But, in some extremely oblique way, I was happy that my German is finally to the point where I can make smart ass remarks as I may, if in the mood, in English. Can it be that the krauts may someday find me funny? Hmmm, we’ll see. Stay tuned to find out, kids. Same Bat time. Same Bat channel. Or something. Remember how Charles Kuralt used to end his shows with “and that’s the way it is.”? I may just should do that, too, (I tip my Southern hat to Karen.) by ending my entries with “or something”.

Nerds unite, again.

Why did Christoph have to find his tri-corder in one of his old boxes? Why did he have to find batteries, put them in it, and reveal that, “Eureka, it still works.” Why did he then chase me around the apartment, naked, trying to “analyze” me? Nerd alert. Nerd alert.

I know that I’m supposed to have something to say. And, if need be, I should be able to pull a funny, nonsensical story out of my breast pocket and give it to you all. (I love it when I pretend I am standing on some balcony somewhere, reading my speech to the masses.) But, would it surprise you to know, after such an intro, that I just don’t have anything funny to say. My surreal world seems to have, even if for the time being, turned back to normal.

Did I tell you? Maybe I forgot. I am always looking for positive things to say, especially when only negatives seem to come up. That is why I am so psyched about the fact that I think the Bush administration actually did something right. In fact, I was honest-to-goodness proud of them folks in Worshington just recently. They actually had the good sense to put one of our greatest heroines, Rosa Parks, in the capitol rotunda for viewing after her passing. See, they CAN actually do something right everyone once and a while. It’s good to know, I find. Perspective is what gives the world a whole new light. I just made that up.