2007-11-27
Strangers on a plane
Today was the shortest cross-country flight of my life. The only thing better than first class is 33C next to MK with the amazing blue eyes.
2007-11-25
Two Thousand Frankfurt Four
You would think it is pretty straightforward: The language spoken by Germans in Germany is German. Yet I still can't get past the "All foreign languages are created equal" mental block. "Mmm, I speak a little French, but would it be not so much of a problem if you would kindly speak English?"
Through the magic of Babelfish and a very patient waitress who helped me with pronunciation, I was able to master such useful phrases as "Ich sprechen kein Deutsch" and "Halten Sie meinen Freund, bitte fest!" Rather than evoking the chuckles I had expected, the usual response to the latter was a puzzled but stern look accompanied by a pensive "Why?" It was as if to say, "I will do so, if only you provide me with sufficient justification." Either the Germans take themselves way too seriously, or it isn't appropriate to provoke frivolous detainment by the polizei. Probably both.
One things Germans take very seriously, much to their credit, is driving. Compared to driving in America, driving in Germany is an absolute pleasure. Germans are the only people in the world except driving instructors that obey the pass left, drive right rule. Road signs are obeyed with religiosity. Is traffic stopped ahead? Is there an accident? No worried: You will be kindly notified by the driver in front of you who will put on their emergency flashers. As for turn signals, we might need a short refresher course: These are flashing yellowing lights equipped on most modern automobiles used to indicate one's intention to change the direction of one's vehicle by 90 degrees or more. The Germans distinguish themselves by not only employing these signals, but by giving them credence. Once upon a time in Mannheim, I was caught in the far left lane of a 4-lane boulevard when I realized I needed to turn right. I turned on my right turn signal and cringed at the prospect of having to battle my way through. When I turned my head to see what I was up against, I was astounded to find that the good people of Mannheim created a path for me to get through. Anyone who thinks Germans are bad drivers is either criminally insane or an American.
We'd received a few suggestions of towns to visit, so when we had some free time Scott posed the following question: "What is the name of that one town with the church in the middle with an old town around it and shops and a castle?" The answer, of course, is EVERY SINGLE TOWN IN GERMANY. But never fear, my spidey-sense knew how to get to the Parking Haus 13 in Heidelberg and to that old standby of Americans longing for an understandable menu, the Beer Brezel. (The town he was thinking of was actually Rothenburg ob der Tauber). Come to think of it, I've never actually eaten dinner in Mannheim, or, or that matter, anywhere in Heidelberg other than the Beer Brezel. However, Heidelberg Schloss (Castle) was uncharted territory for both of us, and we took a very informative guided tour. ("This is the last tour of the day, and the doors lock automatically, so be careful. People have gotten stuck from time to time.")
After the tour, we went to the German Apothecary museum which is located at the Schloss. We scooted in before closing and found a nice lady giving a presentation in English. Afterwards, she came up to us and proceeded to give us a very stern talking-to--in German. I caught "this is a private service provided to those that paid" but our verbal protests, wild gesticulations, and, well, the fact we'd been listen to the English version of her presentation didn't clue her in to the fact that she was telling us off in the wrong language. This was a common occurrence, actually. I seemed to have keyed in to precise German pronunciation for the 2 phrases I knew, so no matter how many times I said "Ich sprechen kein Deutsch" no one ever seemed to take me seriously. The airport screener who wanted to check my carry-on bag went on for a full 45 seconds despite my repeated entreaties. Have you ever met those people who think that foreigners will spontaneously start comprehending IF ONLY YOU SPEAK LOUDLY? It was kind of like that, except that once I started actually speaking in my native tongue she blushed and gave her spiel in perfect Queen's English ("Dear sir, I am going to swab your camera flash for residue, would you mind stepping aside for a minute?")
The last stop in Heiedelberg was the Heidelberg Starbucks. I asked the cashier for "ein venti kaffe mit espresso, bitte". She promptly turned to the barista and barked, "Ein venti 'Red-Eye'!" So much for doing as the Romans do. I told the barista that the Starbucks in Seattle don't even recognize what a Red-Eye is. "Oh, they really should get with it," he opined.
After loading my coffee up with the pink stuff (Splenda apparently being unknown in Germany), I heard some folks conversing in English. It turned out to be a teacher from Florida and a college student from California with distinctly caucasian features named Mae-ling ("My father is Chinese" she explained). I told her I was from Monterey, and she was beside herself. "Really??? I am from Salinas! I always say I am from Monterey though, because no one knows where Salinas is." "Actually, I am really from Salinas, too..." And so there we were, at the Heidelberg Starbucks, discussing the outcome of the Salinas mayoral election and our exciting new lettuce museum. Serendipity, as they say, is inexorable.
Frankfurt was also an experience, if only because it seems that Americans never want to go there. "It is just like any other big city." Yes, but I want to see how real Germans live. American tourists want castles, lederhosen, and bratwurst. Real Germans apparently want Starbucks, McDonald's, and Levis. No wonder Americans never want to visit. The biggest difference I noticed was the European fashion sense. I noticed that a number of German men were dressed with a certain... urban flair. It made me wonder how deeply the stylistic differences ran. The H&P featured one particularly frilly orange shirt in the men's section. I finally broke down and told the salesperson "In America, such a shirt would be for a man who likes other men." "Oh, it is the same way here!" So there.
Americans may never want to visit Frankfurt, but it is incredibly popular with the Japanese. Downtown Frankfurt even features a JCB (Japan Credit Bureau) Plaza. Being a JCB cardholder, and never having utilized a JCB Plaza, I thought I'd pop in. What followed was a grand example of collective confusion. The Japanese ladies at the plaza were very earnest, but they spoke exactly two languages: Japanese and German. Even after I handed them my JCB card, there was 5 minutes of excited conversation, the end result of which was a free set of moist toweletes and a Japanese-language guide to shopping in Frankfurt.
A fine Thanksgiving goose and a glass of Riesling marked the holiday and our last day in Germany. After a brief panic when we'd forgotten the GPS was still reporting arrival times based on walking (rather than driving) time, we arrived safely at the airport. 13 hours later, it back in San Francisco with only US Customs to answer to.
"Do you have anything to declare?"
"Ich sprechen kein Deutsch."
Here are some of the pictures.
Through the magic of Babelfish and a very patient waitress who helped me with pronunciation, I was able to master such useful phrases as "Ich sprechen kein Deutsch" and "Halten Sie meinen Freund, bitte fest!" Rather than evoking the chuckles I had expected, the usual response to the latter was a puzzled but stern look accompanied by a pensive "Why?" It was as if to say, "I will do so, if only you provide me with sufficient justification." Either the Germans take themselves way too seriously, or it isn't appropriate to provoke frivolous detainment by the polizei. Probably both.
One things Germans take very seriously, much to their credit, is driving. Compared to driving in America, driving in Germany is an absolute pleasure. Germans are the only people in the world except driving instructors that obey the pass left, drive right rule. Road signs are obeyed with religiosity. Is traffic stopped ahead? Is there an accident? No worried: You will be kindly notified by the driver in front of you who will put on their emergency flashers. As for turn signals, we might need a short refresher course: These are flashing yellowing lights equipped on most modern automobiles used to indicate one's intention to change the direction of one's vehicle by 90 degrees or more. The Germans distinguish themselves by not only employing these signals, but by giving them credence. Once upon a time in Mannheim, I was caught in the far left lane of a 4-lane boulevard when I realized I needed to turn right. I turned on my right turn signal and cringed at the prospect of having to battle my way through. When I turned my head to see what I was up against, I was astounded to find that the good people of Mannheim created a path for me to get through. Anyone who thinks Germans are bad drivers is either criminally insane or an American.
We'd received a few suggestions of towns to visit, so when we had some free time Scott posed the following question: "What is the name of that one town with the church in the middle with an old town around it and shops and a castle?" The answer, of course, is EVERY SINGLE TOWN IN GERMANY. But never fear, my spidey-sense knew how to get to the Parking Haus 13 in Heidelberg and to that old standby of Americans longing for an understandable menu, the Beer Brezel. (The town he was thinking of was actually Rothenburg ob der Tauber). Come to think of it, I've never actually eaten dinner in Mannheim, or, or that matter, anywhere in Heidelberg other than the Beer Brezel. However, Heidelberg Schloss (Castle) was uncharted territory for both of us, and we took a very informative guided tour. ("This is the last tour of the day, and the doors lock automatically, so be careful. People have gotten stuck from time to time.")
After the tour, we went to the German Apothecary museum which is located at the Schloss. We scooted in before closing and found a nice lady giving a presentation in English. Afterwards, she came up to us and proceeded to give us a very stern talking-to--in German. I caught "this is a private service provided to those that paid" but our verbal protests, wild gesticulations, and, well, the fact we'd been listen to the English version of her presentation didn't clue her in to the fact that she was telling us off in the wrong language. This was a common occurrence, actually. I seemed to have keyed in to precise German pronunciation for the 2 phrases I knew, so no matter how many times I said "Ich sprechen kein Deutsch" no one ever seemed to take me seriously. The airport screener who wanted to check my carry-on bag went on for a full 45 seconds despite my repeated entreaties. Have you ever met those people who think that foreigners will spontaneously start comprehending IF ONLY YOU SPEAK LOUDLY? It was kind of like that, except that once I started actually speaking in my native tongue she blushed and gave her spiel in perfect Queen's English ("Dear sir, I am going to swab your camera flash for residue, would you mind stepping aside for a minute?")
The last stop in Heiedelberg was the Heidelberg Starbucks. I asked the cashier for "ein venti kaffe mit espresso, bitte". She promptly turned to the barista and barked, "Ein venti 'Red-Eye'!" So much for doing as the Romans do. I told the barista that the Starbucks in Seattle don't even recognize what a Red-Eye is. "Oh, they really should get with it," he opined.
After loading my coffee up with the pink stuff (Splenda apparently being unknown in Germany), I heard some folks conversing in English. It turned out to be a teacher from Florida and a college student from California with distinctly caucasian features named Mae-ling ("My father is Chinese" she explained). I told her I was from Monterey, and she was beside herself. "Really??? I am from Salinas! I always say I am from Monterey though, because no one knows where Salinas is." "Actually, I am really from Salinas, too..." And so there we were, at the Heidelberg Starbucks, discussing the outcome of the Salinas mayoral election and our exciting new lettuce museum. Serendipity, as they say, is inexorable.
Frankfurt was also an experience, if only because it seems that Americans never want to go there. "It is just like any other big city." Yes, but I want to see how real Germans live. American tourists want castles, lederhosen, and bratwurst. Real Germans apparently want Starbucks, McDonald's, and Levis. No wonder Americans never want to visit. The biggest difference I noticed was the European fashion sense. I noticed that a number of German men were dressed with a certain... urban flair. It made me wonder how deeply the stylistic differences ran. The H&P featured one particularly frilly orange shirt in the men's section. I finally broke down and told the salesperson "In America, such a shirt would be for a man who likes other men." "Oh, it is the same way here!" So there.
Americans may never want to visit Frankfurt, but it is incredibly popular with the Japanese. Downtown Frankfurt even features a JCB (Japan Credit Bureau) Plaza. Being a JCB cardholder, and never having utilized a JCB Plaza, I thought I'd pop in. What followed was a grand example of collective confusion. The Japanese ladies at the plaza were very earnest, but they spoke exactly two languages: Japanese and German. Even after I handed them my JCB card, there was 5 minutes of excited conversation, the end result of which was a free set of moist toweletes and a Japanese-language guide to shopping in Frankfurt.
A fine Thanksgiving goose and a glass of Riesling marked the holiday and our last day in Germany. After a brief panic when we'd forgotten the GPS was still reporting arrival times based on walking (rather than driving) time, we arrived safely at the airport. 13 hours later, it back in San Francisco with only US Customs to answer to.
"Do you have anything to declare?"
"Ich sprechen kein Deutsch."
Here are some of the pictures.
2007-11-18
Colours
Not that long ago, I was on the treadmill, my heart already pumping from a combination of will and the exhiliration of a potential new flame. "Desire" by Ozzy Ozbourne was returned to me by shuffle mode. My trot turned into an outright gallop, and I added 30 minutes to the run.
There is something compelling about human interconnectedness. I tried to leave the door open, if not to pick things up where they were left off, then simply to maintain a friendship.
Leonard Cohen always has something to say for times like these:
"It is hard to hold the hand of anyone who is reaching to the sky just to surrender"
or maybe even
"The duty of lovers is to tarnish the golden rule."
As the last wisps blew into the wind last week, I found myself hoping this impression is wrong, that maybe we'll all grow beyond this. "Desire" came on, and instead of evoking the memory of last time, it brought me into the present. "Victim of Changes" (Whiskey Woman) came on next, and there couldn't have been a more fitting coda to the whole episode.
There is something compelling about human interconnectedness. I tried to leave the door open, if not to pick things up where they were left off, then simply to maintain a friendship.
Leonard Cohen always has something to say for times like these:
"It is hard to hold the hand of anyone who is reaching to the sky just to surrender"
or maybe even
"The duty of lovers is to tarnish the golden rule."
As the last wisps blew into the wind last week, I found myself hoping this impression is wrong, that maybe we'll all grow beyond this. "Desire" came on, and instead of evoking the memory of last time, it brought me into the present. "Victim of Changes" (Whiskey Woman) came on next, and there couldn't have been a more fitting coda to the whole episode.
Faces
My last stop before leaving town today was the National Museum of the Marine Corps. The museum is really well done. It features simulated battle scenes that feature original equipment and are enclosed in climate-controlled spaces. For instance, the Chosin Resevoir scene is chilled to give visitors a small taste of what the Marines were facing there.
At an emotional level, what struck me most was the Medal of Honor wall. It was divded into columns for each period (World War I, 1918-1928, etc.), under which the faces and names of the Marine Corps Medal of Honor recipients for that period are displayed. The final section, "1976-Present" features just one lonely entry, that of Corporal Jason Dunham... leaving a huge, empty, blank space. Cpl. Dunham will not be the last Marine to make such a sacrifice for our country; it is only a matter of time before his face will be joined by others.
At an emotional level, what struck me most was the Medal of Honor wall. It was divded into columns for each period (World War I, 1918-1928, etc.), under which the faces and names of the Marine Corps Medal of Honor recipients for that period are displayed. The final section, "1976-Present" features just one lonely entry, that of Corporal Jason Dunham... leaving a huge, empty, blank space. Cpl. Dunham will not be the last Marine to make such a sacrifice for our country; it is only a matter of time before his face will be joined by others.
Fredericksburg - Part 2
I went back to Fredericksburg tonight and created a Fredericksburg photo series. What Fredericksburg has is an abundance of history; what it lacks is public restrooms...
2007-11-17
Our humanity
Some people don’t know how to be happy.
For some, it is a choice.
Some seek out happiness directly as some others would seek out God; they become atheists.
Sometimes we wrap ourselves up in blankets just because it is cold.
Sometimes walking is just putting one foot in front of the other.
I don’t know about our divinity, but I think our humanity is mostly about timing. And being open to those opportunities that present themselves.
For some, it is a choice.
Some seek out happiness directly as some others would seek out God; they become atheists.
Sometimes we wrap ourselves up in blankets just because it is cold.
Sometimes walking is just putting one foot in front of the other.
I don’t know about our divinity, but I think our humanity is mostly about timing. And being open to those opportunities that present themselves.
2007-11-16
Fredericksburg
They say Virgnia is for lovers. I say, Virginia is for convenience. Need bait? Ammo? Get it while you fuel up; every gas station sells it. Even if they don't advertise, just go inside and ask for Earl. One way another, you'll leave with bait and/or ammo. What's weird is that this rule holds firm even at the Marine Corps Exchange at Quantico.
Fredericksburg claims to be "America's Friendliest and Most Historic City." "America's Friendliest and Most Historic City that is Mostly Closed by 6pm" might be more appropriate. Strolling through downtown, I mostly just got to window shop. There's a children's toy store that had a sign proudly advertising that it was a Case knife distributor (!), a miscellaneous-memorabilia store right out of Pulp Fiction with an umbrella-stand full of swords for "$69 each!", and a gem store that was "Usually Open 12-6 Friday, Saturday, & Sunday".
To be fair, "Sorry Mom Tattoo" seemed to be doing a brisk business. The skate shop had a couple of people in the back kneeling on the floor, apparently awaiting instructions from their alien overload. Somewhat more disconcerting was that just a couple minutes before I'd been thinking, "You know what would shake up this town? A sktate shop." Well, Fredericksburg does have a skate shop: This is as shaken up as it gets.
Confederate flags are used here as a shorthand representation of an edgy, rebellious appreciation for history. Display the Stars & Bars and you too can make your hardware store and antique doll shop a living part of our heritage. Occasionally, the Confederate & American flags are put on equal footing. However, there was exactly one store that displayed the Stars & Stripes alone: The post office.
MV claimed that people in Fredericksburg weren't friendly. I decided to do my own brief, unscientific test. I walked two blocks, smiling but with otherwise neutral gestures, neither avoiding nor seeking eye contact, and never initiating verbal contact on my own. Of the 3 out of 4 people I passed, 3 initiated a greeting. The 4th guy was jogging. Conclusion: People in Fredericksburg are friendly.
Fredericksburg claims to be "America's Friendliest and Most Historic City." "America's Friendliest and Most Historic City that is Mostly Closed by 6pm" might be more appropriate. Strolling through downtown, I mostly just got to window shop. There's a children's toy store that had a sign proudly advertising that it was a Case knife distributor (!), a miscellaneous-memorabilia store right out of Pulp Fiction with an umbrella-stand full of swords for "$69 each!", and a gem store that was "Usually Open 12-6 Friday, Saturday, & Sunday".
To be fair, "Sorry Mom Tattoo" seemed to be doing a brisk business. The skate shop had a couple of people in the back kneeling on the floor, apparently awaiting instructions from their alien overload. Somewhat more disconcerting was that just a couple minutes before I'd been thinking, "You know what would shake up this town? A sktate shop." Well, Fredericksburg does have a skate shop: This is as shaken up as it gets.
Confederate flags are used here as a shorthand representation of an edgy, rebellious appreciation for history. Display the Stars & Bars and you too can make your hardware store and antique doll shop a living part of our heritage. Occasionally, the Confederate & American flags are put on equal footing. However, there was exactly one store that displayed the Stars & Stripes alone: The post office.
MV claimed that people in Fredericksburg weren't friendly. I decided to do my own brief, unscientific test. I walked two blocks, smiling but with otherwise neutral gestures, neither avoiding nor seeking eye contact, and never initiating verbal contact on my own. Of the 3 out of 4 people I passed, 3 initiated a greeting. The 4th guy was jogging. Conclusion: People in Fredericksburg are friendly.
2007-11-12
Newcastle
I've been in the process of emptying out my house in preparation for my move-out. I was working through my refrigerator, which now has only a few lonely items left in it--one of them being a bottle of Newcastle beer. That particular beer arrived at my house the evening of January 11, 2007. The friend who had brought it was my good friend of 15-years, then-named Michael Christopher Young. Sometime in April, he became Mike Fixer Newcastle; the last name being in honor of his favorite beer. Then in May, he was arrested and charged with the murder of his estranged spouse, Shelby Hagedorn Joanette.
The beer in my fridge is from the last time we were all together.
The beer in my fridge is from the last time we were all together.
2007-11-11
Searching in an empty place
You know how some movies just glob on to your psyche? Sometimes it is the movie itself, sometimes it is what is going on in your life that the movie represents. Usually, it is both. Like a blossoming romance, you have to be both presented with the opportunity and ready to appreciate it.
7 years ago I walked out of a movie theater completely blown away. The New Statesman review by Jonathan Romney said it was "like a particularly austere dream that you can't shake off." That was my experience; the movie seemed maddeningly slow at the time but grew on me like a fungus. The film was Beau Travail.
If you haven't seen it, see it. Set aside 90 minutes and let it wash over you. When you're done, you can write me about what you thought and then relive the experience. If you still haven't had your fill, read Ben Grant's thesis.
A few weeks ago, it happened again. This time it was this scene from Airplane!. It represented a very happy moment for me. I had the Bee Gees stuck in my head for weeks.
"I didn't go there that night to fall in love; I just stopped in for a couple of drinks..."
7 years ago I walked out of a movie theater completely blown away. The New Statesman review by Jonathan Romney said it was "like a particularly austere dream that you can't shake off." That was my experience; the movie seemed maddeningly slow at the time but grew on me like a fungus. The film was Beau Travail.
If you haven't seen it, see it. Set aside 90 minutes and let it wash over you. When you're done, you can write me about what you thought and then relive the experience. If you still haven't had your fill, read Ben Grant's thesis.
A few weeks ago, it happened again. This time it was this scene from Airplane!. It represented a very happy moment for me. I had the Bee Gees stuck in my head for weeks.
"I didn't go there that night to fall in love; I just stopped in for a couple of drinks..."
2007-11-09
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