The Man in the Red Hat

Tennis Dominance, Winter Break

2009-02-10T08:26:00.000-08:00

Greetings. I haven't posted in a few weeks because not much has been going on. Topping the list of exciting news for me is that I did a "system restore" on my computer and it is now running better than it ever has before. I'm connecting to the internet at lightning speeds as well as downloading TV shows and live music without any freezes. Truly exciting for me. After losing much of my music collection after sophomore year, I never really had the energy to get most of it back. Furthermore, the shittiness of my computer prevented me from downloading effectively. But now, I am back in the game. Disco Biscuits shows are flowing like wine here in Zwonitz, and the untz-waves can be felt radiating throughout Eastern Europe.

Another piece of news I enjoyed was the Michael Phelps saga I like to refer to as
"Water-pipe-gate." What I love even more than his getting down on a phat bowl, though, is the outrage of the American public. Getting pissed at him for the drunk driving arrest is one thing, but taking bong rips? Come on. People say he is a role model; that is fucking retarded. The only thing he should be a model of is how to effectively swim through a pool at high speeds. Anyone who thinks their kids should look up to him as a person is full of shit. I read an excellent article on ESPN.com that pointed out how the public "creates" celebrities like Phelps, and then on a whim destroys them. A valid assessment. Sports are great, and I think young people can learn a lot from playing them. But to assume that athletes should be the primary role models for young people is just ridiculous. I generally think Phelps is a douche, but he actually earned some points with me here. He should ditch his shitty sponsors and start repping bong manufacturers and the marijuana lobby instead. I'm sick of celebrities acting like their responsible just because they want to keep their endorsements. Be yourselves, you douchebags.

In other news, I am now on Winter Break for two weeks. Katy and I will travel to Berlin on Thursday to spend the weekend with my colleague Colin Adams. On the following Monday we fly to Budapest and then Bratislava for a few days. Should be good times, and it will certainly be nice to get out of Zwonitz for a bit. I'm not sure exactly what we have planned for those cities, but hopefully we can balance sightseeing with raging as much as possible.

My tennis season has also begun. We are now 2-0, though I will not be playing in this weekends match because I will be out of town. I crushed my opponents in the first two matches, playing #1 singles for our team. My teammates have also been playing well, and if we continue at this rate we have a good shot at bringing home a championship. Some spectators commented on my racket throwing and screaming of obscenities, but unlike in High School, I will not be penalized for on-court behavior. This is excellent, for those of you familiar with my tennis-related anger problems. I am serving very well, in my last match I did not even hit a second serve until halfway through the match. We need to get a radar gun out there to see if I'm back to my 100+mph skills these days, though of course any gun here would tell us only kmph, which is completely useless.

What else can I talk about? LOST has been thrilling so far this season. I will refrain from discussing it because I hate it when people rack their brains trying to anticipate what's going to happen. Keep your theories to yourself and enjoy the show. I'd also like to express tentative excitement about the Sixers. Losing Brand is good news, as far as I'm concerned. From what I can gather, they are playing pretty damn well. Of course I can't watch the games...so I'm just going based on box scores and highlight reels. We'll see what happens.
That's all for now. I feel that this post may have been somewhat of a ramble, but I'm bored and I have fuckloads of music to jam out to, so I needed an activity.

An Odd Encounter

2009-01-19T04:25:00.001-08:00

On Saturday I had to come in to school for an open house day for prospective students. Basically, the English department hoped to woo potential students by showing off their fancy native English speaker...who of course will not be here come next year, but never mind about that. Basically I sat around eating candy and playing board games with small children for 3 hours, hung over (yuh), and was eventually permitted to go home. However, one of my teachers approached me with some most unusual news. Evidently there is an elderly unmarried couple who lives together in a nearby town. The man is an avid model airplane builder who specializes in American fighter planes. At a craft show elsewhere in Germany, he met an American military officer stationed somewhere in Germany who shares his enthusiasm for model-building. They struck up a friendship, and the American (and his wife) have been to our region to visit on a few occasions. What does this have to do with me? I have no idea. So after seeing a feature article about me in the town's weekly paper (yeah, I'm like the Paris Hilton of Zwönitz), this old couple was greatly excited to learn that an American was living in the area. They came to the school with copies of old letters exchanged between them and the Americans (dated 2006), and wondered if I would be interested in calling the Americans on the phone. Why? Again, I have no idea. In the article about me, the author made a point of mentioning how much better Christmas in this region is than Christmas in America. Here we have the traditional Christmas markets and craft displays, while in America everything is commercialized and evil. (I obviously said nothing even remotely indicating that opinion, but whatever). Due to my alleged enthusiasm for the Christmas market here, the elderly German couple hoped that my calling these Americans and telling them about the wonders of Christmas in the Erzgebirge would somehow persuade them to come next year. Apparently the Germans have invited them before, but the Americans did not take them up on it. What I don't understand is, these letters are 2-3 years old, why haven't the couples corresponded more recently? Why am I expected to convince complete strangers that they ought to come to the Christmas market in Zwönitz next year, rather than returning home to celebrate the holidays with their families? I am still bewildered, but will be giving the letters and photos back tomorrow, and will most likely not be phoning the American couple. Needless to say, this is all very unsettling.

Speaking of unsettling, what the fuck happened to the Eagles last night? In a truly Boston College-esque performance, they got torn apart on defense for the first half, made an outstanding comeback in the second half, and then decided to fuck it up again with 3 minutes remaining. Good thing that was the only football game I had a chance to watch all season. Very frustrating. Go Sixers?

Christmas, Nazis

2009-01-13T05:34:00.000-08:00

Sorry it has been so long since my last post...Mettenschicht seems like a distant, blurry, vomit-smelling memory. So, Christmas, pretty sweet. The holiday season made for some very easy lessons to teach at school. I focused on the commercialization of Christmas as well as America's multiculturalism. I also distributed an article about a Wal Mart employee who was trampled and badly wounded in a mad dash for a Tickle Me Elmo doll. Good thing he has health care. Yikes. I also told my students that in addition to Christmas and Hanukkah, we all celebrate Festivus in America, because Seinfeld was not only a popular TV show, but in fact, a critical American cultural artifact.

For Christmas, Katy and I traveled to the land of her forefathers, and the enemies of my forefathers; England. Her Great Aunt Eva lives on a cliff overlooking the English Channel in the town of Hastings. It was beautiful there, and I greatly enjoyed blasting cigs on the roof overlooking the sea. We spent the week eating various large meals and drinking with assorted segments of the family. I felt largely out of place, being that they were not, in fact, my family at all. But surprisingly, being around old people feels pretty much the same whether you're related to them or not. I was given a swiss army knife, a pair of hardcore winter gloves, and assorted travel sized axe-style body washes. All things considered, pretty useful, good smelling gifts.

On the 30th of December, we returned to Germany to ring in the New Year in Berlin. After spending the night at a nice hotel, we met my fellow German scholar Colin upon his arrival to the capital. We proceeded to kill many beers, perhaps too many, and the night was not the untz-fest I would have hoped for. Without the Disco Biscuits, New Years Eve just doesn't rage hard enough. We did stay for a few more days in Berlin and had a very fun night of untzing at an underground club with a couple of Colin's friends. Now that we have a friend living there, we will probably make frequent trips, as it is a fairly dominant city.

We've now been back in Zwönitz for a couple weeks, and things are back to normal. It snowed a great deal here, but the cold spell has broken and it is now melting and falling off of rooftops, causing me great trepidation. Last weekend at the town pub 'After Work' we met a Nazi. A real one, from Germany. He spoke remarkably good English, though with his 'Fuck America' t-shirt and rabid anti-everythingism, what he had to say wasn't all that pleasant to hear. At one point he threatened to hit me, but I was confident that he would not do so in such a public place...but he was extremely large and intimidating. He hailed Hitler repeatedly, much to the chagrin of the other bargoers. He was impressed with my knowledge of Punk Rock, though I wisely left out that I stopped listening to such music at about the age of 13. After posing drunk questions to me he would cut off my answer by shouting 'Its not your fucking problem!' He then proceeded to light a cigarette in the bar (no longer legal here) and announce, 'This is my town, I do whatever the fuck I want.' I have to hand it to him, no one tried to stop him. It also opened the door for us to begin smoking indoors. Eventually he left to return home to his young daughter (good one), and I was left fairly shocked. Germans dislike Turks and other immigrants, but to be an out and out Nazi in this country just seems absurd to me. Oh well, at least it made for an interesting evening.

Well, that's all for now. I'm back to teaching and beginning to make plans for a trip during my February break. Also, my tennis season begins in earnest in a couple weeks with matches every other weekend. I look forward to getting out there and fucking some shit up.

Oh, and...
E
A
G
L
E
S
EAGLES

Happy Mettenschicht!

2008-12-22T08:21:00.001-08:00

Well, unfortunately, it was not really feasible for me to make the trip back to America for Christmas, but luckily this allowed me to celebrate a new and wonderful holiday. Mettenschicht is a tradition particular to this region of Germany- Die Erzgebirge, or Ore Mountains. When this was still a mining area, the last shift in the mines before Christmas was celebrated with a big party, something like an office Christmas party, only more hardcore. As you can imagine, those miners knew how to get down. So today the last Friday before Christmas is Mettenschicht and everyone rages...traditionally. Katy and I were invited to a party at someone's house, and were picked up with our friend Nico, who I know from the tennis team.
Upon arriving, I was impressed by the wide variety of people in attendance. There were middle aged alcoholics who looked, as Katy put it, like cartoon depictions of alcoholics. There were hardcore punx with leather jackets and crazy hair, and there were some normal people. There was some accordion playing and singing-along going on, but the younger party-goers seemed just as ready to mock this outdated tomfoolery as we were. In the garage, people stood around chain smoking and crushing beers, so we set up shop there. As usual, we were a huge source of interest for these small-town folk, and we were questioned vigorously about all sorts of topics from Rage Against the Machine to feminine hair waxing issues. The young people we hang out with at these avents are very friendly and enormously entertaining. One young man boasted that his English was very good, which it was. Marcel, another fellow tennis player, conceded but added that "his penis is very small."
After a couple hours, I found some heady bros who were going to spark a "doobie." Foolishly we joined them, and this sent our level of intoxication through the roof. Nico pointed out that I might be stoned, and suggested that we leave, which we did. After vomitting for a while at home, we passed out, and spent a very hung over Saturday reliving the wonderful memories of Mettenschicht. I propose that we begin celebrating this in America, as I think the spirit accurately captures how we feel after work ends before Christmas.
Tomorrow Katy and I fly to England, where we will spend a week with her Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins there for Christmas. We will be in Brighton and Hastings, south of London on the English channel. It should be lovely. On the 30th we fly back to Germany to celebrate New Years in Berlin. An associate and fellow German scholar of mine, Colin Adams, will be joining us on the 31st to ring in the New Year in typical German fashion--tight pants, trance, and hair gel. It should be a rousing time. I'd like to wish everyone a happy holiday season, whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, or Festivus. (By the way, I taught my 8th grade class that Festivus is a real holiday that people celebrate in America). And I will write again in the New Year, or perhaps before if I get nostalgic and want to do a "2008 in Retrospect" entry. We'll see.

Tchuu tchuu (choo choo, like a train, or slang for goodbye in Germany).

A Trip to Amsterdam...heady

2008-11-30T04:24:00.000-08:00

Hello readers. Last weekend, Katy and I made a pilgrimage to the headiest city on the globe: Amsterdam. We got a ride from a very hip German couple for relatively little money. After an 8 hour ride through some pretty shitty weather, we had arrived. Our first stop was a coffee shop known as Abraxas. The Disco Biscuits have a song named after this place, so I felt it my duty to stop in and try out their store brand (Abraxas Delight), and delightful it was. On my last trip to Amsterdam (more like trip IN Amsterdam), we had failed to locate said coffee shop, but I won't get into the messy details of that fiasco, lest Tom Leane be reminded of the weekend he lost his wallet, and the rest of us lost our minds.
We stayed at the Flying Pig hostel, located right next to the famous Vondel Park. It was nice, but did not live up to the heady reviews it received on the Disco Biscuits messageboard, where of course I got all of my information in preparation for the trip. These reviews boasted of a smoking lounge open all night. In reality, this "lounge" was a filthy, cramped kitchen, full of weed and tobacco smoke, to the extent that even I felt nauseous. The first night we were there, Katy and I went to a club where amateur psy-trance DJs were spinning some pretty heady shit. But we were tired from our travels, and did not make too late a night of it. The next day we wandered around, taking shelter from the hail in various coffee shops and eating a delicious goat-cheese based meal at a cafe. Minimal funds and the shitty weather put a damper on any bold sightseeing activities, but it was still a pleasant day. Amsterdam is incredibly beautiful, aside from all the vice that it contains, it really is an amazing city, and I would love to live there one day.
After a nap and dinner, we took an evening stroll through the Red Light District. On my last trip to Amsterdam, we hung out here at night, which was probably a mistake. It is a sight to behold, but not really the optimal place for a fun night on the town. I decided Katy should at least see it, because it really is mind boggling to see a part of one of the world's major cities completely steeped in debauchery. Mediocre looking prostitutes beckon from shop windows, drug dealers walk freely selling their wares, and hordes of drunken European men stumble about, trying to get up enough courage to actually have sex with one of these women. After about twenty minutes in this place, we had had enough, and were ready to dance. We found a really sick club elsewhere in the city, and after a short wait were admitted. The music was really good and the vibe was awesome. Everyone was untzing out hardcore, and we were happy to join them. After a couple hours, we stumbled back home and went to bed. The next morning we had only a couple of hours before we had to meet up with the German couple for the return trip. We stocked up on some of that sticky-icky and braced ourselves for the long journey back to eastern Germany.
The following week has been pretty normal- it snowed here all weekend and the town is very pretty as a result. I can't ride my bike though, and its a pain in the ass to walk everywhere now; people don't like shoveling their sidewalks. This weekend was the beginning of the Weinachtsmarkt or Christmas Market. On Friday night we went to the bar downtown to meet a friend of mine from the tennis team. Things got a little out of hand since every time we go random Germans decide to buy us drinks. Katy threw up in the bathroom, and apparently I was pretty sloppy myself. We of course left the bar without paying our tab, and stumbled home, though I have no memory of this. While I didn't quite black out, I would say that it was a definite brown-out, only my second or third in the past three months; as compared with my well-documented habit of blacking out two or three times per week at BC (air guitar). On Saturday we stayed in bed until about three, then went downtown to see the Christmas Market. It was very nice, with dealers of sausage, beer, and crafts at every turn. This region, the Erzgebirge (ore mountains), is known for its handmade wooden crafts. Christmas is a huge deal here, and apparently tour buses full of Germans flock to this region for the Christmas season. We ate some sausage and drank some Gluhwein (a hot, spiced wine drink that is quite delicious), and then headed back home for a quiet evening in, eating cheese and watching TV on Internet.
So that about sums up the last couple of weeks. I am currently reading Richard Wright's Native Son, which is excellent so far. It is a third-person narrative about a young black man in post-depression Chicago. The tension and suspense are akin to Crime and Punishment, and the protagonist is every bit as introspective and intense as Raskolnikov. I am having trouble putting it down, and I would highly recommend it. That about does it for now, I would ask my readers to follow in the footsteps of Alex Noble by posting humorous comments on this page. We are very bored here, and miss everyone dearly.
Later, Bros.

Apparently People Read My Blog

2008-11-13T08:47:00.000-08:00

Yesterday several people told me that I had been slacking on my blogging. Obviously I already knew this, but I wasn't aware that people had been following my blog closely enough to realize that I was slacking. And really, a lot has been happening, so its all the more stupid that I haven't been writing.
A couple weeks ago, I had a two week fall break. The first few days I stayed home studying for the GRE subject test and waiting to get paid. This was a huge pain in the ass and so I won't go into it, but, I have been paid now, and let me tell you...I have...a minimal amount of money. After this initial few days, I went to Prague with two of my colleagues for a long weekend. I had been to Prague before, so I had already done most of the requisite sightseeing, but it is a sick city nonetheless. We partied and met some semi-cool people in an expat-heavy bar near the hostel. I met a BC grad who, after being a dick initially, was quite helpful in directing me to a bar that provided something I had been looking very hard for (yuh/air guitar).
After a pleasant few days in Prague I headed south to Austria. Czech trains kind of suck in comparison with their German counterparts, so after an unpleasant ride, I arrived in Linz. My phone decided to stop working pretty early on in the trip, so I was unable to inform my host, another colleague, one Robert DePersia. Due to his resourcefullness, he was able to anticipate my arrival and meet me at the Hauptbahnhof. Linz is a nice city, small, but still large and commercial enough to find things to do with one's time. Also, Hitler was born there, so...there's that. I went to Rob's school for a day, and am now very jealous. His students are intelligent, hard working, and willing to participate in class. My students are essentially the opposite. I suppose ultimately I'll be a better teacher for it, though I have no intention of continuing to teach English as a foreign language after this year.
We then went to Vienna for the weekend. I would have enjoyed it a lot more, had I not gotten blackout drunk at a lame Halloween party on Friday night. We went to a fin-de-sicle art museum on Saturday, which was cool, but again, my impaired state detracted from my appreciation of it. After nearly losing my phone, I managed to get myself together, and arrive at the train station in time for my arduous journey back to Zwonitz. I met some American hipsters on the train between Vienna and Prague. It was interesting because I could tell they wanted to be cooler than me, but they had never been to Europe before, whereas I have been here many times, and live here now. Indie points; me=100, those tools=1.
Back in Zwonitz, I had only 6 days to prepare for the GRE subject test. Not nearly enough time to make up for a mediocre high school education in which I gave no effort, or a college curriculum focused on insignificant authors like, say, Joyce, Faulkner, Dostoevsky, and Nabokov. Also, Katy's flight into town arrived the same day as my test, so I needed to transfer my hovel into a semi-legitimate place for a semi-legitimate person to live. These things done, I set out for Berlin with a hardcore German punk-rocker found via the internet. He was a chill dude, and I got to Berlin in 3 hours for a mere 15 euro. My hostel was kind of shitty, but only 11 euro. I walked in on my Chilean roommate looking at pornography. This was going to be a weird night. I rose at 6 the following morning in order to do some last minute studying and get to the testing center on time. The test itself sucked, hard. It seemed to focus on translating Old English way more than the practice tests I had taken. And, the only Old English translating I'm familiar with involves turning malt liquor into urine (air guitar). But, after the test, I headed back to Sachsen and met Katy in Leipzig. After a shitty couple hours in the Chemnitz train station (though it involved Burger King), we got back to Zwonitz. So this week we've been unpacking and reorganizing, and now we're pretty settled and bored.
Well, that about sums up the last couple weeks. Perhaps I could have sensationalized things, or shared more outrageous stories, but there actually weren't too many. I apologize for my tardiness in posting, I promise to do better in the future. My blog will also feature guest appearances from Katy from now on. So look forward to an introductory post, very soon. A one Nick Bradley has expressed concern that this will drastically reduce the broishness of this blog, but I could never hope to compete with the bro-levels radiating from a competing blog, "Brodeos and T Parties," authored by the epic one-two punch of Bleh and Stew. So turn here when you feel the urge to expand your intellectual horizons.

More Stuff That's in My Apartment, Why I Spend Most of My Time in a Closet

2008-10-16T13:14:00.000-07:00

So, the teachers at my school have turned out to be quite a musical bunch. They have a band, but sadly, already have a bass player who seems to have taken a liking to me. We bonded over the 4, yes 4, trips I had to take to the Auslaenderbehoerde (foreign persons office...?), which is where I needed to get my visa. Good one German civil servants. In any event, I mentioned to him that I was thinking of buying a cheap, used guitar just to mess around with while I'm here. Don't do that, he told me, we have extra guitars at the school. Tonight I met him there, and he has outfitted me with not only an acoustic guitar, but also a bass and an amp. None are exceptionally nice instruments, but more than adequate for my purposes. The bass is a Squire Jazz Bass, essentially a cheap rip off of my own bass...which is a more expensive, but still cheaper version of the Fender Jazz Bass. So, though its not quite as nice, it plays similarly, and I haven't played in a while, so it doesn't matter a whole lot. My apartment includes a walk in closet, but its next to the kitchen, on the opposite end of the apartment from my bedroom. I find this odd, and frankly a bit inconvenient. But its fairly big, and my internet signal is strongest there, so I've decided to put my instruments here with my computer. Its small, but cozy, all I need is a more comfortable chair. I've spent the last several hours rocking out, and now my hands hurt.
Last night I went to the indoor tennis facility with a bunch of dudes from the team here. It was a good time, and there was some solid tennis played. The surface there is carpet...which is very odd. On the one hand, it plays to my advantage because the ball doesn't bounce much, and since you're indoors you can absolutely smoke the ball (more like, bowl). But, its very difficult to run quickly on and change direction suddenly. I found myself stumbling and feeling even slower than I usually do. Oh well, it was fun, and I still beat up on a couple of the guys. Afterwards they all got naked and went for a steam/shower...I had "forgotten" a towel and flip flops, so didn't participate. I suppose next time they will expect me to join them. I'm not being homophobic...I actually don't particularly like saunas...or showering with 6 dudes. So we'll see.
I am now on my fall break for the next two weeks. This is nice...except that I don't really work enough to warrant having such a long vacation...oh wait...this is Europe, what am I thinking? Don't work a lot? Who cares? You deserve a vacation. I can't argue with that. I don't have any money...which could be a problem. Fulbright is taking their sweet old time kicking down that heady stipend, so I will have to wait a few days before I begin traveling. But now I have instruments to occupy me, so I feel substantially less bored. Between the tennis and the bass playing and the not getting laid, I'm feeling like I'm back in high school. It's almost refreshing. Almost.
Katy comes in a few weeks, so I am practicing good hygiene and house-keeping skills. This is very difficult for me, and frankly I don't see it keeping up. I am becoming quite the avid chef, however. Tonight, I made burgers. And fuck, were they delicious. Tomorrow, I am thinking about doing laundry. Something is happening, and I don't know if I like it. I do find myself listening to Wilco's "When You Wake Up Feeling Old" several times a day, and I don't think its just because its an awesome song. I want to go back to BC...and I want the Sox to come back and beat Tampa Bay so that they can lose to the Phillies and I can, for once, tell everyone to suck it (in a sports related situation).
That's all for now, I suppose I've rambled a bit. But, given that I'm not working next week and probably won't be embarking on any adventures for a few days, I'd bet my bottom dollar on another blog entry reeeeaaaall soon.

A New Apartment, Internet, a Hotplate

2008-10-12T10:51:00.000-07:00

So apparently when my first landlady told me I could stay until November, she really meant that I could stay until...October. Last Wednesday she informed me that I was expected to be moved out on Saturday. Moving in this short a period of time is not a huge problem; I happen to like moving, and I find I do it frequently. Usually, however, I like to have, you know, some place to move into, before packing up and leaving. This not being the case of course, here in Zwonitz, where there are no apartments, and even if there were, they would not be furnished (and here, unfurnished means no sinks, no toilets, no kitchen). Luckily, the secretary at my school who had initially withdrawn her offer to take me as a tenant in the apartment above her house, invited me to move in after all. The apartment is nice, with a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen/dining room area. There's a small TV with cable so in addition to Home Improvement, I can now watch CNN international, which is in English. I never thought I'd be so happy to see Wolf Blitzer's face. The apartment also has a hotplate. It's not quite like a middle school science lab hot plate (at least as I remember them), but rather an electric stove that you plug into the wall. So now I can cook elaborate feasts for myself. Tomorrow, I'm going to buy a big sack of potatoes. It's going to be awesome. But yeah, the best part is, there is internet here, at least kind of. I have to sit right by the window, and it comes in and out, so things like gchat don't work too well, but it's better than nothing.
The Phillies are incredible.
I am putting Moby Dick on hold because it's extremely boring. Today I read, and will probably soon finish reading, The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. It's pretty damn awesome. It makes use of all the stylistic things I liked about All The Pretty Horses without all the western horse jargon that I could really care less about. Also, post-apocalyptic shit really gets me doing. Marauding hordes, starvation, vast expanses of darkness and ash. Hell yeah.
That's all for now, go Phils.

Tennis/Home Improvement

2008-10-08T11:47:00.000-07:00

It seems like things here go in cycles for me. I get pretty depressed sometimes...ok, all the time, because I'm so very alone. But I find it's the little things in life that can really make a difference. Profound, huh? This week, good fortune has found me. First, I discovered that Home Improvement is on every night at 7, back to back episodes no less. Cha-ching. It's in German, but this only makes it about 700% funnier. The title, in German, is "Hor Mal Wer Da Hammert." This translates to something along the lines of "Listen up, for he who is hammering there." I'm not sure who exaclty is hammering, but my guess is that any number of the show's characters could be "hammering" at any given time in various metaphorical or literal senses. As some of you know, this is one of my all time favorite shows. Watching it every day over dinner, its almost like I get to relive the glory of the "Al Borland Won the Lottery Party" which was, in my opinion, the crowning achievement of Mod 27. BUY YOUR MOTHER SOMETHING NICE AL!!! So there's one more hour out of the day where I don't have to sit on the floor feeling bitter.
The second piece of good fortune was that today I had the opportunity to play tennis. Apparently there is an adult league in this area, and Zwonitz's team had a solidly mediocre season last year, so they are looking for fresh talent; namely, lanky American ringers with monstrous serves and sick headband collections. So today I hit with the youngest guy on the team, who is also 22, and a pretty cool dude. The courts are all clay, which is somewhat problematic for me. It is not a surface well suited to my game, but it is an awful lot of fun to play on, what with the sliding all over the place and such. Of course, my relatively new and SICK Babolat tennis shoes are now looking pretty shoddy, caked in red clay (they really are sick shoes). But anyway, tennis is fun, and so now it looks like I'll be able to play on the team in the spring, and of course practice with them through the winter at a nearby indoor tennis facility. The 22 year old, Nico, also informs me that Zwonitz's nightlife is not so dead as one might assume. As boring as this town appears, all of the other towns in the area are ten times more boring, so that anyone of "going out" age comes here to party. Now, its not exactly Bourbon St. here, but there may just be an opportunity to pound some brews.
So, with these new developments, I feel marginally better about things. God damn do I love Home Improvement. Hoh huh huh hoh (this is my typed version of a Tim Allen grunt).
Now that's a MAN's blog entry.

General Updates

2008-10-05T11:23:00.000-07:00

And so ends another weekend in Zwonitz. Its been a while since I posted a proper entry, and, really this is just a result of my general lack of activity. Last weekend I went to Dresden and met up with a couple of Fulbrighters who are stationed there (my jealousy is unbounded). It was a lot of fun, Dresden is a sweet city. You have the historic, touristy downtown area with the standard old buildings and churches that provides many a photo opportunity. There is also, as in most European cities, a sick river with sick bridges running through the city center. Along it are cafes, beer gardens, and walking paths with many fine areas to sit and read, which of course I took advantage of.

On the other side of the river is “Neustadt” which means “new city.” This is relatively bohemian and has a lot of clubs and bars and young hipsters out making the scene. My hostel was in this part of town, which is pretty awesome. There are hordes of punk rockers blocking the sidewalks for blocks at a time, drinking and carrying on. I like to pride myself on rarely feeling unsafe in “bad” neighborhoods, but these dudes were pretty intense, and made me not a little concerned for my well being. But I got my drink on and my—well, that’s about it actually.

The following week was pretty normal, I am actually teaching lessons now, which has been somewhat challenging but also pretty enjoyable. One teacher seems obsessed with my explaining the American system of measurement in comparison with the metric system, so I’ve done that a few times. I’ve also done a few lessons discussing the differences between British and American English, which is cool, but I worry might not be all that relevant for students who hardly know English to begin with. With my tenth grade class, I did a lesson about school violence and the idea of installing hidden cameras in schools. This class can actually read and speak, so we were able to have something of a discussion, which was cool. I think this is the first time I’ve had a job where I actually look forward to increased responsibility and work. Mostly because I’m bored, but also because I’m finding that I actually enjoy teaching.

I am still waiting on my first payment, so funds are a bit tight at the moment, and I didn’t have an opportunity to get out of town this weekend, which sucked. Friday was a holiday here, celebrating the reunification of Germany. So on Friday night there was a big bonfire on top of a mountain with a bar and a cover band playing American classic rock songs. I decided to check it out, and as I’m rocking out to a rollicking cover of “Sweet Home Alabama” (?), a group of my students approached me. I had had a few drinks, but was far from drunk—unlike my students. These were 9^th graders, and they were each toting backpacks full of beer. I was amused, of course, and it reminded me of my youth to some extent. I was concerned that perhaps I was in a bad situation, as surely an American school teacher cannot be drinking beers with a bunch of 14 year olds who are also drinking beers; but there were plenty of responsible-looking adults at the function who didn’t seem to notice that they were drinking, so I assume it was fine. One of them invited me to a party at his house on Saturday night, an invitation I of course declined. After a couple of beers, more kids started showing up, and some of them were actually pretty hammered, so I decided at that point that I should probably go. Hopefully I don’t get called to the principal’s office tomorrow, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything wrong.

Other than that I’ve spent the weekend doing a whole lot of nothing. I’m reading Moby Dick, which is pretty good so far, and it’s a book I’ve always felt I should read, so that's cool. I finished Dostoevsky’s The Idiot last week, and was frankly disappointed. The first two hundred pages were great, but I was dismayed when there was no brutal murder, abject poverty, and drunken insanity. The one consumptive in the book is pretty weak, by Dostoevsky standards, all he does is bitch about his “death sentence” and he doesn’t seem to get any closer to dying. Ultimately, for its length, not a whole lot happens. It deals mainly with wealthy families and their beautiful daughters trying to find suitable husbands. The protagonist, the “idiot” from the title is pretty weak. His simplicity is supposed to make him a Christ-figure, but from my perspective, he didn’t do anything all that great. The back of the novel claims that his simplicity will lead to disaster for everyone involved—but there is little disaster. There are overly dramatic women and plenty of gasping, but nothing really catastrophic happens. Where is a scene parallel to the beating of the mare? Or to Marmeldov the drunk getting run over by a horse cart? These graphic and horrifying images are what make Dostoevsky awesome, and The Idiot seemed lacking greatly in that department.

So another week begins, which I’m thankful for. I will make a concerted effort to go somewhere next weekend, but where I do not know. I see the Phillies are doing well, which is very pleasing to me. I also see that BC beat NC State, which is nice, though we don’t even seem to be living up to our usual mediocrity and unfulfilled expectations this season. Alright friends, thanks for reading, send me emails, as you can see, I’m extremely bored and alone.

A Story

2008-09-20T12:18:00.000-07:00

Well, I've written a story. I know, I know, I'm a loser, and I'm pretentious, and no one reads my blog anyway so why post it. Well, isn't that exactly the point? I'm in effect publishing this story...and I don't have to worry about the fact that no one will read it!
So, the story. It's loosely based on my experiences as both a convenience store clerk and a resident of a West Philly slum in the summer. However, I think, it is far from autobiographical, as it is pretty absurd. It is obviously informed by "Notes from Undergound," but, I hope, with a comic tone. I'm not sure what else to mention...I know the name of the radio DJ kind of sucks, I'm not good at coming up with names. I also realize that by having the protagonist work at a convenience store in Philly, I am potentially speaking ill of Wawa, which is something I do not want to do. I guess that's about it, enjoy.

Sweating, Underground

It was a hot summer. But then again, every summer in West Philadelphia seems hotter than the one before it. I put off getting an air conditioner every year because the expense seems frivolous, and then there are nights halfway through June where I find myself lying on my filthy bare mattress sweating and cursing and sweating. I wake up dehydrated and still sweating with the sun blaring through the window that has no curtains. Curtains are another frivolous expense. But I never buy the air conditioner or the curtains and so I lie and sweat and curse. Every summer.

In the summer of the year 2007 I worked part time at a convenience store for a while. The pay was poor, the tasks dull, and the people insufferable. Mostly they were uneducated immigrants with little knowledge of English outside the uncanny ability to sing along to the inane soft-rock songs that we were forced to listen to every day. Always it was the same station, “Sunny 104.7.” The DJ was a cheery, irritating automaton named Jackie Brightline who always opened his shows in the summer by saying “Hot enough for ya?!?” I shuddered at the sound of his voice; he sickened me.

When I worked the morning shift I put price tags on the new shipments we received each day, then put the items on shelves. When I worked afternoons, which I preferred, I spent hours in the walk-in cooler, wearing a winter hat and sweatshirt, filling up slots of cokes, diet cokes, lime cokes, diet lime cokes, diet caffeine free sugar free lime vanilla cokes, and also energy drinks. We sold thousands of energy drinks. Ones with or without sugar, with or without caffeine, with things like taurine and guarana in them. They had names like “chaos,” “assault,” and “lo-carb.” The cans seemed to get larger and larger. Twelve ounces of energy no longer satisfied people; they needed sixteen and then twenty-four ounces. It was preposterous.

After my shifts I would buy cans of malt liquor and sit in the park to drink them. I smoked one cigarette after another. I tried to stay away from my stinking apartment as long as I could. The building was owned by a Middle Eastern man named Dilwar Hussain who also operated a pawn shop on the first floor. The room I rented was on the second floor. It was small and empty, sparsely decorated with pictures of women I had cut from magazines. There were five other renters living on that floor with whom I shared a kitchen and a bathroom. They were cab drivers mainly, and they would lounge about the apartment shirtless, wearing cloths draped around their midsections. I saw them washing their clothes in buckets of soapy water, then hanging the clothes all over the apartment, it was disgusting. I never cooked, mainly because I do not like to cook and find it demeaning. But in this apartment it became even more distasteful because of the flies.

I have lived in filthy places for most of my adult life, but I have never seen as many flies as I did in that kitchen in the summer. Swarms of them on every surface, occasionally flying to land on other surfaces, and then still others. Walking to the bathroom I needed to cover my face with my shirt and flap my arms wildly in front of me to keep from inhaling them. They would get in my hair and under my shirt; one even flew into my ear. Lifting the lid off of one of the garbage barrels, hundreds would frantically swarm out into the air. After seconds of frenetic movement they would congregate again on the refrigerator, the stove, the other trash can. I dared to look at the ceiling once and saw entire sections of the white paint colored black by hordes of these disgusting flies. Fortunately they rarely strayed from the kitchen, and my room remained something of a sanctuary.

After the first heat wave of that summer, I walked to a store down the block to buy a large fan. This was the type of store that sold all manner of either obviously stolen or obviously defective products, from obsolete electronic devices to undergarments and aspirin. I found a sizeable fan within my budget and promptly bought it. At home I plugged it in, stripped down to my underpants and sat down in front of it. It was glorious, I felt refreshed, re-energized, prepared to survive the summer. I got up to reach for my cigarettes and tripped on the fan’s cord. It rocked uncertainly back and forth and then fell backwards. And then it was silent. Horrified I picked it up and saw that one of the blades had broken off. No. No. This cannot be happening, I told myself. I screamed obscenities and began kicking it and punching the ground. I could feel tears well up in my eyes. Why? Why? It was over a hundred degrees on the street and my anger only intensified the heat. Car horns and city sounds continued to rage as I screamed and cursed in vain. I fell to the floor, sweating and breathing heavily. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. All I could think was fuck.

* * * * * * * * *

After the incident with the fan, I grew progressively more disdainful of the people and world around me. I insulted bums who asked me for change. At the store I was rude and obnoxious to people constantly. When asked polite questions by my coworkers I offered salty sarcastic responses. And at night I continued to sweat. It was as if each night, lying there sweating was a reminder of what I had lost when the fan broke. I could have saved my money to replace it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. The possibility of breaking another fan, of feeling that excruciating pain, the torment, the agony of it all—no it was not worth it. I’d rather have died of heat exhaustion than risk enduring all that again.

So I would sit in the park with my beer, glaring at the playing children whenever they made eye contact with me. Then I would see them tell their parents and point at me. When the parents turned I offered my most tender smile and waved to suggest my innocence. And the parents would look alarmed, grab their children and scurry away to a different corner of the park to play a different game. When this happened I would finish my beers quickly and leave before the police came.

I stopped bathing completely after a while. Partly because I was so disgusted by the flies in the bathroom and partly to alienate people for no particular reason. I didn’t shave or cut my hair and I began to smell terrible. My greasy, matted hair stuck to my forehead and my facial hair grew longer and more repulsive. It was not full enough to be a proper beard, so it remained patchy and dark and uneven. I noticed my coworkers whispering about me, or sometimes they talked openly, speaking in their native languages to one another and laughing. I could have confronted them but I didn’t see the point. They were so far below me that it did not seem worth it.

My boss began giving me fewer hours each week, gradually at first, maybe because he thought I wouldn’t notice. It didn’t matter. I had more time to sit in the park and drink and glare at children and smile at parents and flea from police. I decided to start alternating which parks I drank in so that if the police were expecting me, they wouldn’t know where I’d be sitting. And the nights got hotter and hotter. By the end of July I was barely working and usually drinking and smelling terrible and always, always sweating.

And Jackie Brightline asking me every time I went into the store if it was hot enough for me.

The songs seemed to get worse, the soft rock softer, the lyrics cornier, the melodies more generic. Finally, on a Friday, I became so disgusted with the music and the heat and the drinking that I vomited all over the counter, the register, even a customer. I fell to the floor with my chest heaving. My boss screamed at me to get out, that he had had it, that I was fired. I didn’t have enough energy to quit. I peeled my store uniform shirt off and dropped it on the floor where I had vomited. I staggered out of the store and bought some beer.

I sat in a park shaking and trying to slow my breathing down. I smoked all of my cigarettes and drank all of my beer. I went to get more and to think of what to do. How could I respond? How had I been fired from a convenience store while so many complete idiots kept their jobs? I had no one to blame but Jackie Brightline. His incessant questioning had driven me insane. It was his fault and no one else’s. I found a payphone and dialed information. They gave me the address of the radio station, and I went home to prepare.

In the ally behind my building I found a splintered piece of wood. I picked it up and swung it. There was enough weight to it to really do some damage, yet it wasn’t too heavy to swing freely. I decided to take a cab to the radio station, fearing that walking down the street with a large piece of wood might arouse suspicion. A block from the station I saw a liquor store and told the driver to pull over. I bought a flask of whiskey and more cigarettes and I approached the station. First, I walked around the perimeter to determine where he might exit after the show. In back of the building was a small parking lot with labeled spaces. Sure enough, Jackie Brightline had the spot closest to the door, and his bright yellow BMW was parked there. I grinned and moved behind some bushes to wait.

An hour went by, then two. I had just finished the flask when I saw him. I had never seen him before, but somehow I knew what he would look like. He was tall and thin, with long and shiny black hair combed back neatly. He wore designer jeans and a button-down shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing some of his chest and a shiny necklace. I hated him more than ever before.

“Hey, Jackie! Over here!” I called to him. He turned, confused, and I swung the piece of wood like a baseball bat. There was a dull thud and then there was blood everywhere. I hit him in the head, across his right cheek, because I am left handed. He fell to the ground, blood pouring from his face. I hit him again; once, twice, three and four and five times. I beat him badly. First I struck his head repeatedly and then his body. I was blind with fury, I only know that I kept swinging and screaming. “Is it hot enough for you, you motherfucker!?!?!” I screamed again and again. I beat him until I was so exhausted that I could hardly raise the piece of wood. His entire face was crushed, he was practically unrecognizable. I dropped the wood and took out a cigarette. I lit it and looked at him, shaking and chest-heaving. “You motherfucker, fucking die. You…motherfucker,” I whispered. I could barely stand. I fell to my knees and took a drag from my cigarette. Then I put it out on what was once his forehead. I heard sirens and knew what was coming.

The first policeman came running at me by himself. I rose to my feet with the weapon back in my hands. I waited until he was close and then ran at him swinging it wildly. I think he shot me, I can’t be sure, but I know that I hit him. The vibration from the blow was so strong that I dropped the wood. The cop fell to the ground bloody and unconscious. I heard gunshots and then felt sharp pains in my chest and back. I grew lightheaded and dropped to my knees again. Then I fell on my back. It hurt to breathe as I lay there, sweating, smiling. I heard more sirens and more voices and then everything seemed slowly to spiral away from me, and then the sweating stopped.

Alert: You've Already Noticed the New Title

2008-09-15T10:24:00.000-07:00

So, this is quite embarassing. My mother somehow stumbled upon my blog. She was not pleased with my language at several points, and felt that the whole thing was very offensive and crude, and would most likely result in my Fulbright being revoked and me never getting into graduate school. This seems a bit drastic, but it was incredibly awkward to hear (or, read) my mother using the phrase "getting laid," though she was quoting me. Anyway, for this reason, I have chosen to continue to write the blog under a Pseudonym. So, as you may well have gathered, that Pseudonym is Dalton Ames. Now, for those of you not familiar with Faulkner (did you know that I am familiar with Faulkner), I should explain the name. Dalton Ames is a shady bro who impregnates Caddy Compson, much to the chagrin of her brothers, particularly Quentin. The "man in the red tie" appears later in the novel, in much the same role as Dalton Ames, as a con-artist who plots to steal Jason Compson's money and run off with the young Quentin Compson (Caddy's daughter by Dalton Ames). The names are a bit complicated, multiple Quentins of varying gender, but the point is, I've chosen to name my blog after these two figures. Why? you might ask, would I want to align myself with such obviously "bad" men? Fair question...I'm not really sure. For one thing, my middle name is Dalton, and I quite like it. In another parallel, some of you may be familiar with my epither "the kid in the red hat," as in "oh my god (insert girl's name here), why were you talking to the kid in the red hat?" So, there you have it. Perhaps a longer explanation that necessary, possibly perpetuates negative assumptions about myself, possibly makes me look like kind of an asshole...or maybe just a douchebag. Regardless, I needed a name...and I like this one. So, rock and roll, deal with it.
I had my first day at school today, and it was relatively uneventful. In the morning I went to the town hall to register myself as a resident of Zwonitz, and then to the bank, to open up an account for when all that paper starts rolling in. I then attended two classes, the first 8th grade, and the second 9th. In both classes I simply stood at the board with a map of America and was asked general questions about where I'm from, my favorite sports, my favorite foods, and such. This of course offered me occasion to explain to Germans what a cheesesteak is. I was more than ready to do so, and hopefully one day they will experience the joy of eating one.
Tomorrow is "sport day," and I'm still not entirely clear on what this is and why it happens when it does. Essentially, the whole school goes to a park in the morning and each class runs a race of a couple miles. My job is to stand at one corner of the course and make sure the children run the right way. Should be simple enough, and, if I'm lucky, quite entertaining. However, it's been cold and rainy, and the prospect of standing in the woods in such weather is less than ideal, especially given that I've a bit of a head cold at the moment. But, we shall see.
Other than teaching and being sick, I've been spending a lot of time reading. Specifically, I'm trying to brush up on early English lit, which is my weak point entering GRE subject test season. In the last couple days I've breezed through The Canterbury Tales, Piers Plowman, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and Beowulf. I have to say...I am only further reminded of why I avoided reading this stuff in high school, and relished the opportunity to avoid studying it in college. But it is important, I would never deny that, so I guess I can't complain about reading it now.
Well, as my computer begins to slow and I sense a freeze coming on, I guess I'll quite while I'm ahead. Good day.

I Went to Orientation and Now Have a Home

2008-09-15T10:23:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a while since I posted, but I've been just about as busy as I'm going to be at any point over the next 10 months. I'm writing from the bar in an old hotel, which surprisingly has internet. "The Man in Me" by Bob Dylan just came on, which is exciting as this is probably the first good song I've heard played in Germany. Anyway, let me share what I've been up to.
Last Sunday I left for Cologne to attend a three day orienation session for all English Teaching Assistants in Germany. This was largely made up of American Fulbrighters, but there was also a sizeable contingent of British, Irish, and Australian university students, I guess studying education. The session was held outside the city in what seemed like an old abbey or something along those lines. There was a church and a courtyard, then dorms and classrooms in the other buildings. By day, this was like any other orientation session. Big group meetings where we were lectured at with an overwhelming amount of information, followed by insufferable question and answer periods with people asking unbelievably stupid questions. Besides that, we worked in smaller groups with English teachers who gave us advice on teaching and life in Germany. These meetings were helpful and worthwhile. After days full of this "learning" business, we were permitted to get drunk in the courtyard. I found this helpful because it enabled me to meet other like-minded individuals and do some of this networking people are always talking about. I now have friends all over Germany, so on my inevitably boring weekends I'll have various places to go.
When returning from orienation, I was supposed to stay at an apartment at the school secretary's house until I could find my own place. I emailed her to let her know what time I'd be back from Cologne, and expected to be picked up at the train station. Well, I exited the train...looked left...looked right...nobody. Not unlike the first time I arrived in Zwonitz. Somehow, I was not surprised. Depressed, I walked to the town's hotel, got a room, got a beer, and went to sleep.
In the morning I went to the school to figure out what was going on. I was pissed, but I couldn't exactly flip out at them, I have to work there all year. They apologized, apparently things have been hectic, people have been out sick, etc, and they missed my email. But, to make up for it, they did some research and found an apartment for me. They sent me to go look at it, it is right across the street, after all.
So I went over, the first floor is a restaurant and brewery, and then there are vacation apartments above. I met with the landlady, Frau Naumann, and she showed me the place. She apologized that it didn't have a kitchen, only a fridge and microwave. I was dismayed and assumed I wouldn't take the place. But then I walked inside. The front room is about 12 by 12, with hardwood floors and a bar right in the middle. On the shelves behind the bar are dozens of beer glasses of every possible shape and size. I got excited because, if you didn't know, I like to drink beer. Then we entered the living room, which is carpeted and even larger than the front room. It has a wrap-around leather couch, a TV, and more shelves with more exotic beer glasses. Already I was blown away. Then there's the bathroom; the same size as the other rooms, with marble flooring and a massive tub. It is not a conventional shower, which is weird, but it has a detachable shower head, so I guess I'll be hosing myself down. The bedroom is again about 12 by 12, carpeted, and features a king sized bed. Facing that bed, is a wall/closet/mirror. "The entire wall is a mirror? Isn't that an interior decorating trope reserved only for pornography?" you might be asking. Yes, it is. If only there were any chance of me getting laid here (at least until Katy comes in a couple months).
I've got all this for 200 euro a month. Outrageous. No utilities, no contract, I just pay if I want to stay. The lack of a kitchen is a bit of a problem, but I generally stick to sandwiches anyway, so I will probably be able to survive. I have already dropped one notch on my belt, so perhaps I will continue to waste away, but I've been taking multi-vitamins, so I think I should be fine. Needless to say, the turnaround from being left alone at the train station last night to being furnished with this pimped out apartment for next to nothing is cause for celebration. Well, there's no one here to hang out with...so I bought a case of Zwonitzer Pilsner (which is quite tasty) and sat in my living room reading before coming here. Quite a Friday night.
I've also gotten my teaching schedule for the coming semester. I have 9 class periods a week, each 45 minutes, then two after-school conversation sessions which are optional and intended for older kids. I get Fridays off. In other words...this is incredible. If only I weren't horribly alone in a remote place. But, still, I'm pretty pleased, I do have a lot to do regarding studying for the GRE subject test which I am taking in November, and applying to Grad school in general, so I will make good use of the free time.
In any event, the good music here at the bar stopped about an hour ago. I'm tired from my travels, and have little else to report. I shift frequently from being happy and content here to being depressed and lonely. I guess I expected as much. For once my situation involves a nice home and nice shit, but no friends to hang out with. I think back to living in Mod 27A, or 5 Radnor before that...and the filth, and the mayhem...but goddamnit that was fun. This is nice, beautiful even, but not what I would generally think of as fun.
I apologize for this not being funnier/more entertaining, this entry is more of just a reporting of events than anything else. In the coming days I will think of something more riveting to say. For now, tchussi (the super, super gay German expression for "later, brah").

Hallo Aus Zwoenitz

2008-09-15T10:22:00.000-07:00

Hello friends. I made it to Zwönitz, at long last. Yesterday sucked, real hard. I flew out of Philly at six on Tuesday night, arrived in Frankfurt on Wednesday morning, and then spent all day on one train after the other, hauling my comically oversized luggage with me. I had two massive suitcases, weighed down by BOOKS, in addition to my backpacks, which were stuffed with duty free CIGARETTES. As you can see, I'm every bit as cool here in Germany as I was in America.
My flight was pretty standard. No legroom, two crying children across the isle from me, awful romantic comedy as the movie, etc. The food was decent though, and I think I got several glasses of wine for free, or at least I didn't pay for them. The guy sitting next to me was very peculiar. He was German, probably mid-20's, and he sat there for the entire flight without doing anything. He just sat there, no headphones, no book; he didn't even sleep. I was obviously raging to some particularly dirty Biscuits sets, so he was probably somewhat weirded out by my head-bobbing and occasional fist-pumping...I also kind of hogged the middle arm rest. Whatever.
The movie. It was "Made of Honor," which I guess is supposed to be a pun, much like "Made in Manhattan" from a few years back. But I don't really see how it works, there is nothing honorable about any character in the movie. I will now provide a brief review.
SPOILER ALERT
So, it begins at Cornell University (ever heard of it?) in the early nineties. Tom, the protagonist, is quite the ladies man, and he's stumbling through a freshman dorm looking for some biddie who he has been defiling. She's not at home, and he instead meets her roommate, the ballsy, quick-talking Hannah. Though Tom throws some game her way, she's way too spunky to fall for it, but she's obviously attracted to him. Fast forward ten years, the two are best friends. Like, such good friends it makes you want to vomit. They shop, eat fancy deserts, and just like totally rage the yuppie NYC lifestyle to the extreme. Tom has made a fortune by inventing the little cardboard sleeves that go on coffee cups, so he doesn't really have to do anything but shoot hoops with his bros (a bigger group of tools I cannot imagine) and be a total gal pal for Hannah. He supposedly gets laid constantly, but he has an extensive list of "rules" about how often he can see these concubines and under what circumstances. His adherance to these rules is so intense, however, that he loses any bro points he earned by getting laid so much.
Hannah abruptly leaves for a month long work trip in Scotland, where she meets a Duke who is the perfect Scottish gentleman. He is a brawny, soft spoken young man set to inherit his family's lucrative Scotch business. He seems to have no flaws, but as a guy, I guess you're supposed to hate him for being so perfect (because Tom is not perfect at all, he's just your average super-rich, handsome, witty Ivy League graduate). In her absence, Tom has decided that what he's been looking for in a woman has actually been right there in front of him the whole time: the extremely attractive, intelligent, carbon copy of himself- Hannah! So when Hannah returns with Colin and asks Tom to be her maid of honor, he has to accept if he wants any chance of sabotaging the wedding and winning her over (I guess this would be the "honor" being punned in the film's title).
One day, Tom and Colin are supposed to hang out so that Colin can become "one of the guys." Tom brings him to the basketball court, the hang out spot for him and his college bros. Tom sees this as an opportunity to upstage Colin, who initially seems bewildered by the sport. After a few minutes, though, Colin realizes that its actually very simple because, standing at about 5'10", Colin can DUNK! And not just dunk, but dunk over people, all people, on every single play, whenever he wants. Well, Tom doesn't like this one bit; his plan has backfired!
Eventually, it comes time for the wedding in Scotland on Colin's family's elegant estate. Tom is running out of time. Yet whenever he tries to get a moment alone with Hannah, the two are interrupted!
Apparently, in Scotland, the ancient tradition is for the husband-to-be to compete in a series of manly athletic competitions with the male maid of honor who is actually in love with the bride (not unlike the final chapter of The Odyssey). These include tug of war, shot put, and so on, all while wearing kilts. Coming into the final event, Tom and Colin are tied! The last competition is throwing a massive log end over end as far as possible. Tom can barely lift it, and his throw goes the wrong direction and lands on someone's car. HA! Tom is crushed, if he had just thrown the log far enough, he could have had Hannah for himself.
Finally the night before the wedding, at Hannah's bachelorette party, Tom kisses her and she kisses him back. The two make out for a solid 5 seconds, making that one hell of an ambiguous kiss. They are again interrupted, but back at the castle that night, in a scene cut DIRECTLY from Wedding Crashers, the two cannot sleep and after contemplatively staring out the window for a while, decide they need to talk. Unfortunately, just as Tom opens his door, a hot, drunken brides maid stumbles in looking for some late night bridal party ass. Hannah walks in a moment later and misconstrues what is going on; to her it seems that Tom is up to his old games, he hasn't matured at all. Tom runs after her but its too late, she wanted to talk about the kiss but now she won't talk to him at all. Distressed, Tom leaves early the next morning.
Colin doesn't seem to wonder why Tom has abruptly decided he can't be in the wedding, after all, what could possibly have happened between two very attractive people who have been best friends for a long time right before one of them gets married? Halfway to the airport, Tom recalls a moment long ago when Hannah told him that he should try saying "I love you" to a person at some point in his life. That's it, he realizes. The cab comes to a halt and Tom locates a pre-saddled horse belonging to a complete stranger who encourages Tom to ride like the wind to stop the wedding.
After a harrowing ride, he arrives at the church just in time. The priest does the whole "if anyone can see why these two should not be married, speak now..." thing, as the horse comes to an abrupt stop, hurling Tom at the church where he crashes through the closed doors. He is knocked unconscious and Hannah comes running to his side. Slowly he comes to and manages to tell her that he loves her. A beautiful moment. Hannah declares that she cannot marry Colin and wants to be with Tom instead. Colin, ever the gentleman, understands and kisses her on the cheek. His quirky grandmother (again ripped off of Wedding Crashers) tells him in an unintelligble Scottish dialect to punch Tom in the face, which he does. But its ok, the two are together at last. I was moved so deeply that I managed to fill my air sickness bag with tears of joy.
My Rating: A-
It was a hell of a movie, but I just didn't like Tom enough to really root for him the way I think the audience is supposed to. Still, this one has laughs at every turn. Furthermore, the movie explores a truly original concept: a ne'rdowell womanizer with a heart of gold is no longer satisfied by a life of getting absurd ass all the time and realizes his super hot best friend has been in love with him all along, so why not just marry her? Deeply conceptualized, artistically driven, and aesthetically awe-inspiring, "Made of Honor" is one of the best films I have seen on an airplane in a very, very long time.

Why was that necessary, you may be asking yourself. Well, I guess it was not. Anyway, I landed in Frankfurt and switched to my train to Leipzig. A couple minutes after this train left the station, I pressed the button to open the bathroom door. I was horrified to see an old lady, pants down, sitting on the toilet. "Jesus!" I shouted before apologizing and averting my eyes. The woman frantically starting pushing buttons, but the door remained open for a good ten seconds before slowly shutting again. When she eventually emerged, I apologized some more, but she seemed totally unconcerned. Luckily, I will not be dealing with any sexual harrassment charges just yet.
After more trains and hauling my shit through more miserable train stations, I arrived in Zwönitz around 9 PM. It was cold, dark, and rainy, and I suddenly realized that I did not know where to find a hotel. Not good. I walked aimlessly down what seemed to be a main street until I found a sign for a bed and breakfast. The lights were all off and there was obviously construction work being done, however. Luckily, and old woman appeared, and told me she was friends with the owners. She came with me to the backdoor, and after a lengthy conversation, I was finally invited inside, where I passed out for twelve hours.
Today I'm going to explore the town and school, there's definitely plenty of excitement to come! Stay tuned.

Introduction

2008-09-15T10:21:00.000-07:00

I've heard a lot of talk about "blogs" in recent years, but I've never really thought I was doing anything interesting enough to warrant having one. Furthermore, even if I was doing something interesting, I've always (rightly) assumed that nobody cares. Nevertheless, in anticipation of a year of isolation in the mountains of East Germany, I figured I would start one; I'm going to be up to a lot of really exciting things.
As some of you may know, I have recently been awarded a Fulbright grant in recognition of my seriousness, sacrafice, and generally anti-fun attitude while studying at Boston College. I will be moving to a kleinen Dorf (small town) known as Zwonitz (pronounced Zwernitz). It is basically in the middle of nowhere--but not to worry! The booming metropolis known as Chemnitz is only an hour away by train! Chemnitz was an industrial city before being completely destroyed during the second World War. Until the fal of the Berlin Wall, Chemnitz (re-named 'Karl Marx Stadt') was under Soviet control and, luckily for me, it supposedly still maintains all of the brilliant aesthetic charm of every other former Soviet citiy. I'm not yet sure whether I will live in Chemnitz (which does have a large university in it, presumably making it relatively cool), or in Zwonitz. Mainly, this is because the school I have been assigned to teach at has completely ignored my emails and not offered anything in the way of advice or even basic indications of how many hours a week I will work, what exactly I will be doing, where living accomadations can be found, and so on. As my tone may have indicated thus far, I am feeling slightly bitter about the situation as it stands now. But my father, sensing my bitterness, reminded me that it might not seem like a lot of fun, but when he was my age, he was in the Army, stationed in Korea. Great point, dad. In any event, I fly out on Tuesday the second of September, so I guess I'll just have to wing it.
I suppose that is a satisfactory introductory entry. Basically my goal with this is to keep my many, many friends abreast of my adventures abroad, and to eschew the boredom I am expecting as a result of working minimal hours as a middle school English teacher in a remote location. I assume many of my close friends currently find themselves located in cubicles in front of computers for several hours a day. Well, perfect! Plenty of time to read my senseless ramblings. I suspect that future entries will sound less cynical, but I've been at my parents' house for a total of three days now, and have just about reached the cusp of a complete mental breakdown. Stay tuned for more riveting entries.
In the spirit of new beginnings, I'd like to quote Joyce's closing lines from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man:
"Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race."
(Did you know that I've read Joyce?)