Never before have I taken a Spring Break trip with friends and never will I be able to top the last week. It was, in a word, AWESOMENESS.
I'm not sure what my favorite part was. Maybe it was when we went to a John Legend concert in Paris and Kanye West showed up as a surprise performer. But then again, Versailles was pretty awesome, as was going to the top of the Eiffel Tower at night, being surrounded by Ingram's Southern friends, and getting hit on by street artists at Montmartre. "It is a shame you do not pose for me!" Munich was pretty awesome too - Starnberger See, the Starkbierfest, walking around the old city at night, gettin' silly at the Hofbrauhaus, staying up all night with some American soldiers we found in Munich, and getting a job at Retarus for the summer.
And that doesn't even start to dive into the types of trouble we got into. Good trouble, as always, but trouble nonetheless. For instance, I tried to take a bottle of Champagne to the top of the Eiffel Tower because we wanted to pop some bottles at the top. No dice. The guard, who didn't speak English and was very rude (but then again I was very drunk), made me go hide my huge beer and bottle of Champagne in the nearby garden. I thought my alcohol was a goner, however the French wine-snobs clearly thought that my 2 euro bottle of Champagne was an insult to their palette, and my alcohol was safe and sound when we got down. We got into far more trouble in Munich than we did in Paris. I told Ingram two things about the city - I had never, ever felt uncomfortable walking around at night and I had never, ever gotten my ticket checked on the U-bahn. Both of those things happened within a matter of 24 hours. I'm pretty sure Ingram is just bad luck.
Our first night in Munich we decided to go to this little Mexican place that was down the street from my old apartment. I'm pretty sure I've had the same blonde, old, slightly haggard looking waitress every time I've eaten there and I'm sure she's gotten sick of me ordering my jumbo mojitos and stumbling out sloppy every time I'm done with my meal. Needless to say, Ingram's southern drinking habits have rubbed off on me and we walked out of the restaurant and down to the altstadt where I tried to explain the history of Munich's buildings. We talked to everyone we saw - young men, old men, the girl who worked at Haagen Daaz, etc. Eventually we came across two old Turkish men and instead of just telling us where another bar was (like we needed one... right) they wanted to take us there. It got really uncomfortable, especially since they were old enough to be our fathers. We ended up ditching them by ducking into a nearby bathroom and I explained, in German, to the waiter that we needed a side exit NOW. He snuck us through the kitchen, Mission Impossible style, and we paid him for his escape services. The next day after coming back from Salzburg, GI fucking Jane stopped us on the U-bahn and asked for our tickets. Of course we didn't buy tickets because, of course, I never get stopped. I whipped out my long-distance train ticket from Salzburg prepared to play the "stupid tourist card" and praying she would be lenient. For some reason I'll never comprehend, she accepted our long distance train ticket as valid and we didn't have to pay the 40 euro fine for being a schwartzfahrer.
The Starkbierfest had trouble written all over it from the start. Imagine this: 13% alcohol beer, served in liters, in a hall full of drunken Germans in lederhosen who are singing "itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini" at the top of their lungs and dancing on tables. We sat next to two seemingly sweet old men who looked exactly like my father.. well they did, until they started trying to pull down my shirt. I don't understand it. We were old men magnets the entire trip. I'm going to sum up the night by saying that I have more bruises than I can count and my lips hurt from kissing too much. Good thing those were separate instances - I got the bruises from falling off of the table (because naturally we climbed on top of them to dance) and my lips hurt, well, for the obvious reason. Four hours of making out will do that to anyone.
Hm. I'm noticing a trend. All of our "trouble" also involved alcohol. Good to know. Magically, Ingram and I didn't get separated and nothing was lost or stolen, so it was definitely fun trouble and not bad trouble.
I'll write more about our trip later, but if you're über bored definitely listen to the song "Cowboy und Indianer" on youtube and learn the dance. After two liters of Starbier it is the best. song. ever. The dance that accompanies it is pretty awesome too.
I'm going to give my liver a break for awhile and go get some homework done...
----
Monday, March 16, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Poison Ivy
The summer internship search has begun at Wharton. It's not called job-hunting, it's called "recruiting." It's like we're ten years old again and picking teams for a dodge ball game and everyone is secretly hoping they won't be the last person left. What an awful process. I want a recruiter that picks their interns with the same approach Herb Brooks had for hockey. He didn't pick the best players, he picked the right ones. Crazy? The US Olympic Committee certainly thought so. In the end, he pulled off the biggest upset in hockey history in a game we now refer to by one noun only - miracle.
Somehow, I think I'll have a hard time convincing a UBS recruiter that my lack of 4.0 is analogous to beating the snot out of the Russians.
Since I'm pretty sure I'll end up unemployed and living out of a box in a few years, I have decided to write a book. I'll post it chapter by chapter, and feel free to leave comments (even mean ones.) So here it is, the introduction to Poison Ivy, by Elizabeth Schneider.
Introduction:
I believe you should give credit where credit is due. This book would never have existed without one rather special writing instructor of mine – Kristine Bender*. She was my inspiration. She inspired me to prove her wrong. Indeed, Poison Ivy is my personal salute to the University of Pennsylvania and their worthless writing requirement that taught me absolutely nothing about writing: Cheers.
To begin my tale, I guess I should start from the beginning, it’s a very good place to start (or so I hear.) When you read, you begin with A-B-C. When you go to college you begin with “regurgitate this information on the next test and you will get an A, or maybe a B, or maybe a C.” At least, that is how the writing program is structured at Penn. I understand the need to study different forms of writing. However, I don’t think following cookie-cutter outlines is effective way to learn how to write. Enter: Kristine Bender, a graduate student on a power trip with a no-nonsense curriculum, and you have a very spicy recipe for conflict.
It was the perfect storm of ingredients. As a freshman I was naïve enough to believe that I could help a teacher see the error of their ways and stupid enough to pick a fight about it. My argument was grounded on the principle that forcing students to write in a pre-packaged, outlined form doesn’t help them to develop better writing skills. Instead, it makes them master imitators, purely parroting the teachers’ wishes. The following example is not the first time I clashed with Kristine, and certainly wasn’t the last. The assignment was simple enough; write a narrative with a moral. While writing I came across a roadblock. Great thinkers have been arguing about morality since the beginning of time. If they hadn’t come up with a solution, I didn’t see why I had to.
So, I wrote a narrative about one of my many less-than-perfect actions. Then came the one moment, the climactic sentence, the part where I would assert my moral superiority - the part that I never wrote. Instead, I concluded with, “There is no neat, gift wrapped ending to this tale. Instead, I leave the lesson for you to ponder, discard it as rubbish if you please, or find your own meaning within it. The end.” I thought it was a mature way to end an unrealistic assignment. Kristine thought otherwise. My essay got a C - for “… failing to meet outlined objectives.”
So in part, this book is motivated by revenge. This is for Kristine Bender, who constantly told me, “No, you can’t.” With this work (and my middle finger straight up) I say, “Watch me.”
---
Comments are always appreciated!
Somehow, I think I'll have a hard time convincing a UBS recruiter that my lack of 4.0 is analogous to beating the snot out of the Russians.
Since I'm pretty sure I'll end up unemployed and living out of a box in a few years, I have decided to write a book. I'll post it chapter by chapter, and feel free to leave comments (even mean ones.) So here it is, the introduction to Poison Ivy, by Elizabeth Schneider.
Introduction:
I believe you should give credit where credit is due. This book would never have existed without one rather special writing instructor of mine – Kristine Bender*. She was my inspiration. She inspired me to prove her wrong. Indeed, Poison Ivy is my personal salute to the University of Pennsylvania and their worthless writing requirement that taught me absolutely nothing about writing: Cheers.
To begin my tale, I guess I should start from the beginning, it’s a very good place to start (or so I hear.) When you read, you begin with A-B-C. When you go to college you begin with “regurgitate this information on the next test and you will get an A, or maybe a B, or maybe a C.” At least, that is how the writing program is structured at Penn. I understand the need to study different forms of writing. However, I don’t think following cookie-cutter outlines is effective way to learn how to write. Enter: Kristine Bender, a graduate student on a power trip with a no-nonsense curriculum, and you have a very spicy recipe for conflict.
It was the perfect storm of ingredients. As a freshman I was naïve enough to believe that I could help a teacher see the error of their ways and stupid enough to pick a fight about it. My argument was grounded on the principle that forcing students to write in a pre-packaged, outlined form doesn’t help them to develop better writing skills. Instead, it makes them master imitators, purely parroting the teachers’ wishes. The following example is not the first time I clashed with Kristine, and certainly wasn’t the last. The assignment was simple enough; write a narrative with a moral. While writing I came across a roadblock. Great thinkers have been arguing about morality since the beginning of time. If they hadn’t come up with a solution, I didn’t see why I had to.
So, I wrote a narrative about one of my many less-than-perfect actions. Then came the one moment, the climactic sentence, the part where I would assert my moral superiority - the part that I never wrote. Instead, I concluded with, “There is no neat, gift wrapped ending to this tale. Instead, I leave the lesson for you to ponder, discard it as rubbish if you please, or find your own meaning within it. The end.” I thought it was a mature way to end an unrealistic assignment. Kristine thought otherwise. My essay got a C - for “… failing to meet outlined objectives.”
So in part, this book is motivated by revenge. This is for Kristine Bender, who constantly told me, “No, you can’t.” With this work (and my middle finger straight up) I say, “Watch me.”
---
Comments are always appreciated!
Friday, December 5, 2008
On Break.
I think of myself as an overly verbal person.... and now I'm experiencing writers block. Sorry readers, but I won't be updating for awhile.
When the next post comes out - probably next semester when my life gets more interesting working for the Flyers - I'll let you know.
Thanks for sticking with me!
Your humble writer,
Elizabeth
When the next post comes out - probably next semester when my life gets more interesting working for the Flyers - I'll let you know.
Thanks for sticking with me!
Your humble writer,
Elizabeth
Sunday, November 16, 2008
College Life.
I wrote a lot about life in Germany because I wanted my American friends to know what it's like. Now that I'm back in America, I've been having some writers block because life here is boring: same shit different day. Then it ocurred to me that while it may be the same shit for me, American college life is maybe something new and novel to my readers (if any of you out there in internet-land have been patient enough to stick with me through my sporadic posting schedule).
But first, some exciting news - I got an internship with the Philadelphia Flyers! I am one of two people chosen for the Finance department and I couldn't be more thrilled about it. Hockey + Finance = awesomeness in the first degree. I start in the spring and continue into the summer, which means I'll have to stay in Philadelphia forever (or what seems like forever.) Major bummer. Who knows, maybe I'll use this as an opportunity to jet off to London when I can't stand it any longer. A girl can dream, right?
So here it is, the topic du jour: college. A day in the life of Elizabeth Schneider.
Mondays start with my 10:30 principles of retailing class. I usually walk in two minutes late, large coffee in hand, and sneak into the back row as quietly as possible - which never works, but I try anyway. My professor, wearing a hideous shirt and ridiculous jeans, has just started his lecture on some retailing framework he designed which is pointless but slightly entertaining. His PowerPoint slides are colorful and they hold my attention for a bit. My mind starts to wander so I start to look around the class - we have the Asian overachievers who sit in the front row, scribbling down every word the professor says; the ken-doll lookalike who sits in the back row and constantly rearranges his hair between throwing out buzzwords like "branding" and "value-chain management" but doesn't really understand their meaning; the arts and sciences girls who are scattered throughout the class and have blank looks on their faces; and then me, tired and drinking coffee in a futile effort to look alive. It's early. I snap back to attention when my professor says something ridiculous (which is often) such as, "I have great taste. I can't teach it to you, but I just have it." Two minutes later he brags about how he bought his jeans for $3 at Costco. I am a fan of bargain shopping, but his $3 look like something out of a bad 90's movie so that's really not something to brag about. I'm beginning to question his "good taste" and have come to the conclusion that this class is a total waste of my time.
I buy another coffee at ABP before running halfway across campus to German class. Yes, we call it ABP because none of us come from France and we all butcher the pronounciation of "Au Bon Pain." In fact, I don't even know if that' show you spell it. It's just ABP. Magically I get to German early and spend a few awkward minutes talking to my German professor who speaks with a very... interesting... german accent. Lots of "sssssss" and hand gestures. He looks like a caricature and it's highly entertaining. The temperature in Williams is never right - they have the heat on when it's hot outside and the air conditioning on when it's cold. We're not in the Wharton building anymore, Toto. It's a fun game to try and pick the right seat that doesn't have hair all over it; there's some girl with dark hair in the class before me who sheds all over every seat. The static electricity helps to make a very modern-art abstract hair sculpture on the chair that nobody wants to sit in. It's pretty nasty.
The cycle repeats with Finance (and my hilarious professor who wears pink ties everyday) and my Marketing reserach class (which is so boring I have considered inflicting serious bodily harm to get out of going.) Weeknights are spent studying with a healthy dose of procrastination and weekends deserve a blog post of their own, once I've done something worth writing about. Sleep, class, eat, class, study, repeat. The life of an college student isn't as party-filled as it would seem... at least at Penn. Maybe I should have gone to a state school, my oh my life would have been so much easier.
Hopefully this was interesting or at least a pleasant distraction from your same-old, same-old.
Happy Saturday night!
But first, some exciting news - I got an internship with the Philadelphia Flyers! I am one of two people chosen for the Finance department and I couldn't be more thrilled about it. Hockey + Finance = awesomeness in the first degree. I start in the spring and continue into the summer, which means I'll have to stay in Philadelphia forever (or what seems like forever.) Major bummer. Who knows, maybe I'll use this as an opportunity to jet off to London when I can't stand it any longer. A girl can dream, right?
So here it is, the topic du jour: college. A day in the life of Elizabeth Schneider.
Mondays start with my 10:30 principles of retailing class. I usually walk in two minutes late, large coffee in hand, and sneak into the back row as quietly as possible - which never works, but I try anyway. My professor, wearing a hideous shirt and ridiculous jeans, has just started his lecture on some retailing framework he designed which is pointless but slightly entertaining. His PowerPoint slides are colorful and they hold my attention for a bit. My mind starts to wander so I start to look around the class - we have the Asian overachievers who sit in the front row, scribbling down every word the professor says; the ken-doll lookalike who sits in the back row and constantly rearranges his hair between throwing out buzzwords like "branding" and "value-chain management" but doesn't really understand their meaning; the arts and sciences girls who are scattered throughout the class and have blank looks on their faces; and then me, tired and drinking coffee in a futile effort to look alive. It's early. I snap back to attention when my professor says something ridiculous (which is often) such as, "I have great taste. I can't teach it to you, but I just have it." Two minutes later he brags about how he bought his jeans for $3 at Costco. I am a fan of bargain shopping, but his $3 look like something out of a bad 90's movie so that's really not something to brag about. I'm beginning to question his "good taste" and have come to the conclusion that this class is a total waste of my time.
I buy another coffee at ABP before running halfway across campus to German class. Yes, we call it ABP because none of us come from France and we all butcher the pronounciation of "Au Bon Pain." In fact, I don't even know if that' show you spell it. It's just ABP. Magically I get to German early and spend a few awkward minutes talking to my German professor who speaks with a very... interesting... german accent. Lots of "sssssss" and hand gestures. He looks like a caricature and it's highly entertaining. The temperature in Williams is never right - they have the heat on when it's hot outside and the air conditioning on when it's cold. We're not in the Wharton building anymore, Toto. It's a fun game to try and pick the right seat that doesn't have hair all over it; there's some girl with dark hair in the class before me who sheds all over every seat. The static electricity helps to make a very modern-art abstract hair sculpture on the chair that nobody wants to sit in. It's pretty nasty.
The cycle repeats with Finance (and my hilarious professor who wears pink ties everyday) and my Marketing reserach class (which is so boring I have considered inflicting serious bodily harm to get out of going.) Weeknights are spent studying with a healthy dose of procrastination and weekends deserve a blog post of their own, once I've done something worth writing about. Sleep, class, eat, class, study, repeat. The life of an college student isn't as party-filled as it would seem... at least at Penn. Maybe I should have gone to a state school, my oh my life would have been so much easier.
Hopefully this was interesting or at least a pleasant distraction from your same-old, same-old.
Happy Saturday night!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Great American Game.
Ah yes, October baseball season has arrived. By "arrived" I mean "almost over" because I usually don't follow baseball. Minnesota is a hockey state. The Twins haven't been good since the early nineties and I was too young to remember most of it. My single memory from our glory days is when Kirby Puckett hit a home run - I waved to the TV screen, and he chose that same moment to look up into the camera and wave as he was rounding the bases. For five years I was convinced that he saw me and was waving back. My parents didn't have the heart to tell me the truth. But this October, I have been given a rare treat - the Phillies are in the World Series.
The great thing about going to college in a different state is that you get your pick of sports teams. If the Twins don't make the playoffs it doesn't really matter... I guess I'm a Phillies fan this year then. Tonight, my substitute team was -- -- this close to winning the title. Literally. They are leading the series 3-1 and the potential final game is delayed because of the rain.
In general, Americans prefer football and baseball. Slow sports. You can go get a hot dog and beer during the game and not really miss much. You could, for instance, sort-of watch the game and sort-of do your Psychology reading and you would still understand what was going on. They're multitasking sports. Baseball even has a "stretch" in the 7th inning - only Americans would enjoy physical activitiy that not only has pauses between every three outs, but a designated extra rest period. The experience of going to the game is rarely to actually watch the game - the experience is the tailgating, drinking, and bad (yet wonderful) stadium food.
Europeans, on the other hand, like the fast sports: soccer, hockey, etc. If you don't watch the game you're going to miss something. And your 90 minutes of attention is rewarded by witnessing the one, two, or three goals that happen. It's a waiting game, yet an intense one. Western Europeans are more into soccer - cheer, drink, but pay attention. Russians are cold, stoic, disciplined, and fast. Hockey dominates their sporting arenas. The Chinese don't play sports. They study. One isn't necessarily better than another, but it does provide another interesting lens through which a culture can be examined.
I was watching the game with one of my Australian friends who asked, "why is it that when Americans win at something in their country, they think they're the greatest in the world?" Aside from the fact that it's titled the World Series, I have no clue. She attributed it to our all-around arrogance. I might have to agree.
And now, I will end my multitasking to see if the game has resumed. GO PHILS!
---
The great thing about going to college in a different state is that you get your pick of sports teams. If the Twins don't make the playoffs it doesn't really matter... I guess I'm a Phillies fan this year then. Tonight, my substitute team was -- -- this close to winning the title. Literally. They are leading the series 3-1 and the potential final game is delayed because of the rain.
In general, Americans prefer football and baseball. Slow sports. You can go get a hot dog and beer during the game and not really miss much. You could, for instance, sort-of watch the game and sort-of do your Psychology reading and you would still understand what was going on. They're multitasking sports. Baseball even has a "stretch" in the 7th inning - only Americans would enjoy physical activitiy that not only has pauses between every three outs, but a designated extra rest period. The experience of going to the game is rarely to actually watch the game - the experience is the tailgating, drinking, and bad (yet wonderful) stadium food.
Europeans, on the other hand, like the fast sports: soccer, hockey, etc. If you don't watch the game you're going to miss something. And your 90 minutes of attention is rewarded by witnessing the one, two, or three goals that happen. It's a waiting game, yet an intense one. Western Europeans are more into soccer - cheer, drink, but pay attention. Russians are cold, stoic, disciplined, and fast. Hockey dominates their sporting arenas. The Chinese don't play sports. They study. One isn't necessarily better than another, but it does provide another interesting lens through which a culture can be examined.
I was watching the game with one of my Australian friends who asked, "why is it that when Americans win at something in their country, they think they're the greatest in the world?" Aside from the fact that it's titled the World Series, I have no clue. She attributed it to our all-around arrogance. I might have to agree.
And now, I will end my multitasking to see if the game has resumed. GO PHILS!
---
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Good night, sleep tight.
I hate sleeping. It is 3:01am on a Saturday night (well... technically Sunday morning) and I am awake. I didn't go out with friends, I got minimal work done... there's no reason for me to be awake. When I was little my parents often had their adult friends over for dinner parties. Us three kids, after saying a charming "hello" and flashing our childish smiles (or waving tentatively and hiding behind our parents, like I did), were sent upstairs to go to bed. Bed? Not me. I had a plan. After I heard everyone get settled in the dining area I would take my pillow and Blankie, tip-toe out into the hallway, and curl up on the landing above the stairs to listen to the grown-ups talk. If I was feeling adventurous, I would carefully go down the stairs and listen from the living room or admire our guests' shoes. But most of the time I drifted off to sleep laying on my stomach in the hallawy, curled up with my pillow and blanket. I would wake up when the adults were gathering to say goodbye and sneak back into my room. Mission accomplished.
I didn't really like my parents' friends - I was too young to have an opinion about them. I got distracted by Paul's wild safari shirts or Bill's strong cologne, and Grandma always gave us wet, sloppy kisses that I tried my best to avoid. I just felt that if I went to sleep, I would miss something. I liked hearing the sound of wine glasses clinking and people laughing as I fell asleep - it made me feel like I was a part of the fun instead of getting ready for bed. Small side note: it's amazing how creative kids can be with naming things. The yellow knit blanket (with snuggly silk edging) that I dragged out with me in the hallway was appropriately named "Blankie." I carried Blankie with me everywhere for about five years and cried every time it ripped or when the silk started to wear through. My other partner-in-crime was a white, stuffed cat imaginatively named "Kitty." I clearly thought outside the box.
Every night it's the same old fight - my will versus my biological need to sleep.Our Psychology professor asked us one day to think about how much more we could do in one day if we didn't have to sleep. If our bodies didn't have to sleep, would we want to? Half of the class would still want to sleep and half wouldn't. Just think of all the amazing adventures you could add to your life if you had an additional 8 hours a day. It's fascinating.
Unfortunately, sleep is winning this fight tonight. Sleep well...
----
I didn't really like my parents' friends - I was too young to have an opinion about them. I got distracted by Paul's wild safari shirts or Bill's strong cologne, and Grandma always gave us wet, sloppy kisses that I tried my best to avoid. I just felt that if I went to sleep, I would miss something. I liked hearing the sound of wine glasses clinking and people laughing as I fell asleep - it made me feel like I was a part of the fun instead of getting ready for bed. Small side note: it's amazing how creative kids can be with naming things. The yellow knit blanket (with snuggly silk edging) that I dragged out with me in the hallway was appropriately named "Blankie." I carried Blankie with me everywhere for about five years and cried every time it ripped or when the silk started to wear through. My other partner-in-crime was a white, stuffed cat imaginatively named "Kitty." I clearly thought outside the box.
Every night it's the same old fight - my will versus my biological need to sleep.Our Psychology professor asked us one day to think about how much more we could do in one day if we didn't have to sleep. If our bodies didn't have to sleep, would we want to? Half of the class would still want to sleep and half wouldn't. Just think of all the amazing adventures you could add to your life if you had an additional 8 hours a day. It's fascinating.
Unfortunately, sleep is winning this fight tonight. Sleep well...
----
Monday, October 13, 2008
21 year old body with a 5 year old heart.
It is a beautiful fall rainy day in Minnesota. Currently, I'm reading Harry Potter and eating Barnum's Animal Crackers, also known as "childhood in a box." When I was little, my sister and I only got to eat these crackers on very special occasions: most often when my mom dragged us to the furniture store and wanted us to be quiet and behave. Back then, my lion crackers chased her giraffe crackers across expensive sofas and leather chairs (and naturally I always won.) My sister is currently in Atlanta so here I sit, making my lion cracker chase my giraffe cracker across the top of my book. Soon after they both met an untimely death... in my mouth. Yum.
Have I mentioned that I'm 20?
In a few short weeks I will turn 21, the magical age in American society where you celebrate your "adult" status by getting rip-roaringly drunk and making a few profoundly stupid decisions. Technically I became an adult when I turned 18 but recently I've started to wonder, "Where did my childhood go?" When you're little, all you want is to grow up and act like an adult. Now that I am one, all I want to do is play with my animal crackers and not get weird looks from my parents.
Sometimes, I look at little kids playing with their parents and I start to wonder - what kind of adult will they turn out to be? Will they be shy? Kind? Rude? Will they get into drugs, alcohol, and crime? Will they be an excellent student? I saw the movie "The Parent Trap" the other day and I had trouble enjoying it for two reasons: first, it's not a very good movie, and second because Lindsay Lohan was such an adorable little girl who has turned into such a train-wreck of an adult. What happened?
There are some perks to being an adult - one of them being a drivers license. Instead of jumping through the huge puddles created by all this rain, I'm going to drive through them. Besides, high-speed puddle driving is better than wet, dirty clothes any day. I'm off to go make some trouble.
I guess I'm still a kid after all.
---
Have I mentioned that I'm 20?
In a few short weeks I will turn 21, the magical age in American society where you celebrate your "adult" status by getting rip-roaringly drunk and making a few profoundly stupid decisions. Technically I became an adult when I turned 18 but recently I've started to wonder, "Where did my childhood go?" When you're little, all you want is to grow up and act like an adult. Now that I am one, all I want to do is play with my animal crackers and not get weird looks from my parents.
Sometimes, I look at little kids playing with their parents and I start to wonder - what kind of adult will they turn out to be? Will they be shy? Kind? Rude? Will they get into drugs, alcohol, and crime? Will they be an excellent student? I saw the movie "The Parent Trap" the other day and I had trouble enjoying it for two reasons: first, it's not a very good movie, and second because Lindsay Lohan was such an adorable little girl who has turned into such a train-wreck of an adult. What happened?
There are some perks to being an adult - one of them being a drivers license. Instead of jumping through the huge puddles created by all this rain, I'm going to drive through them. Besides, high-speed puddle driving is better than wet, dirty clothes any day. I'm off to go make some trouble.
I guess I'm still a kid after all.
---
Friday, October 3, 2008
My love-hate relationship with politics and vodka.
Whoops readers, my bad... I accidentally entered the website of my German blog incorrectly in the last post. It is: http://das-leben-auf-deutsch.blogspot.com.
Nothing really new or interesting to report - I have a lot of midterms next week so this weekend is going to be zero fun. No fun at all. Good thing I crammed all of my fun into tonight! My friends decided to turn the Vice Presidential Debates into a drinking game. So American, I know. Every time Sarah Palin said "energy" or "Alaska" we took a drink. I stopped about 15 minutes in because I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up, but all of them kept going.. and now they're all wasted. Even though I stopped early but I'm still kind of tipsy - I hiked my shoes into my closet football-style and I'm thinking it might be time to go to bed. Now.
I don't watch the debates because I'm interested in politics, I watch them in spite of my non-interest in the topic. Unfortunately, this political exposure is challenging my resolution to not vote. Palin is an idiot who thinks she can relate to people because she's a hockey mom. Coming from Minnesota I should be one of the people most sympathetic to her claim, and I think she comes off as an inexperienced politician who doesn't know her head from her ass when it comes to major political issues. McCain isn't much better - mostly because he's about two breaths away from dying and will probably go senile at some point. Obama definitely has his faults, inexperience being one of them. As someone who wants to move abroad, worldwide opinion and confidence in America is important to me. At this point, I think Obama would be best suited to achieve this goal.
I still don't want to vote out of principle. Whoever has the gold makes the rules, and whichever candidate gets elected will be responsible in the end to their political donors and not to the people. Both our financial and political systems are broken and I don't think either of the candidates is up to the task of fixing them.
p.s. I miss Munich.
p.p.s. I need to go to sleep now-ish before I start writing things I shouldn't. Ah yes, the old "I want to say something but I won't, and if you want to know just ask." Irritating, I know. Deal with it.
Happy Thursday to all, and to all a good night.
---
Nothing really new or interesting to report - I have a lot of midterms next week so this weekend is going to be zero fun. No fun at all. Good thing I crammed all of my fun into tonight! My friends decided to turn the Vice Presidential Debates into a drinking game. So American, I know. Every time Sarah Palin said "energy" or "Alaska" we took a drink. I stopped about 15 minutes in because I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up, but all of them kept going.. and now they're all wasted. Even though I stopped early but I'm still kind of tipsy - I hiked my shoes into my closet football-style and I'm thinking it might be time to go to bed. Now.
I don't watch the debates because I'm interested in politics, I watch them in spite of my non-interest in the topic. Unfortunately, this political exposure is challenging my resolution to not vote. Palin is an idiot who thinks she can relate to people because she's a hockey mom. Coming from Minnesota I should be one of the people most sympathetic to her claim, and I think she comes off as an inexperienced politician who doesn't know her head from her ass when it comes to major political issues. McCain isn't much better - mostly because he's about two breaths away from dying and will probably go senile at some point. Obama definitely has his faults, inexperience being one of them. As someone who wants to move abroad, worldwide opinion and confidence in America is important to me. At this point, I think Obama would be best suited to achieve this goal.
I still don't want to vote out of principle. Whoever has the gold makes the rules, and whichever candidate gets elected will be responsible in the end to their political donors and not to the people. Both our financial and political systems are broken and I don't think either of the candidates is up to the task of fixing them.
p.s. I miss Munich.
p.p.s. I need to go to sleep now-ish before I start writing things I shouldn't. Ah yes, the old "I want to say something but I won't, and if you want to know just ask." Irritating, I know. Deal with it.
Happy Thursday to all, and to all a good night.
---
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Life is better auf deutsch.
I hate writers block. It seriously sucks.
Thankfully, it seems that I only get writers block in one language at a time. So I'm going to use this space to shamlessly advertise for my new blog. It's in German. It kind of rocks. (http://das-leben-auf-detusch.blogspot.com)
Okay well it might not actually rock that much because my vocab is a little limited. Oh well, the only way it's going to get better is to practice, right? I just hope someone corrects me if I repeatedly make some embarrassing mistake (like using the word "Sitzung" for two months without anyone correcting me. Seriously. That must have been realllyyy funny for all of you.)
Now all I have to do is figure out how to make umlauts on my computer. I can do it, but it takes me forever...
Büt I löve thöse weird little letters, sö I dö it änywäy.
I'm ä nerd.
---
Thankfully, it seems that I only get writers block in one language at a time. So I'm going to use this space to shamlessly advertise for my new blog. It's in German. It kind of rocks. (http://das-leben-auf-detusch.blogspot.com)
Okay well it might not actually rock that much because my vocab is a little limited. Oh well, the only way it's going to get better is to practice, right? I just hope someone corrects me if I repeatedly make some embarrassing mistake (like using the word "Sitzung" for two months without anyone correcting me. Seriously. That must have been realllyyy funny for all of you.)
Now all I have to do is figure out how to make umlauts on my computer. I can do it, but it takes me forever...
Büt I löve thöse weird little letters, sö I dö it änywäy.
I'm ä nerd.
---
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
I am redhead... hear me roar.
I have never been good at keeping my mouth shut, and yesterday I found out why.
I had to go through three x-ray bag checks at the airport yesterday just to get from the front door of the Munich airport to my gate. On top of that, I had my passport and boarding card checked five separate times. Five times. That's a bit excessive. I sighed and asked the airport employee why I had to do this yet again. He looked down at my passport, laughed, and replied sarcastically, "It is for your Homeland Security, ma'am." He asked me this insane list of questions - who packed your bags, do you own the items in your bags, etc. I really wanted to reply, "Well... I dunno. Some tall guy with a turban put some stuff in my bag earlier, and now it's much heavier and there's this... ticking noise... coming from it. I think it's okay though.. the sound is being muffled by these big bags of white powder that I'm supposed to take on board."
Ah yes, maturity. A slow, painful process where you learn to bite your tongue and realize that five seconds of fun isn't worth two days in a German detention center. I got my subtle revenge - even after all of the bag checks, the security guards never confiscated the two lighters in my carry on luggage. One small victory for Liz, one large victory for frustrated passengers everywhere.
My dad called me yesterday to give me an interesting piece of news; scientists have recently concluded that red-haired people are descendant from neanderthals (http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2003975496_neanderthal26.html) Through forensic discoveries, scientists have learned that neanderthals had similar mechanisms for producing speech and they also figured out what neanderthals looked like: they had red hair and pale skin.
"AHA!" my dad told me. "That's why you have such a temper!" The mystery is solved. I guess I'm still a caveman.
....think I can get in on the Geico commercials??
---
I had to go through three x-ray bag checks at the airport yesterday just to get from the front door of the Munich airport to my gate. On top of that, I had my passport and boarding card checked five separate times. Five times. That's a bit excessive. I sighed and asked the airport employee why I had to do this yet again. He looked down at my passport, laughed, and replied sarcastically, "It is for your Homeland Security, ma'am." He asked me this insane list of questions - who packed your bags, do you own the items in your bags, etc. I really wanted to reply, "Well... I dunno. Some tall guy with a turban put some stuff in my bag earlier, and now it's much heavier and there's this... ticking noise... coming from it. I think it's okay though.. the sound is being muffled by these big bags of white powder that I'm supposed to take on board."
Ah yes, maturity. A slow, painful process where you learn to bite your tongue and realize that five seconds of fun isn't worth two days in a German detention center. I got my subtle revenge - even after all of the bag checks, the security guards never confiscated the two lighters in my carry on luggage. One small victory for Liz, one large victory for frustrated passengers everywhere.
My dad called me yesterday to give me an interesting piece of news; scientists have recently concluded that red-haired people are descendant from neanderthals (http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2003975496_neanderthal26.html) Through forensic discoveries, scientists have learned that neanderthals had similar mechanisms for producing speech and they also figured out what neanderthals looked like: they had red hair and pale skin.
"AHA!" my dad told me. "That's why you have such a temper!" The mystery is solved. I guess I'm still a caveman.
....think I can get in on the Geico commercials??
---
Important Lessons
This weekend: Munich, Oktoberfest, dirndl-wearing fun.
It was okay.
I think most of it was my fault - I picked a bad weekend to go to Munich. Half of the people I wanted to see were out of town and the other half either didn't get my SMS texts or just didn't respond. I don't know what happened but I ended up spending most of the weekend in the apartment studying for my accounting test. Sweet. I flew a total of 19 hours and 8,200 miles to spend about five hours with friends.
You know what? It was worth it... because I came to realize that a bad weekend in Munich is still better than a good weekend in Philly.
Okay okay, I should explain:
Friday night- got to Munich, got settled in the apartment, went for a long walk around the Altstadt. I met two English guys by the Frauenkirche who asked me two questions "Well aren't you lovely! What's your name? Where are you from?" I replied, "Liz, I'm from the US." Then one of them kissed me. Then I slapped a guy for the first time in my life. After that, it was time to go home.
Saturday - I learned a new word, "Scheißekalt." It means "shit-cold" or "fucking freezing." It was cold. I was supposed to meet up with Steffi, Claas, and Thomas for drinks.. but then Steffi got a migraine and I have no clue what happened to Thomas. I ended up watching some German TV show about sex (complete with animated, smiling sperm) and studied some more accounting. Again, a rocking good time.
Sunday - Oktoberfest... pretty much like the Minnesota State Fair but bigger and with a lot of beer. It was good. I am pretty sure I made a drunken fool out of myself - spilled ketchup all over my dirndl, kept making everyone promise they would come to the US, did not walk in a straight line... etc. Apparently I smoke too much, drink too much, and am mean. I realize it was all a joke, but I was tipsy and got kind of pissed about it. About an hour later, I sobered up and got over it.
As of now: I quit smoking, I don't have any desire to drink ever again... and I'll work on being nice.
The best thing to come out of this weekend? It helped me separate out my motivations for wanting to move back. I had very high expectations for this weekend and it didn't really work out as well as I had hoped. I was worried that I would move back just for the people... I made some really good friends in Munich (even though they were busy, gone, sick, or just non-responsive for the whole weekend). So now I got to see what Munich would be like without my friends, when it's shit-balls cold and raining... and it's good. I like.
Now all I have to do is learn German.
---
It was okay.
I think most of it was my fault - I picked a bad weekend to go to Munich. Half of the people I wanted to see were out of town and the other half either didn't get my SMS texts or just didn't respond. I don't know what happened but I ended up spending most of the weekend in the apartment studying for my accounting test. Sweet. I flew a total of 19 hours and 8,200 miles to spend about five hours with friends.
You know what? It was worth it... because I came to realize that a bad weekend in Munich is still better than a good weekend in Philly.
Okay okay, I should explain:
Friday night- got to Munich, got settled in the apartment, went for a long walk around the Altstadt. I met two English guys by the Frauenkirche who asked me two questions "Well aren't you lovely! What's your name? Where are you from?" I replied, "Liz, I'm from the US." Then one of them kissed me. Then I slapped a guy for the first time in my life. After that, it was time to go home.
Saturday - I learned a new word, "Scheißekalt." It means "shit-cold" or "fucking freezing." It was cold. I was supposed to meet up with Steffi, Claas, and Thomas for drinks.. but then Steffi got a migraine and I have no clue what happened to Thomas. I ended up watching some German TV show about sex (complete with animated, smiling sperm) and studied some more accounting. Again, a rocking good time.
Sunday - Oktoberfest... pretty much like the Minnesota State Fair but bigger and with a lot of beer. It was good. I am pretty sure I made a drunken fool out of myself - spilled ketchup all over my dirndl, kept making everyone promise they would come to the US, did not walk in a straight line... etc. Apparently I smoke too much, drink too much, and am mean. I realize it was all a joke, but I was tipsy and got kind of pissed about it. About an hour later, I sobered up and got over it.
As of now: I quit smoking, I don't have any desire to drink ever again... and I'll work on being nice.
The best thing to come out of this weekend? It helped me separate out my motivations for wanting to move back. I had very high expectations for this weekend and it didn't really work out as well as I had hoped. I was worried that I would move back just for the people... I made some really good friends in Munich (even though they were busy, gone, sick, or just non-responsive for the whole weekend). So now I got to see what Munich would be like without my friends, when it's shit-balls cold and raining... and it's good. I like.
Now all I have to do is learn German.
---
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The pursuit of happiness
I saw an interesting poster in the study lounge at Huntsman today. It said "Sleep. Ask us why."
I barely gave this poster a second glance. It is 10pm on a Monday night and I'm one of the many hundred overtired kids at this school who is still working. I plan to be working for the next several hours, in fact. Tomorrow morning, I'm getting up at 7am to finish my work. Work, shower, class, eat, work, repeat. Oh yeah... sleep. If I have time, I'll consider it.
When I left for college, my dad gave me a list of what my priorities should be:
1. Study
2. Friends
3. Flirt
4. Eat and sleep as needed.
Sleep is a distant fourth. What bothers me the most is that this is not a trend that is solely for America's college students. It is our culture, period. Past the age of ten it is a luxury to get a full eight hours of sleep. Then college, then the real world where, if you're lucky, you'll score one of the prestigious jobs on Wall Street where you sell your soul for 100 hour workweeks and a big fat paycheck. It's not just sleep you sacrifice at this point, it's everything: family, friends, vacation. "Free time" still involves compulsively checking your blackberry for new emails about market movements.
Ironically, it was my many hours of homework that led me to ponder the message on this poster. In particular, an article titled "Travel and Free Time" that I'm reading for German class. It describes how Americans make more money but travel less because our culture is one that values working above everything else. It goes on to ask the question - is the "slow" life a better life? Do we work too much, eat too quickly, and not spend enough time just doing nothing? And if we do live in this "fast" life, is that better? "Work will set you free" seems to be the principle our society abides by. It's not a new idea, but it's not a good one either.
Someone wise suggested that I should decide where I want to work by looking at two things: where am I going to be more successful and where I am happiest. These two things happen in two different places. I am pretty sure I'll be more successful if I stay in the US, meaning I'll make more money. But I'll be happier somewhere else. I guess it's a pretty easy decision to make.
Anyway, the point of this is: I have to get back to work. While I may not live the fast life later, I certainly live in it now... and I just spent 45 minutes writing something that yields me no return (in normal English: I don't get a good grade or job offer based on my blog, unfortunately.)
---
I barely gave this poster a second glance. It is 10pm on a Monday night and I'm one of the many hundred overtired kids at this school who is still working. I plan to be working for the next several hours, in fact. Tomorrow morning, I'm getting up at 7am to finish my work. Work, shower, class, eat, work, repeat. Oh yeah... sleep. If I have time, I'll consider it.
When I left for college, my dad gave me a list of what my priorities should be:
1. Study
2. Friends
3. Flirt
4. Eat and sleep as needed.
Sleep is a distant fourth. What bothers me the most is that this is not a trend that is solely for America's college students. It is our culture, period. Past the age of ten it is a luxury to get a full eight hours of sleep. Then college, then the real world where, if you're lucky, you'll score one of the prestigious jobs on Wall Street where you sell your soul for 100 hour workweeks and a big fat paycheck. It's not just sleep you sacrifice at this point, it's everything: family, friends, vacation. "Free time" still involves compulsively checking your blackberry for new emails about market movements.
Ironically, it was my many hours of homework that led me to ponder the message on this poster. In particular, an article titled "Travel and Free Time" that I'm reading for German class. It describes how Americans make more money but travel less because our culture is one that values working above everything else. It goes on to ask the question - is the "slow" life a better life? Do we work too much, eat too quickly, and not spend enough time just doing nothing? And if we do live in this "fast" life, is that better? "Work will set you free" seems to be the principle our society abides by. It's not a new idea, but it's not a good one either.
Someone wise suggested that I should decide where I want to work by looking at two things: where am I going to be more successful and where I am happiest. These two things happen in two different places. I am pretty sure I'll be more successful if I stay in the US, meaning I'll make more money. But I'll be happier somewhere else. I guess it's a pretty easy decision to make.
Anyway, the point of this is: I have to get back to work. While I may not live the fast life later, I certainly live in it now... and I just spent 45 minutes writing something that yields me no return (in normal English: I don't get a good grade or job offer based on my blog, unfortunately.)
---
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Sex. It's what's for dinner.
My life just keeps getting weirder.
It was a rainy Monday afternoon and I was sitting in a basement classroom, utterly stunned. I am trying to be a model student this semester - perfect class attendance, sitting in the front row with my reading and color-coded notes laying open in front of me, etc. This Monday, my other classmates were laughing while my mouth was open in shock. "Rat sex??"
Welcome to Psychology 001- Introduction to Psychology. On the first day of class my professor brought in a real human brain from some unfortunate soul who died in the 1950's. Note - jars full of brains and preservative fluids do not mix with clumsy professors. There was one rather frightening moment when he tripped over a cable and almost dropped the brain, causing those in the front row (such as myself) to recoil in horror. But this particular rainy Monday afternoon was our second lecture and we had progressed from human brains to... rat sex.
Our reading assignment was an introduction to the brain and nervous system, which is why those of us who actually did the reading were quite surprised when we came to lecture and watched videos of rats having sex. It gets better. An hour later we watched slow-motion rat sex. Apparently the full-speed version skipped over the entertaining highlights such as the difference between an "intromission encounter" and an "ejaculatory encounter." Our professor, who has done many experiments involving rat sex, went into gross detail about how if you stroke a female rat's back just right, she'll arch her back for you and give you access to her... uh... "girly-goodies".... as if you were a male rat. "Imagine that!" he exclaimed in his excitement.
I sat there in the front row with my neat notes about neurotransmitters and thought, "Is this some weird fetish of his? Is this an area we need to devote some time to...?" For example, some professors (and most professors in the finance department) find it difficult to mask their political views from the classroom. Some teachers will even go on at length about how stupid certain politicians are in forming their economic policy. The class is polite and nods along, indulging the professor for a few minutes on whatever rant they've started.
I guess Professor Rozin's view on the world is... rat sex. I have to admit, it was the strangest hour and a half lecture I've ever had. It had nothing to do with the reading or our current topic, it was just "Hi, welcome to the second day of class. Today, we'll be watching rat porn." It got even more awkward as he started comparing the mating habits of rats to those of humans. I understand that we're supposed to be getting a well-rounded education, but this is a little too well-rounded for me.
Now, when people ask me "How's school? How are your classes?" I smile to myself and respond, "I'm learning something new every day."
---
It was a rainy Monday afternoon and I was sitting in a basement classroom, utterly stunned. I am trying to be a model student this semester - perfect class attendance, sitting in the front row with my reading and color-coded notes laying open in front of me, etc. This Monday, my other classmates were laughing while my mouth was open in shock. "Rat sex??"
Welcome to Psychology 001- Introduction to Psychology. On the first day of class my professor brought in a real human brain from some unfortunate soul who died in the 1950's. Note - jars full of brains and preservative fluids do not mix with clumsy professors. There was one rather frightening moment when he tripped over a cable and almost dropped the brain, causing those in the front row (such as myself) to recoil in horror. But this particular rainy Monday afternoon was our second lecture and we had progressed from human brains to... rat sex.
Our reading assignment was an introduction to the brain and nervous system, which is why those of us who actually did the reading were quite surprised when we came to lecture and watched videos of rats having sex. It gets better. An hour later we watched slow-motion rat sex. Apparently the full-speed version skipped over the entertaining highlights such as the difference between an "intromission encounter" and an "ejaculatory encounter." Our professor, who has done many experiments involving rat sex, went into gross detail about how if you stroke a female rat's back just right, she'll arch her back for you and give you access to her... uh... "girly-goodies".... as if you were a male rat. "Imagine that!" he exclaimed in his excitement.
I sat there in the front row with my neat notes about neurotransmitters and thought, "Is this some weird fetish of his? Is this an area we need to devote some time to...?" For example, some professors (and most professors in the finance department) find it difficult to mask their political views from the classroom. Some teachers will even go on at length about how stupid certain politicians are in forming their economic policy. The class is polite and nods along, indulging the professor for a few minutes on whatever rant they've started.
I guess Professor Rozin's view on the world is... rat sex. I have to admit, it was the strangest hour and a half lecture I've ever had. It had nothing to do with the reading or our current topic, it was just "Hi, welcome to the second day of class. Today, we'll be watching rat porn." It got even more awkward as he started comparing the mating habits of rats to those of humans. I understand that we're supposed to be getting a well-rounded education, but this is a little too well-rounded for me.
Now, when people ask me "How's school? How are your classes?" I smile to myself and respond, "I'm learning something new every day."
---
Friday, September 5, 2008
I promise I'm smart... most of the time.
It's 2am and even though I'm unbelievably tired I don't want to go to bed.
My sister has a theory: people who are ridiculously smart in a particular area have to be equally as stupid in another. It's the only way to return to balance. I'm not trying to be a cocky asshole, but standardized tests and college grades have indicated that I am good with economics, finance, history, english, etc. Having a number of academic strengths means that according to my sister, my "stupid" area should also be quite large. Unfortunately, it is. I am extremely gullible. I will believe almost anything. Oh, and I am horrible with directions. Right? Left? North? Don't bother.
Back to gullibility for a minute. I have come to the conclusion over the years that my dad enjoys tormenting me. Not physical violence, of course, but he amuses himself by taking advantage of my extreme stupidity (gullibility). He knows I'll believe almost any story he tells me. For the first ten years of my life I was convinced that my dad played harmonica with Elvis. He told me long stories about Graceland, life on tour, and their songs. Later, when I came home with a shiny new hockey trophy, he explained that they didn't have that sort of technology when he was younger. In fact, they didn't even have metal back then. I must be a very lucky kid to have a shiny trophy - when he was younger they had to carve trophies out of stone. You see, it was a lot of work to make stone trophies. Eventually they switched to metal. Now kids like me, lucky kids like me, could put a trophy on their shelf. I believed him. I actually believed that they had stone trophies.
The saddest part? I was fifteen. I am so ashamed.
My brainpower does not protect me from falling for fantastic stories. By now I should know better than to read scary books before bedtime. In Munich, I read a spy novel about the KGB and couldn't sleep for three nights. I thought a Russian thug was going to break down my door and haul me away to some basement in Moscow to be interrogated about international weapons trade. Tonight, I thought I would take a break from my extremely dull Accounting homework (reading about cost objects...fascinating) and start a new novel. It's called "The Historian."
That was a mistake. It's a book about vampires. Apparently, Dracula still lives somewhere in Turkey and anybody who digs too deep into the history of this time period gets a bite on the neck and joins the un-dead.
I realize this tendency to believe everything is not a good thing. I used to think it wasn't so bad: I only believe stories from people I trust, and only about topics that I know nothing about. If some stranger told me about stone trophies or playing with Elvis I would have laughed at them. I want to think that the people I love wouldn't deceive me for their own amusement. False. I was once confused about how the weatherman got moving world maps on TV every night. My sister, who was eight years old and thought she knew everything, explained that the weatherman stands on the top of the world, obviously. She's 23 and still thinks she knows everything, so I guess that wasn't just a phase. Anyway, I believed that story for a few years and thought being a weatherman must be the coolest job EVER.
I believed these explanations from my family. But why books? I don't believe that Harry Potter and the wizarding world are real. I only believe the scary stuff, apparently. I guess "believe" is the wrong word to use. I don't actually think that vampires exist, or that KGB spies are going to drag me off in the middle of the night. For some reason scary fiction just inspires this irrational fear that is hard to get rid of.
In Munich, I put my KGB book in the freezer before I went to sleep. I have no freezer in my dorm room... I guess my vampire book is sleeping in the hallway tonight.
Sweet dreams.
---
My sister has a theory: people who are ridiculously smart in a particular area have to be equally as stupid in another. It's the only way to return to balance. I'm not trying to be a cocky asshole, but standardized tests and college grades have indicated that I am good with economics, finance, history, english, etc. Having a number of academic strengths means that according to my sister, my "stupid" area should also be quite large. Unfortunately, it is. I am extremely gullible. I will believe almost anything. Oh, and I am horrible with directions. Right? Left? North? Don't bother.
Back to gullibility for a minute. I have come to the conclusion over the years that my dad enjoys tormenting me. Not physical violence, of course, but he amuses himself by taking advantage of my extreme stupidity (gullibility). He knows I'll believe almost any story he tells me. For the first ten years of my life I was convinced that my dad played harmonica with Elvis. He told me long stories about Graceland, life on tour, and their songs. Later, when I came home with a shiny new hockey trophy, he explained that they didn't have that sort of technology when he was younger. In fact, they didn't even have metal back then. I must be a very lucky kid to have a shiny trophy - when he was younger they had to carve trophies out of stone. You see, it was a lot of work to make stone trophies. Eventually they switched to metal. Now kids like me, lucky kids like me, could put a trophy on their shelf. I believed him. I actually believed that they had stone trophies.
The saddest part? I was fifteen. I am so ashamed.
My brainpower does not protect me from falling for fantastic stories. By now I should know better than to read scary books before bedtime. In Munich, I read a spy novel about the KGB and couldn't sleep for three nights. I thought a Russian thug was going to break down my door and haul me away to some basement in Moscow to be interrogated about international weapons trade. Tonight, I thought I would take a break from my extremely dull Accounting homework (reading about cost objects...fascinating) and start a new novel. It's called "The Historian."
That was a mistake. It's a book about vampires. Apparently, Dracula still lives somewhere in Turkey and anybody who digs too deep into the history of this time period gets a bite on the neck and joins the un-dead.
I realize this tendency to believe everything is not a good thing. I used to think it wasn't so bad: I only believe stories from people I trust, and only about topics that I know nothing about. If some stranger told me about stone trophies or playing with Elvis I would have laughed at them. I want to think that the people I love wouldn't deceive me for their own amusement. False. I was once confused about how the weatherman got moving world maps on TV every night. My sister, who was eight years old and thought she knew everything, explained that the weatherman stands on the top of the world, obviously. She's 23 and still thinks she knows everything, so I guess that wasn't just a phase. Anyway, I believed that story for a few years and thought being a weatherman must be the coolest job EVER.
I believed these explanations from my family. But why books? I don't believe that Harry Potter and the wizarding world are real. I only believe the scary stuff, apparently. I guess "believe" is the wrong word to use. I don't actually think that vampires exist, or that KGB spies are going to drag me off in the middle of the night. For some reason scary fiction just inspires this irrational fear that is hard to get rid of.
In Munich, I put my KGB book in the freezer before I went to sleep. I have no freezer in my dorm room... I guess my vampire book is sleeping in the hallway tonight.
Sweet dreams.
---
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Old dogs can't learn new tricks.
Ah, the first day of school. New textbooks, fresh notebooks, and sharpened pencils. I love the first day of school.
Well... I loved the first day of school until I got yelled at in my Marketing class today. Twice. Let me paint you a little picture. My professor is 62 years old, but he looks like he's 100. He has been teaching his course since 1960 and I don't think his marketing principles have changed since then. He tried to get on board with this new thing, "internet marketing," but his company failed. His has been working on his book, "Persuasive Advertising" for 15 years and it hasn't taken into account any of the market or demographic changes that have occurred in that time period. My Marketing class - Principles of Advertising - was one of the ones I was really looking forward to. I understand marketing. I am good at marketing. I thought I would have no problems with it... and I didn't. Well, I didn't have any problems until I suggested to my professor that his core beliefs on advertising were deeply misguided.
My suggestion - his principles of advertising are wrong - came after he asked us to analyze an old ad for Bose speakers. It was an entire page of text, a wall of words that forced your brain into a mind-numbing stupor. Three columns wide, it touted the reputation of Bose's speakers and there was a little picture of a radio in the middle of it. Everyone in the class thought it was horrible. Our assignment was to rate how effective it was, and our class didn't think too highly of it. On average, we scored it a 2 on a scale of 1 - 5 (1 being the worst.) He then proceeded to explain to us that it fulfilled nearly every one of his 250 principles of advertising, all of which we will be covering this semester, and it was one of the best ads ever created. Our jaws dropped. We kept waiting for him to say "just kidding!" but that moment never came. There was just a stony silence.
One daring classmate said he thought there was too much information on it. Our professor answered that having a lot of text in an ad was one of his unbreakable principles of advertising. The consumer can never have too much information. Words are good. Images are bad. The more you write, the better the ad. I agree that having information in an advertisement is good, but I disagree that having a ton of text is the best thing you can put in an ad. If nobody stops to read the text then it won't matter what you write there. Unfortunately, I only got the chance to voice half of what I had to say:
Idiot Professor: "Having a long copy, or a bunch of text, is one of our principles this semester. It's unbreakable. It is the most important thing you can include in an advertisement."
Me: "I disagree, because..."
Idiot Professor: (rudely interrupts as I'm about to explain) "You disagree? Well Ms. Schneider, if you have studies to support your opinions, then I would love to see them. This is not a class based on opinions. This is a class based on studies. Don't even listen to my opinions. Your analysis should be solely based on whether or not advertisements comply with our 250 principles."
I wanted to point out to him that in a study setting the participants would be forced to actually read the ad. My opinion was not that the text wasn't persuasive, but that nobody would take the time to read it if they were flipping through a magazine. I also wanted to tell him that while he said we shouldn't listen to his opinion, he wrote the 250 principles. If we can only base our analysis of advertisements on these principles, and he wrote them, then we basically just have to do what he wants. Whatever happened to lively classroom discussion? What happened to friendly debates? Most professors welcome the opinions of their students. Apparently this is not part of the teaching philosophy of Professor J. Scott Armstrong. We don't even know his first name. He's just a letter. "J." I want to give him the benefit of the doubt - he's old, the field has changed, he is behind the times... but this is Wharton. He should be ahead of the times, not behind them.
My dad wants me to stick with the class, even though "J" took the time to yell at me a second time during class (this time he told me my idea for his book cover was "juvenile." You should have seen his idea for his book cover. It perfectly followed his 250 principles... and looked like shit.) Dad thinks this is a good learning opportunity for the real world - some of my future managers may have their heads shoved up their asses too. I should keep the class, hold my temper, and do what "J" wants.
I dropped the class.
---
Well... I loved the first day of school until I got yelled at in my Marketing class today. Twice. Let me paint you a little picture. My professor is 62 years old, but he looks like he's 100. He has been teaching his course since 1960 and I don't think his marketing principles have changed since then. He tried to get on board with this new thing, "internet marketing," but his company failed. His has been working on his book, "Persuasive Advertising" for 15 years and it hasn't taken into account any of the market or demographic changes that have occurred in that time period. My Marketing class - Principles of Advertising - was one of the ones I was really looking forward to. I understand marketing. I am good at marketing. I thought I would have no problems with it... and I didn't. Well, I didn't have any problems until I suggested to my professor that his core beliefs on advertising were deeply misguided.
My suggestion - his principles of advertising are wrong - came after he asked us to analyze an old ad for Bose speakers. It was an entire page of text, a wall of words that forced your brain into a mind-numbing stupor. Three columns wide, it touted the reputation of Bose's speakers and there was a little picture of a radio in the middle of it. Everyone in the class thought it was horrible. Our assignment was to rate how effective it was, and our class didn't think too highly of it. On average, we scored it a 2 on a scale of 1 - 5 (1 being the worst.) He then proceeded to explain to us that it fulfilled nearly every one of his 250 principles of advertising, all of which we will be covering this semester, and it was one of the best ads ever created. Our jaws dropped. We kept waiting for him to say "just kidding!" but that moment never came. There was just a stony silence.
One daring classmate said he thought there was too much information on it. Our professor answered that having a lot of text in an ad was one of his unbreakable principles of advertising. The consumer can never have too much information. Words are good. Images are bad. The more you write, the better the ad. I agree that having information in an advertisement is good, but I disagree that having a ton of text is the best thing you can put in an ad. If nobody stops to read the text then it won't matter what you write there. Unfortunately, I only got the chance to voice half of what I had to say:
Idiot Professor: "Having a long copy, or a bunch of text, is one of our principles this semester. It's unbreakable. It is the most important thing you can include in an advertisement."
Me: "I disagree, because..."
Idiot Professor: (rudely interrupts as I'm about to explain) "You disagree? Well Ms. Schneider, if you have studies to support your opinions, then I would love to see them. This is not a class based on opinions. This is a class based on studies. Don't even listen to my opinions. Your analysis should be solely based on whether or not advertisements comply with our 250 principles."
I wanted to point out to him that in a study setting the participants would be forced to actually read the ad. My opinion was not that the text wasn't persuasive, but that nobody would take the time to read it if they were flipping through a magazine. I also wanted to tell him that while he said we shouldn't listen to his opinion, he wrote the 250 principles. If we can only base our analysis of advertisements on these principles, and he wrote them, then we basically just have to do what he wants. Whatever happened to lively classroom discussion? What happened to friendly debates? Most professors welcome the opinions of their students. Apparently this is not part of the teaching philosophy of Professor J. Scott Armstrong. We don't even know his first name. He's just a letter. "J." I want to give him the benefit of the doubt - he's old, the field has changed, he is behind the times... but this is Wharton. He should be ahead of the times, not behind them.
My dad wants me to stick with the class, even though "J" took the time to yell at me a second time during class (this time he told me my idea for his book cover was "juvenile." You should have seen his idea for his book cover. It perfectly followed his 250 principles... and looked like shit.) Dad thinks this is a good learning opportunity for the real world - some of my future managers may have their heads shoved up their asses too. I should keep the class, hold my temper, and do what "J" wants.
I dropped the class.
---
Monday, September 1, 2008
The city that kills you back.
Welcome to "The City of Brotherly Love." I left the airport in Philadelphia and took a cab to campus, amusing myself by reading the billboards that claim Philly is "The city that loves you back."
In reality, Philadelphia is more likely to kill you back than love you back. Philly is a city ruled by contradictions. This is the place where the first Continental Congress took place and where the rules and laws of a new nation were debated and decided. Since 1776, law and order has been replaced with crime. This city is far from the city of brotherly love - Philly is divided by racial tensions, class tensions, and whose streets are ruled either by drug dealers or mafia members. The murder rate climbs higher every year, second only to New Orleans (a city ruled by anarchy and crime lords.) Kill-adlephia is, statistically speaking, a more dangerous place to live than New York City, Las Angeles, or Chicago.
As I've written before, every city has two sides - the tourist side and the living side. I'm sure tourists to Philadelphia are pleased with the Old City's charm, the historical attractions, the great restaurants, etc. But if they walked ten blocks away from the tourist center they would realize what this city is really like. Poor city planning put an Ivy League University in the middle of a really bad neighborhood, and the racial tensions between the locals and the university students is an explosive combination.
Welcome home - or at least home for the next nine months. Why stay here? Wharton. The education and it's payoffs are worth encountering cracked-out homeless people daily and the occasional drug dealer. Only 20 more months at this school and then I'm out of here. My mom is thoroughly irritated with my attitude towards coming back to school; she insists I need to look on the sunny side of life. I wrote about this often when I was in Munich - even when things are going poorly, you can always choose to be happy. Optimism. Das Leben ist gut. I have since deleted those posts, because they were ridiculous sounding and trite. I love school - I'm a nerd, I know - but not this school in this city.
Das Leben ist noch gut, aber schlechter. However, I realize that pessimists aren't exactly fun to hang out with, so I'll try to look more on the sunny side of life... I just hope I don't get a sunburn.
---
In reality, Philadelphia is more likely to kill you back than love you back. Philly is a city ruled by contradictions. This is the place where the first Continental Congress took place and where the rules and laws of a new nation were debated and decided. Since 1776, law and order has been replaced with crime. This city is far from the city of brotherly love - Philly is divided by racial tensions, class tensions, and whose streets are ruled either by drug dealers or mafia members. The murder rate climbs higher every year, second only to New Orleans (a city ruled by anarchy and crime lords.) Kill-adlephia is, statistically speaking, a more dangerous place to live than New York City, Las Angeles, or Chicago.
As I've written before, every city has two sides - the tourist side and the living side. I'm sure tourists to Philadelphia are pleased with the Old City's charm, the historical attractions, the great restaurants, etc. But if they walked ten blocks away from the tourist center they would realize what this city is really like. Poor city planning put an Ivy League University in the middle of a really bad neighborhood, and the racial tensions between the locals and the university students is an explosive combination.
Welcome home - or at least home for the next nine months. Why stay here? Wharton. The education and it's payoffs are worth encountering cracked-out homeless people daily and the occasional drug dealer. Only 20 more months at this school and then I'm out of here. My mom is thoroughly irritated with my attitude towards coming back to school; she insists I need to look on the sunny side of life. I wrote about this often when I was in Munich - even when things are going poorly, you can always choose to be happy. Optimism. Das Leben ist gut. I have since deleted those posts, because they were ridiculous sounding and trite. I love school - I'm a nerd, I know - but not this school in this city.
Das Leben ist noch gut, aber schlechter. However, I realize that pessimists aren't exactly fun to hang out with, so I'll try to look more on the sunny side of life... I just hope I don't get a sunburn.
---
Friday, August 29, 2008
The Modern Day Nomad.
"Nomad" - a person who has no fixed residence but moves from place to place (usually seasonally) and within a defined territory. I think I qualify for this description. Over the last year and a half I have not lived in one place for longer than three months. Tomorrow marks my seventh move in eighteen months - back to Philadelphia, back to school, back to the dorms.
Penn Housing must have a cruel sense of humor. I applied for on-campus housing, looking for a roommate-free safe pace to live. They assigned me a spot in the freshman dorms. A quick snapshot of my freshman year housing situation: it was common to wake up on a Saturday or Sunday morning to find the hallway covered in technicolor vomit that made interesting splatter patterns up the walls. It smelled like a combination of vomit, fruity bar drinks, McDonalds - a common drunk food of choice for Penn students, and Febreeze (to try and cover up the stench.) I am not looking forward to it. Honestly though, in Philadelphia it's a choice between living on-campus with alcohol-intolerant freshmen or living off-campus and walking past drug dealers on your way home at night. I'll choose the dorms.
My frequent moves have made me a minimalist of sorts. My life fits neatly into two suitcases that I have carried with me halfway across the world and back. Unfortunately not all of my German souvenirs will be accompanying me to school; the wooden swords my sister and I bought at Neuschwanstein are rather large and won't in my luggage, which is a shame because they're fun. The scarf I bought at the first soccer game is coming with me though. I spent almost an hour in line to buy it so I am determined to wear it as much as possible.
One downside of the nomadic lifestyle is that I constantly feel like I am camping. I used to feel like I was camping out at school, just waiting it out until I could return home. Now, everywhere feels like camping - I'm just waiting out the next year and a half until I can go back to Germany. Three weeks from tomorrow I go back to Munich for Oktoberfest, and there are tentative visits planned for winter break and spring break. We'll see how Oktoberfest goes and take it from there. Mal sehen.
Tomorrow- another move, another culture. The USA is technically one country, but the Midwest, south, west coast, and east coast have their own distinct cultures that don't necessarily mix with one another. It's interesting - stay tuned.
---
Penn Housing must have a cruel sense of humor. I applied for on-campus housing, looking for a roommate-free safe pace to live. They assigned me a spot in the freshman dorms. A quick snapshot of my freshman year housing situation: it was common to wake up on a Saturday or Sunday morning to find the hallway covered in technicolor vomit that made interesting splatter patterns up the walls. It smelled like a combination of vomit, fruity bar drinks, McDonalds - a common drunk food of choice for Penn students, and Febreeze (to try and cover up the stench.) I am not looking forward to it. Honestly though, in Philadelphia it's a choice between living on-campus with alcohol-intolerant freshmen or living off-campus and walking past drug dealers on your way home at night. I'll choose the dorms.
My frequent moves have made me a minimalist of sorts. My life fits neatly into two suitcases that I have carried with me halfway across the world and back. Unfortunately not all of my German souvenirs will be accompanying me to school; the wooden swords my sister and I bought at Neuschwanstein are rather large and won't in my luggage, which is a shame because they're fun. The scarf I bought at the first soccer game is coming with me though. I spent almost an hour in line to buy it so I am determined to wear it as much as possible.
One downside of the nomadic lifestyle is that I constantly feel like I am camping. I used to feel like I was camping out at school, just waiting it out until I could return home. Now, everywhere feels like camping - I'm just waiting out the next year and a half until I can go back to Germany. Three weeks from tomorrow I go back to Munich for Oktoberfest, and there are tentative visits planned for winter break and spring break. We'll see how Oktoberfest goes and take it from there. Mal sehen.
Tomorrow- another move, another culture. The USA is technically one country, but the Midwest, south, west coast, and east coast have their own distinct cultures that don't necessarily mix with one another. It's interesting - stay tuned.
---
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Timing is a bitch.
Wow. I just read that last post and it was... rough. I apologize. I blame the bad writing on jet lag and have since deleted it. I am betting a few of you were hoping I would stop writing this blog when I returned to the states; looks like you're shit out of luck because I plan to keep up with this whole blog thing for awhile. I plan on starting a blog in German as well once I figure out how to make umlauts on my computer. Fascinating, I know.
Well my pants have been traveling these last few days. What did I do on my last night in Munich? Watched a movie and packed. I was going to have a big glass of wine and watch my movie, but then I realized I still had a lot of packing to do and drinking alone is just sad. My flight back from Germany was stressful. I definitely felt the effects of 9/11 - America got attacked, so I got strip searched by a 300 pound lesbian at London Heathrow Airport. My hair kept beeping as I went through security so she took much pleasure in thoroughly patting me down... six times. I was uncomfortable. The ripple effect of that day can be seen everywhere. There are separate entrances in the Allianz arena in Munich for men and women because everybody gets searched before they can enter to watch the game. Airport security is ridiculous- my extensive pat-down almost made me miss my flight to Minnesota. I had to plead with the gate agent to let me board the flight because they closed the gate off already. The rest of the trip was alright. I only cried three and a half times on the plane ride home. They lost my baggage and I left my Bayern Munich flag on the plane, so that accounted for some of my tears. I dragged that flag halfway across the world and then left it on the plane. It was a frustrating day.
Back to Minnesota. I've been here for almost a week and am experiencing severe reverse culture shock. It's taking me forever to write this post because the American keyboards have all the keys in different places. Nobody smokes. I can't drink until November 17th. Driving under 100mph is absolutely no fun at all. I feel gross because I don't walk as much and am less active in general. Yesterday, I saw an advertisement that repeatedly stated, "America cares about the world's resources and is a leader in recycling." I almost died laughing. We are the land of SUVs and excessive waste. But I guess cultural hypocrisy makes some people sleep better at night.
Everything reminds me of Munich. I was asleep when our plane was touching down, and when I opened my eyes I thought, "Oh, Munich!" Wait no. Southern Minnesota. Looks the same, but is very different. I heard all of the current American music on the radio in Munich. I finally got my shit together and unpacked my suitcases today... I kept the most random souvenirs (Sound of Music Tour ticket, soccer game ticket, U-bahn map, etc.) and they make me smile. I miss it. I go back for Oktoberfest in exactly one month so I guess I can't get too upset about it all. It will be tons of fun, but it won't be the same.
I learned one big lesson while I was away: Timing is everything. Things in Munich were really great - until life got in the way. I have to come back to finish my education. Things in Minneapolis are also great, but it's different and it's starting to change. I grew up here, I have childhood friends here, etc. But it is starting to become more difficult to relate to some of the people that I used to share everything with. Too much has changed. Our lives have taken us in completely different directions. Some of my high school friends... if we were to meet each other today, I don't think we would speak to each other. I plan on going back to Munich after I graduate. But what if the timing is bad? My friends there could be married, not with the company, not in the country, or dead (although I hope not.) Maybe the company won't exist. If that is the case, is this a situation I still want to pursue? I need to separate out what is pulling me back towards Munich - the people or the place. My mom keeps telling me that time has a way of sorting things out. Maybe my friends from Munich don't feel as strongly about me and will quickly lose touch.
Who knows... only time will tell.
---
Well my pants have been traveling these last few days. What did I do on my last night in Munich? Watched a movie and packed. I was going to have a big glass of wine and watch my movie, but then I realized I still had a lot of packing to do and drinking alone is just sad. My flight back from Germany was stressful. I definitely felt the effects of 9/11 - America got attacked, so I got strip searched by a 300 pound lesbian at London Heathrow Airport. My hair kept beeping as I went through security so she took much pleasure in thoroughly patting me down... six times. I was uncomfortable. The ripple effect of that day can be seen everywhere. There are separate entrances in the Allianz arena in Munich for men and women because everybody gets searched before they can enter to watch the game. Airport security is ridiculous- my extensive pat-down almost made me miss my flight to Minnesota. I had to plead with the gate agent to let me board the flight because they closed the gate off already. The rest of the trip was alright. I only cried three and a half times on the plane ride home. They lost my baggage and I left my Bayern Munich flag on the plane, so that accounted for some of my tears. I dragged that flag halfway across the world and then left it on the plane. It was a frustrating day.
Back to Minnesota. I've been here for almost a week and am experiencing severe reverse culture shock. It's taking me forever to write this post because the American keyboards have all the keys in different places. Nobody smokes. I can't drink until November 17th. Driving under 100mph is absolutely no fun at all. I feel gross because I don't walk as much and am less active in general. Yesterday, I saw an advertisement that repeatedly stated, "America cares about the world's resources and is a leader in recycling." I almost died laughing. We are the land of SUVs and excessive waste. But I guess cultural hypocrisy makes some people sleep better at night.
Everything reminds me of Munich. I was asleep when our plane was touching down, and when I opened my eyes I thought, "Oh, Munich!" Wait no. Southern Minnesota. Looks the same, but is very different. I heard all of the current American music on the radio in Munich. I finally got my shit together and unpacked my suitcases today... I kept the most random souvenirs (Sound of Music Tour ticket, soccer game ticket, U-bahn map, etc.) and they make me smile. I miss it. I go back for Oktoberfest in exactly one month so I guess I can't get too upset about it all. It will be tons of fun, but it won't be the same.
I learned one big lesson while I was away: Timing is everything. Things in Munich were really great - until life got in the way. I have to come back to finish my education. Things in Minneapolis are also great, but it's different and it's starting to change. I grew up here, I have childhood friends here, etc. But it is starting to become more difficult to relate to some of the people that I used to share everything with. Too much has changed. Our lives have taken us in completely different directions. Some of my high school friends... if we were to meet each other today, I don't think we would speak to each other. I plan on going back to Munich after I graduate. But what if the timing is bad? My friends there could be married, not with the company, not in the country, or dead (although I hope not.) Maybe the company won't exist. If that is the case, is this a situation I still want to pursue? I need to separate out what is pulling me back towards Munich - the people or the place. My mom keeps telling me that time has a way of sorting things out. Maybe my friends from Munich don't feel as strongly about me and will quickly lose touch.
Who knows... only time will tell.
---
Monday, August 18, 2008
Danke... BITTE.
Wow. That's all I have to say about my last weekend in Munich. The fun started on Wednesday when Ali came to visit and didn't stop until around 3am on Sunday. I don't have any other way to organize this post except to break it down by each day... so here goes.
Wednesday- Ali came... we went out to a Mexican restaurant and then to a beer garden where we met these crazy old German men who played tricks on us the whole night. They told us the Seehaus was closed, the beer sucked, etc. Weird old German guys. But after a certain age I guess even the little things in life can be entertaining.
Thursday- dinner at this amazing Italian restaurant where I ran into my boss. When I say "ran into" I mean "he knew we were going to dinner there and wanted to see Ali." It was actually hilarious. Anyway, we had a good long dinner and then went to this bar with Peter and his friend Isabella. They had a bunch of German friends there so Ali and I hung out around the bar and met all sorts of interesting characters. There were the old, greasy Saudi Arabians who were dripping in oil money and looking for a pretty, young mistress to spoil. There were the young Germans, Christian and Erik, who were hammered (but very cute) and tried to convince us that they were secret spies and had to change identities. We got really confused so we just gave them nicknames - Blondie and Elvis. I was talking to Peter and some guy came up and started hitting on Ali in German... so I told him we were lesbians and to fuck off. Ali kissed me on the cheek to prove it.. but apparently we don't make very convincing lesbians (which in all honesty, I don't want to be a convincing lesbian, so that was fine with me.) We got home around 3 in the morning... all in all a good night.
Friday- public holiday, soccer game with Thomas, Marcus, and Nadine. When you think about wild things in Europe, two places come to mind: ridiculous European techno dance clubs and crazy soccer fans. I got to experience both this weekend. I figured I should join in the fun and get some sort of soccer t-shirt or something.... I stood in line at the gift shop for almost an hour before buying a scarf. Three people left the line, hands covering their mouths, because it was so crowded and hot that some people got sick. It was disgusting. Aside from the gift shop house of horrors, the game was amazing. It was the opening game of the season, so they had Paul Potts come and sing before it started...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1k08yxu57NA
Watch it. It gives me chills every time. Unfortunately, some of the crazy German soccer fans wouldn't shut up while he was singing so they kept having to turn his microphone volume up to be heard above the drunken cheers of "BAYERN!" My favorite moments of the game were when Munich scored. The announcer would say (in German, obviously, but whatever):
Announcer: Scoring for Bayern München, number 20.. Lukasss
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: PODOLSKI
Announcer: Lukassss
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: PODOLSKI
Announcer: LLUUKASSS
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: PODOOOLLLLSKI!!!
Announcer: Munich..?
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: TWO
Announcer: Hamburg..?
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: ZERO
Announcer: Thank you.
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: YOU'RE WELCOME.
My absolute favorite part was the end... the announcer would say "danke" and the drunk, capacity crowd at the Allianz Arena would scream "BITTE." I think I laughed for a solid five minutes straight. It was hilarious. After the game we went to an Irish pub where they played amazing American music and more drunk soccer fans gave me free beer at the bar. Awesome. I didn't end up going to sleep until around 5am, but it was an amazing night.
Saturday- Dear Christ this post is long. Okay Saturday was good... met up with Marcus and Nadine and we went to the Kuntspark... which looks just like Las Vegas. It's club, after club, after club... it's insane. Unfortunately, I thought we were just going to a bar so I was NOT dressed for going clubbing. The night before, Marcus joked that apparently when you say the words "American intern" everybody thinks of Monica Lewinsky. So they were joking that I was Monica. Uhhh, not cool. So since we were just going to a bar (I thought), I wore a very conservative crew neck sweater and a headband. Very preppy, very good-girl, the complete opposite of Monica. Yeah and then we ended up going out to clubs. Whoops. I tried to make the best of it, and made it my mission to find guys on the dance floor who were either making drunken fools of themselves or were just really shy and I would go "help" them. I felt kind of like a third wheel to Marcus and Nadine, so this ended up working out pretty well. Once again, I met all sorts of characters. There were the drunk English guys who were there for a bachelor party and taking turns wearing this ridiculous grey wig. There were the cool German guys who didn't want to dance; they just sipped their drinks against the wall and looked for girls. Of course, there was the extremely overweight Saudi guy who thought he was god's gift to women- after I turned him down for a dance, he found some other girl and said, "Jealous?" Nope. Not one bit. I danced for a while with this Italian guy who got really pushy... but I guess he was just being Italian. Lastly, there was the dumbest guy I have ever met in my entire life. His pickup line was, "oh, you from America?! I was in New York one week before September 11th."
SERIOUSLY?? Oh man. That is the worst line I've ever heard, including the guy who asked me and Margo to go to Burger King with him. We were in the middle of the dance floor, having a good time and singing along to "Summer of 69" (which is apparently a really popular song here) and he is telling me about terrorist attacks. We left shortly thereafter and I went home to have a tipsy conversation with my sister before going to bed.
It was the perfect ending to my time here. I couldn't have planned a better weekend. So now, I'm sitting at work with no work to do and I can't believe that in 24 hours I'll be on a plane back to the US. I guess there's only one thing I can say....
Elizabeth: Danke
Germany: BITTE.
---
Wednesday- Ali came... we went out to a Mexican restaurant and then to a beer garden where we met these crazy old German men who played tricks on us the whole night. They told us the Seehaus was closed, the beer sucked, etc. Weird old German guys. But after a certain age I guess even the little things in life can be entertaining.
Thursday- dinner at this amazing Italian restaurant where I ran into my boss. When I say "ran into" I mean "he knew we were going to dinner there and wanted to see Ali." It was actually hilarious. Anyway, we had a good long dinner and then went to this bar with Peter and his friend Isabella. They had a bunch of German friends there so Ali and I hung out around the bar and met all sorts of interesting characters. There were the old, greasy Saudi Arabians who were dripping in oil money and looking for a pretty, young mistress to spoil. There were the young Germans, Christian and Erik, who were hammered (but very cute) and tried to convince us that they were secret spies and had to change identities. We got really confused so we just gave them nicknames - Blondie and Elvis. I was talking to Peter and some guy came up and started hitting on Ali in German... so I told him we were lesbians and to fuck off. Ali kissed me on the cheek to prove it.. but apparently we don't make very convincing lesbians (which in all honesty, I don't want to be a convincing lesbian, so that was fine with me.) We got home around 3 in the morning... all in all a good night.
Friday- public holiday, soccer game with Thomas, Marcus, and Nadine. When you think about wild things in Europe, two places come to mind: ridiculous European techno dance clubs and crazy soccer fans. I got to experience both this weekend. I figured I should join in the fun and get some sort of soccer t-shirt or something.... I stood in line at the gift shop for almost an hour before buying a scarf. Three people left the line, hands covering their mouths, because it was so crowded and hot that some people got sick. It was disgusting. Aside from the gift shop house of horrors, the game was amazing. It was the opening game of the season, so they had Paul Potts come and sing before it started...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1k08yxu57NA
Watch it. It gives me chills every time. Unfortunately, some of the crazy German soccer fans wouldn't shut up while he was singing so they kept having to turn his microphone volume up to be heard above the drunken cheers of "BAYERN!" My favorite moments of the game were when Munich scored. The announcer would say (in German, obviously, but whatever):
Announcer: Scoring for Bayern München, number 20.. Lukasss
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: PODOLSKI
Announcer: Lukassss
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: PODOLSKI
Announcer: LLUUKASSS
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: PODOOOLLLLSKI!!!
Announcer: Munich..?
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: TWO
Announcer: Hamburg..?
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: ZERO
Announcer: Thank you.
Crowd of 69,900 screaming soccer fans: YOU'RE WELCOME.
My absolute favorite part was the end... the announcer would say "danke" and the drunk, capacity crowd at the Allianz Arena would scream "BITTE." I think I laughed for a solid five minutes straight. It was hilarious. After the game we went to an Irish pub where they played amazing American music and more drunk soccer fans gave me free beer at the bar. Awesome. I didn't end up going to sleep until around 5am, but it was an amazing night.
Saturday- Dear Christ this post is long. Okay Saturday was good... met up with Marcus and Nadine and we went to the Kuntspark... which looks just like Las Vegas. It's club, after club, after club... it's insane. Unfortunately, I thought we were just going to a bar so I was NOT dressed for going clubbing. The night before, Marcus joked that apparently when you say the words "American intern" everybody thinks of Monica Lewinsky. So they were joking that I was Monica. Uhhh, not cool. So since we were just going to a bar (I thought), I wore a very conservative crew neck sweater and a headband. Very preppy, very good-girl, the complete opposite of Monica. Yeah and then we ended up going out to clubs. Whoops. I tried to make the best of it, and made it my mission to find guys on the dance floor who were either making drunken fools of themselves or were just really shy and I would go "help" them. I felt kind of like a third wheel to Marcus and Nadine, so this ended up working out pretty well. Once again, I met all sorts of characters. There were the drunk English guys who were there for a bachelor party and taking turns wearing this ridiculous grey wig. There were the cool German guys who didn't want to dance; they just sipped their drinks against the wall and looked for girls. Of course, there was the extremely overweight Saudi guy who thought he was god's gift to women- after I turned him down for a dance, he found some other girl and said, "Jealous?" Nope. Not one bit. I danced for a while with this Italian guy who got really pushy... but I guess he was just being Italian. Lastly, there was the dumbest guy I have ever met in my entire life. His pickup line was, "oh, you from America?! I was in New York one week before September 11th."
SERIOUSLY?? Oh man. That is the worst line I've ever heard, including the guy who asked me and Margo to go to Burger King with him. We were in the middle of the dance floor, having a good time and singing along to "Summer of 69" (which is apparently a really popular song here) and he is telling me about terrorist attacks. We left shortly thereafter and I went home to have a tipsy conversation with my sister before going to bed.
It was the perfect ending to my time here. I couldn't have planned a better weekend. So now, I'm sitting at work with no work to do and I can't believe that in 24 hours I'll be on a plane back to the US. I guess there's only one thing I can say....
Elizabeth: Danke
Germany: BITTE.
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Thursday, August 14, 2008
"What the fuck did I just get myself into?"
The first few weeks in Munich passed like a blur. I met my coworkers, started work, and got settled in a new city in a new country with a new language. I don't remember the fine details of the beginning, but they have mixed into an overall pleasant memory. It's funny that I can't remember the first few weeks here, but I clearly remember my first words upon landing in Munich. The plane was sitting on the runway and we still hadn't taken off our seat belts. I had spent the last ten minutes in silence watching the patchwork of farms and white houses with red roofs pass below me as we landed and trying to ignore the screaming child sitting three rows behind me. Still in a sleepy stupor, I looked out the window on the runway and said to nobody in particular:
"What the fuck did I just get myself into?"
It wasn't until I landed in Munich did I realize that I would actually be leaving for the summer. I'm a smart, I know. This fact probably would have dawned upon most people when they updated their passport or packed their suitcase. 14 hours of travel (and one connection through London Heathrow) later, I realized, "Holy shit. What did I just do?"
I enjoyed having Maggie and Ali come to visit because their culture shock and first impressions help me fill in my memory of those first hazy weeks. Maggie was stunned that German people looked stereotypically German - tall, broad shoulders, strong jawline, etc. Ali is surprised by some of their behavior - Germans have a very specific way of doing things, but they don't tell you what that is. You have to figure it out. For example, taxis are not hailed in the street, they are sitting at a taxi stand. You can't pay with a credit or debit card at the grocery store, and there's some sort of deposit system to get a cart to put your groceries in (which I still haven't figured out, so I just don't buy as much food at once and instead go shopping more often. Efficient, I know.) On the escalator, people stand single-file on the right and people walk up on the left. If you are standing on the left, even if nobody is trying to walk up and pass you, you'll still get dirty looks from older Germans.
All too quickly, my time here is drawing here to a close (for now.) Tomorrow is a national holiday - I plan to spend it sightseeing with Ali during the day and watching soccer with Thomas and Marcus at night. Monday is my last day of work, which will be followed by frantic packing at night and my flight on Tuesday morning. To answer my initial question - what the fuck did I just get myself into - I think I got myself into many embarrassing moments, new relationships with friends I've met here, a great job that I hope to return to one day, and many memories (even if they are a bit blurred from time to time.) All in all, this has been the best hasty decision I've made... ever. I'm going to give myself a pat on the back and finish some translations. Ciao :)
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"What the fuck did I just get myself into?"
It wasn't until I landed in Munich did I realize that I would actually be leaving for the summer. I'm a smart, I know. This fact probably would have dawned upon most people when they updated their passport or packed their suitcase. 14 hours of travel (and one connection through London Heathrow) later, I realized, "Holy shit. What did I just do?"
I enjoyed having Maggie and Ali come to visit because their culture shock and first impressions help me fill in my memory of those first hazy weeks. Maggie was stunned that German people looked stereotypically German - tall, broad shoulders, strong jawline, etc. Ali is surprised by some of their behavior - Germans have a very specific way of doing things, but they don't tell you what that is. You have to figure it out. For example, taxis are not hailed in the street, they are sitting at a taxi stand. You can't pay with a credit or debit card at the grocery store, and there's some sort of deposit system to get a cart to put your groceries in (which I still haven't figured out, so I just don't buy as much food at once and instead go shopping more often. Efficient, I know.) On the escalator, people stand single-file on the right and people walk up on the left. If you are standing on the left, even if nobody is trying to walk up and pass you, you'll still get dirty looks from older Germans.
All too quickly, my time here is drawing here to a close (for now.) Tomorrow is a national holiday - I plan to spend it sightseeing with Ali during the day and watching soccer with Thomas and Marcus at night. Monday is my last day of work, which will be followed by frantic packing at night and my flight on Tuesday morning. To answer my initial question - what the fuck did I just get myself into - I think I got myself into many embarrassing moments, new relationships with friends I've met here, a great job that I hope to return to one day, and many memories (even if they are a bit blurred from time to time.) All in all, this has been the best hasty decision I've made... ever. I'm going to give myself a pat on the back and finish some translations. Ciao :)
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