Goodbye Deutschland! (and Lenin)

After week-long preperation to make a video blog entry, or vlog if you will, perhaps V-Log, who knows, I sat down in front of my camera... and got stage fright. What do I say to you people? What if my voice sounds funny? (It does.) What should I wear? I had to think ahead of what pants I should wear long before I realized that no one would actually witness anything below my waist. What if your perception of my awesome-ness is depleted after realizing that I must continually edit and re-edit everything I do. Vlogging is very spur of the moment and I am very not. Honestly, to make some phone coversations I will sit down before and write out what I will say.
Then, like the lightning-fast genuis he is, Nick just looked at the fore-camerea-fidgiting-mess that was mio shook his head and said, "Or...you just write your blog."

Writing my blog? Mind blown. Genius.

When I'm ready to make the switch to on-camera, I'll give you guys a heads-up.

What I wanted to say to you, dear readers, is this. I am packed and prepared for my sixteen hour flight home with enough books shoved in my carry-on to be considered a mobile library. My farewell dinner tonight will be set in getting me ready to return to the states--we're eating burgers. Which is funny because I have yet to eat sauerkraut here and I'm slightly disappointed. The avacado burger will probably make up for that though.

So I bid ado to you, Germany. You were great and the size of me missing you will be just as great, but now I must be going and bringing my awesome back to the states. With presents. I'll be like a Weihnachtsmann in August.

I look forward to seeing everyone when I get back!


Note: I will attempt to keep blogging for some time after my re-entry in the states as a documentation of my inevitable culture shock. I just may be offline for a couple days until I get my bearings about me.

The Undercover Economist

If I had a penny for every time someone has asked me about my plans back home, well, I'd probably only have a nickel or two, but the ever nagging thought is implanted and now I actually have to consider going back.

That means class approvals and selection.
That means hundreds of dollars in textbooks.
That means apartment moving and utilities set-up.
That means classes, and homework, and term papers, and iClickers (damn them to hell.) and eSams, and group work.
That means job hunting.

Job hunting!?! Back to the days where I had a full course load, even less of a social life than here, and two jobs. No big wonder I usually reply with a shoulder shrug and a simple "dunno." What happened to school meaning a sweet Lisa Frank binder and a new box of crayons? Where are my crayons?!?

In reality though, I can't complain. I enjoy learning and I won't let my education get in the way of that.

To lighten my back-to-reality-blues, I'm changing my tunes to the positive.

My class selection for this semester isn't all bubble gum and vodka and I know that. I've got to get all of my grunt classes out of the way to move toward the cool ones. But I did manage to squeeze in a fun credit. And it is just that, a credit. But that means two things. One, I get my creative expression requirement out of the way and two, I get to become a "more well-rounded and developed individual" while dancing. What's better, is that you can't fail. It's based on participation and we all know how great I am at participating. Now if I could only convince my other sixteen credits to be more participative...


Monetarily I could be explained very well by the US. I've got the outlook and the ability, but I need to work on earning myself some cash. This summer has been an awesome feat of no jobness, something I hadn't had since I began milking cows at thirteen, but now it's time to get back on the pay roll. That doesn't mean I have to make it laborous. I'll be going back to the dining hall, --honestly, not that bad of a job once you get in good with the cooks-- and I'm going to search out employment at the best place in Ann Arbor. The Cupcake Station.

Seriously. One of their job requirements is a love for cupcakes.

Look how happy that man is. Not happy enough.

If I had the means, I would eat there at least once a day and as of yet, I'm still working through their thirty-six flavors (Double mint is the best.) and I'm pretty much in love with this establishment. I figure if I beg enough they may let me mop the floors. But at least I'd get to do so wearing a cupcake themed t-shirt. (Ben and Jerry's, I have just as much dedication to you, but you're not hiring.)

The other option I've been looking into for the past two years is Food Gatherers. These guys are the rhetorical bomb. They collect food from various businesses who would otherwise throw it out, and distribute it to those who otherwise couldn't afford it. They're the modern day food version of Robin Hood if Robin Hood had a couple refrigerated trucks.
Along with trucking around Ann Arbor snatching up bread and such, they grow a lot of their food on site. Last year I had an internship there but had to turn it down for personal reasons. I hope they're still hiring this in the coming summer and if not, I still plan on helping out. Volunteering with them last time, I met a girl who didn't know how a shovel worked so I'm sure they appreciate all the help they can get.

There we have it, Kinder. My plans for the upcoming year. Not looking too shabby, but could only be better if there were some way to get myself a Lisa Frank binder...

Michigan. I know it like the back of my hand.

Michigan has its quirks and whatnots. Biggest thing being our distinctive shape which comes in very handy when you don't have a map. (See what I did there?) among other things we have black beans growing out of our thumb, the "Big House" actually refers to football and not a prison sentence, and not a-one male will be of any use on November fifteenth.

All great stuff, but even as a Michigan resident, I just found out the UP--not the pixar film, the Upper Peninsula--is actually kind of famous for saunas. Maybe I can get a little recreation and relaxation in back at home. I hit up one of my last sauna visits yesterday evening with an experience I won't soon forget. Aufguss sauna time.
Don't try and translate Aufguss because English just draws a plain blank. Here's what you can think of it as: Dowsing hot stones in scented water and air circulation. Sounds super fun, doesn't it? Niklas said I needed to try it before I went back but as it started he said, "Get ready, it's going to be intense." Wait, what? Was this going to hurt? I did not sign up for pain. I already know that to end your sauna experience you're supposed to jump into ice water, hence the exaggeration on supposed to because no matter how hot you are, that ice water is still heart stopping. First death by pnemonia and now inferno, what these people do to get the heart pumping...

So we sit down in the ninety degree celcius (roughly one hundred and ninety-five farenheit) room with all the benches situated around a pile of rocks. It's a bit warm. And cozy, the entire room filled up since this only happens at interval times. By the time the staff member came in to start the Aufguss I was already sweating, but it was nothing compared to this guy. He looked just like Bob Ross. Creepily like Bob Ross, if he painted his happy trees in a long t-shirt drenched with sweat. He tells us his name and that he's picked mango for us as he starts to splash the water on the rocks. He did that three times and after each he would take a towel and spin it in the air to circulate the steam. First he whipped it over his head like some manic cowboy, then he flipped the towel at each and every one of us.

 Holy fweet Sesus. It was like all the air got sucked from the room and the only thing left was stinging heat for you to attempt to suck in through your nose. Forget about opening your mouth. Herr Ross, Why are you flapping your towel around and pushing this molecular mango-scented war fare at my face? This is supposed to be good for you?
As for the people who put their arms above their head? I can only assume they were clinically insane thrill seekers who had gotten bored putting their hands up on the Milenium force. I had to work to keep my head up.

And then it was done. He opened the door, everyone flooded out and I just sat there for a second thinking, "I did it!" and quickly after that, "Huh, so that's what it's like to be inside of a dragon." And for the rest of the night I smelled like mangos.

If anyone knows of this in Michigan, I would be more than happy to hear about it. Finding fun stuff like this in your home area is a neat experience. Like finding out your mom was the lead singer in an all girl rock'n roll band.
 ...A girl can dream...

My Bags Are Packed, I'm Ready to Go...

Sometimes I think it would be cool to think like a little kid again and believe that if I cover my eyes then, to everyone around me, I would be invisible. The logic is infallible. If I can't see you, you can't see me! Because that's what I always assumed moms meant when they put the bag of M&Ms in the top drawer and said, "Out of sight, out of mind."

Even if in reality those M&Ms, especially the peanut ones, did in fact disappear. I just assumed that my mom was secretly a magician. Who happened to love peanut M&Ms. Huh.

Well, while we all have our denial rituals set up in childhood it's not very often you see an adult at a bus stop plugging their ears and yelling, "I can't hear you!" at a cell phone. I think the vibrate and silent mode invention went a long way to help that problem out, but that doesn't mean we don't still deny things each and every day. As adults--just because I'm over eighteen doesn't mean I enjoy calling myself that--we just find more subtle ways to express it.

 Or not.

I have a friend here, whose name I will withhold for privacy, let's call him Shawn, who really does not want to go back to Michigan. He is in love with Tübingen. I'm not exaggerating at all. If this town where a female, he would watch the Notebook with it and cry at all the right parts just to weasel it into inviting him up to his place for 'coffee', he is that enamored by a city. 

Maybe that helps you understand how hard it is for him to have to tell that city that he is leaving. He refuses to go to the office to turn in his ex-matriculation paper, but instead says that he'll just keep them. Someone had to physically remove the form from his hands and put it in the drop box and then he slouched all the way back to his apartment which he refuses to begin packing up.

Ultimately what I'm getting at is that I moved out of my apartment yesterday. I vacuumed it, very possibly for the first time--the dust bunny army was forming ranks--packed up my Tiger-Ente, and rolled my suitcases out. The room had never been much more than a white-walled prison cell, but man, it looked especially empty as the hausmeister walked in to examine it. After making me wash a wall ("That needs to be washed with a damp cloth." 
"Oh, okay..."
"Now."
"Oh, now."
"Now." )   I signed over my keys and said goodbye to my first, and very possibly last, German apartment. The hausmeister told me I was an easy move-out and I could only imagine what he'd say to Shawn as he will probably grab hold of the door handle for dear life and refuse to leave. As I left the city though I think I might have gotten a twinge of what Shawn had been feeling the last few weeks, but I only really noticed it as I ate my, possibly, last Tübingen ice cream cone. It was white chocolate coconut. I'll never forget. 

I'll take...A Birthday Cake!

This one's for you, JoannaBob. Happy birthday, you little dork.

And to everyone else whose birthdays I've missed. *cough cough* Sorry *cough cough* I hope you get some enjoyment out of this. Unlike Jonathon's, which I will make him translate or at least ask a German, I'll give this one to you. 

'It was my hardest case yet...'

Love the Nicht Lustig (Not Funny) comics I found here in Germany. They're like the Far Side...only better, and in German.

A big thank you to Joscha Sauer for not sueing me. I give all credit to you.

Please Take the Time to Fill Out Our Survey

Did you know how much money you can make in college by just walking into the psychology buidling? Well, none. But if you check out the posting boards there you'll catch my drift. In my first two years I almost had to hold back from doing so many experiments and surveys in oder to not have to declare them on taxes. Earn five dollars just by answering a ten minute survey? Don't mind if I do! Ka-ching.

I was also so fortunate as to have ran one or two of my own surveys and experienments thanks to an undergraduate research opportunity, so I can honestly say how important it is to help those people out. Hence the nagging little habit of doing every survey or questionaire that pops under my nose. Because for someone, somewhere, that research is important.

 Since my program here is college-ran we had to attend a formal 'prepping' by the school in order to 'prepare us for the upcoming experience' and basically make sure we were all mentally stable enough to enter another country without too much hand-holding. We got surveys there asking us related questions of our home life, what we want to learn, how well we think we'll strive through obstacles, blah blah blah, and oh by the way, how many uses for a brick can you think of excluding a paper weight? (Got about thirty, but I don't know how well they'll take the 'Portable self-defence mechanism' answer.)

The follow-up survey came in my e-mail earlier this month and I've been nawing on some of the questions ever since. One has really stuck to me because I pondered it myself quite often: What have you learned about yourself during your abroad experience?
Short answer: Uhmm... a lot?
 But I think that's neither acceptable nor helpful. Here's what I've come up with.

I learned my definition of home is not wholly normal. This is kind of cheating, because an early question asked if you felt you assimliated well to your host culture. I do. I also felt a little ashamed to be an American citizen in some situation but, hey, quess what? They asked that on the survey too, so maybe, just maybe, I'm not a complete nutjob. Maybe just a little one, like a cashewjob instead of a hazelnutjob. I feel very much at home with both countries but neither do I feel especially connected to. That was a weird revelation because it's not as though the heavens opened up and a music played and a bright light spoke to me and said, ''ASSIMILATE!'' It was a bit more subtle. Hard to explain.

I learned that I'm not as anti-social as the states made me out to think. One thing straight. I am not a drinker, I am not a partier, and I have maybe two or three friends. Whew. Got that off my chest, now go ahead and finish your name calling and move on with the show.

Honestly, how many Americans are actually ashamed to tell people you don't drink? You feel like a recovering closet alcoholic. People are all, 'Oh, you don't drink? Is it okay if I drink?' Like their going to tempt me into remission.

 True story, I just don't care for it and that's just me. I was fairly surprised to find that there are people like me and that they're German. Because for all the hype about Germany=beer. It's not that big of a deal here to drink. It's a glass or two at dinner and that's about it. It's trashy to drink outside (albeit legal) and before four pm. This is intensified by another one of my quality-traits that most people don't have a lot of friends.

For this to make sense, I need to define a German friend. A friend in German means life-long and complete trust. They just prefer to have a few, three or four, close friends instead of a facebook full of them. We actually learned in a class about how there are different words in German for your level of aquantence-ness with that person and it takes a lot of getting to know someone before you even call them a 'friend.' Plus side? Apparently it saves a lot of money on party invitations when a wedding is always only close family and friends.

I learned all about how my actions have consequences and that no matter where you go you are an ambassador for your country, state, town and family. By coming to Germany, I inadvertently brought two of my sisters, my parents, and my grandparents with. Everyone I met here learned about how my American life is and made a stereotype of America from me. I don't know how much America I brought with me or how much German I'll take back. Time will tell.

I learned to chill out and live in the moment. Without a doubt I have mellowed in my old age. In all, I just learned a lot about myself and who I want to be, who I am, and who I am definately NOT. What I still need to figure out is want to do and whose rules do I need to follow to get there.

I also learned I am terrible at calling home.

Work in Progress

Babys. What an enigma.

They want to walk, but they fall. And then they pull themselves up against the coffee table, stubbly-legged, wobbly, and red faced with determination until they can brace themselves up and smile triumphantly up at whoever is watching until they rucket downward. And then they try and fall again, and again and again, and... probably two hundred more times again.

At least.

Ich liebe meine Fehler. Are mistakes good or bad?  Simple enough question, I suppose. They're bad, otherwise we wouldn't call them mistakes. Schools are a really big at smearing this into our faces when we're younger.

When you mess up, you get bad grades!

But if I never tried and messed up, how would I have known what to do better the next time and improve? 
Babies are smarter than we are. They want to walk, so they keep at it until they do. 

So the only question needs to be, "What's my goal?"


Good lessons in Deutschland aktuell.
Great last class.

Schein, Schein, Everywhere a Schein

 Last day of my first day of the week classes celebration! Pointy triangle hats and noise makers for everyone!

It should have been a monumental day, I even woke up and thought about putting on nice cloths to go to the class before I thought how silly that would be and put on ripped jeans and a worn-in long sleeved t-shirt just to spite my pomp and circumstance-spiced morning.

Who gets up and plans a wardrobe? Not this kid! 

Wasn't really sure what to expect and it's a good thing I didn't wear my un-patched clothes because we actually had class. How silly would I have looked? A real class on the last day of my first day of the week classes. Aw, man.
At the end we did get our Schein stating that we passed the class and I successfully did pass a German course. I also managed to control my reflex of instinctively sprouting up and shouting, "1,0. Eat it, Wenches!" (German grades go by numbers with one being the highest.) Even though the grade was giving by participation and one test, I rocked that class participation with the best of the them.

So, hooray for little sheets of paper that boost your confidence. What's the best is that I get one tomorrow and the day after that too.

Search for Happiness

I've been doing it wrong this whole time!

For some reason, back before high school I wanted to begin practicing yoga. There were lots of reasons. Big world, long story.

My mom thought that meant joining a cult and told me so, but like every good pre-teen with internet access, I did it anyway and started on breathing exercises and basic postures. That summer I took a class and for three hours I was in bliss. It was like runners high without the, well, running.

I'm a rough kid. Defensive. I kept my metaphorical dukes up to keep my distance but after I rolled up my mat I looked around and saw everything differently. I remember looking to the girl next to me and saying, "Someone could come up and punch me in the face right now and I would just wish them a good day." I was zen, man.

(Really wish I could say I'm like that all the time, but let's be real, I'm human. And old boxing habits die hard.)

Since then, I've kept it up, getting my fixes when I needed them guiding myself through a mental cool down or deep-breathing myself to sleep. It's all about being there and in the moment. Lately though I've been losing that "Thereness" and I start to think forward, or even more so behind, and cowering in my thoughts as if I could somehow defend myself against the real world in them. It's just so easy isn't it? Worry about tomorrow and don't actually do anything today. Who can say they haven't been there?

Contemplation and meditation. What's the difference? For years I thought nothing, but now I realize I'm doing it all wrong. I haven't been meditating and renewing, but rather contemplating and contemplating and planning and sorting and that's not what it's about.

It's a mistake to think that happiness is the goal at the end of the journey.

The happiness I get comes from the "thereness" I'm working on, --always working on,-- and then the meditation of how awesome it feels to be outside all day, hiking through the rain and spelunking in wet caves and for the first time understanding the differences between stalactite and stalagmite (It's an 'm'.) and then getting back feeling cold and tired and putting on a dry pair of pants. Why does that feel so good?
Or picking apples straight off the tree and being fascinated that they taste just as sour, but oh-so-totally-worth-it as when you were little and just ate around the worms.
Or finding the perfect gift for someone and having a bit of happiness in your pocket, ready to give away and double for yourself and the receiver.
Or running around in your head about whether to publish a blog post that shows a little insight into yourself, but then thinking, "What are you so afraid of?"

You Had to Be There

 

Back in the day, you had to finish you peas before you could do the dishes, before you could sit down in front of the television for the only good thing on: TGIF on ABC. Life was simpler back then, and the movies you watched on Friday nights while sipping on your lemonade-sippy cup were about talking parrots named Paulie.

My older brother had, and to this day has, the uncanny ability to memorize funny movie lines and then regurgitate them at any given moment. A trait that, to this day, I get a lot of pleasure out of. 

Paulie: They talk. 

Ignacio: [Referring to his supposedly talking parrots] They can't talk. I say 'taco', they say 'taco' 

Parrots: Taco, taco, taco. 

If you are reading this and not peeing your pants out of laughter it's probably because you did not have the pleasure of sitting around my dinner table in 1998. We, as in the dozen of us children, sat around our table saying this over and over and over. To the very clear disinigration of my mother's sanity we repeated every line and then giggled hysterically. I mean, who comes up with this stuff? It's golden. 

My mom declared the next person to repeat those words would get a spanken. Silence insued for a possible split second before it was too much and Eric mimiked three tiny-teensy parrot voices and then we all squealed with laughter before the smack-down ensued. My mom is a saint, but even Mother Theresea couldn't have tolerated our nonsense. 

Days like those I think back on once in a while and I smile. The most random memories that stick with you make a person. I often wonder what of my time here I'll think back on and remember. Really remember, you know, like vividly enough to feel the laugh-ache in my stomach and looking at my sisters red-faced and snorting, clapping their hands over their mouths in order not to let a single giggle out, lest we be punished. It was worth it. 

It was worth it. It was also raining enough for me to think that Germany may have a monsoon season. But we went anyway. I got a scholarship to go and study here so I better slog through the rain and clap and smile and listen to the speeches and look nice, even dripping wet, for the pictures that would not even get put up on the web site because, honestly, who wants to look at this while they considering donating to a scholarship fund?

The sad puppy face always gets more money.

But we laughed so hard. There was an improv theater after all the hauety-tautey run around the show finally got on.

Just like I giggle every time I hear the word 'taco' repeated I will forever have a fond place for 'apple sauce' in my heart. It's hard to describe since it was almost totally in German, so I'll leave it. Let's just say it went along with apple sauce, Cognac, Gwyneth and the newest fitness program out of the USA. Plus I got a free book and that stylish bag dripping water on the floor in my picture. 

Now, I need to get going because I am being called down to eat tacos...Irony, thy name is my life. 

Living in the Fast Lane

 As of today I can officially count how many days I have left in Germany on my fingers and toes. That means I have to actually go home. It's real.

 Stupid reality ruining all my fun.

I want to be like the business man at the end of that video, gripping the sides of the slide and, as I like to pretend, trying to slow down life and enjoy that precise second. He's probably just trying to preserve his suit, but you know what, we can dream.

To savor Germany I, and the other exchange students here, would recommend:
- Eat as much ice cream as you can. They have a bah-gillion flavors including but not limited to Nutella, Gummi Bear, and Mozart.
- Eat a fresh baked brezel with butter in the morning to start your day and then work up to a Hefe-Weizen for lunch.
Anyone else noticing a trend here? ...I like food.
- Hit up a soccer game and get really, really into it. Even if you could not care a bit less.
- Get fancy at an opera. How often do you get that chance?
- Go naked spa or go home.
You can do all the other touristy stuff too, but just remember to enjoy it. Sorry it's quick. Gotta get some sleep before my last real class of the summer.

Chillin' out, relaxing, acting all cool

This weekend I have very little to do, a free weekend, if you will. Or perhaps a freekend? But that sounds like I have something odd growing out of my butt, so we'll stick with a free weekend.

Good thing too, because the Stadtfest is this weekend so I can spend all my time at a German-style Mama Ruth Picnic. (If you don't know what that is, you're missing out. There's all-you-can-eat chicken.) I just wish I was better with people. Last night a group went out to see all there is to see--mostly German bands attempting English songs--and the entire time I couldn't shake the feeling of being a human-sardine. Kudos to you if that's your thing, but not being able to freely move my arms really makes me uncomfortable.

A really interesting, for lack of better word, rap group played and I'll give it to them, they had stage presence and giggly-worthy lyrics. And track suits. Matching track suits. Need I say more?

 And I happened to be wearing this. Does it not scream remember-your-childhood-and-all-the-crazy-stuff-your-mom-used-to-dress-you-in-after-having-just-poofed-your-bangs-to-lawn-hedge-infamy? I fondly call it the barn sweater.

The next day came another group, a local Tübingen favorite, and they were pretty awesome. Apart from being really quirky and fun, one song was about wanting whole milk and it just so happened that I had groceries with me and decided to hold up my liter like a lighter. I got a monstrous laugh and thumbs up from the bassist. Who happened to be wearing a top hat. So far it's been a weekend filled with festivities and odd shows of fashion plumage. Who knows what will come next? Maybe I'll get started on studying for my exam on Monday.

Departure Approval

I feel like I'm asking to be excused from a giant-country-sized dinner table. I need approval to leave my apartment, the university, the city, and the country. I have forms to fill out for everything.
I'm pretty sure they get paperwork for approval to fill out the paperwork.

Oh, you want to get your grades? Well then, please fill out these three forms and see the secretary outside to set up an appointment to pick them up in the coming week, but only after you write an essay and turn it into our other office.

Sorry, could you repeat that? I was too busy slamming my head against this conveniently placed cement wall.

I got into the shower earlier today and so frazzled was my brain with lists of things I still needed to do before I leave in a couple weeks that while I was shampoo-ing my thought process went like this:

"Dude, shampoo. That's heavy. Why do I have so much shampoo left? What am I going to do with my extra shampoo? I can't just throw it out when I leave, that would be wasteful. Someone worked really hard to make this shampoo. Can I take my shampoo with me? It's way more that two fluid ounces. Plus, I have too much to pack and if I go over the weight limit I'll need to pay for another bag. If I could just use all of my shampoo while I'm here..."

...and that's reason why I washed my hair four times.

What are you trying to turn me into, Germany?

Finally got the video to work thanks to Sean's tech support.

Living off Studenten Futter and mini Toast

I'm not accountable for anything posted on this night. I just got back from Vienna and had the urge to blog, lest I forget something important. Now give me a second to think about what I want to say.


Thankfully in Vienna Nick was the tour guide and armed with his ever-trusty National Geographic guide book did we not get lost, nor did we ever lack of something to do.
Got to the city at night after around eight hours on a train. Itching to physically move, Nick and I walked around and found the Opera and the famous hot dog stand that sits outside. We dined with the best dressed Opera goers and plastic silverware. The hostel we stayed at was trying way to hard to be cool, blasting 90's music and Disney classics late into the night made it hard to communicate with the reception. We should have expected that from a place called "Wombats."

Sarah and Emily, two Michiganders, showed up a couple hours later and we just sort of tucked in for the night. Until the Austrian SWAT team decided to bang on our doors demanding information over someone named "Benjamin." No idea, still don't have one and although things turned out for the best, Emily still slept curled to one side of her top-bunk because she was worried the kid below her might try and murder her in her sleep. We never asked his name.

The next day we waited around for Isaac and Sean, two more Michiganders, to show up before getting some world famous Sachertorte. Delish. I think that was one of the highlights of my trip when Emily declared everyone had to get a different dish and then we passed them clockwise around the table to vote on the best. We did some more touristy things for the next day or so. Got lost in a hedge maze and saw Klimt's work. The Kiss is awesome, Mrs. Souva. I thought about stealing it for the art room, but I don't think it'd fit in my carry-on.

Mein Video kommt bald.