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.
Meet Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Amateur blogger (yes, there are professionals) who started with a travel blog that quickly degenerated into blabbering. Along with a life goal of surfing with Eddie Vedder, attending BlogHer is now on my list.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
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.
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...
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...
Thursday, July 28, 2011
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...
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...
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
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.
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