surprise!

I thought a lovely Christmas gift for the German would be a subscription to Die Welt.  So I did the requisite internet research and made a much-dragged out and halting-German phone call, patted myself on the back for being able to answer all of the questions posed in my adopted tongue, and went back to Life on the Sofa.

Fast forward to this week, the German going through the mail.

 German: What’s going on here?  Those bloody idiots…sending me a paper I haven’t ordered AND billing me for it!

Me: um…Merry Christmas!

Looking back, I realize the man didn’t actually ask me for MY name or billing address, which should have been a clue.  But I was so certain that the gift concept was understood.

Speaking of people not understanding, say what you will about America’s immigration policy, but at least they’re upfront and honest about it.  Presidents and politicians have been saying for years, no, we’re actually not accepting the tired and poor anymore.  From now on it’s strictly engineers, famous writers, and promising university students who have been vetted and proven not to be communist spies.  Here in Germany, on the other hand, they’re all, we love everyone now, fill out this simple two-page forms and socialist health care and a salary in euros can be yours!  What they don’t tell you, at the Torture-amt, is that it will take them three months to not read said two page form, and then refuse to grant you a visa.

Meanwhile, M, my long-suffering defender and hopeful future colleague, is grinding his teeth to bits.  And let me inform you, this is a man who not only does this kind of thing for a living, but is actual German and possesses a law degree.  And he does not understand the responses we receive from the Torture-amt.  You must forgive the man’s confusion, as the first letter refused to grant the permit citing some obscure legal code.  Which much research revealed to be a bit of immigration law that grants priorityto applicants who are citizens of countries such as Australia, Japan, and the USA.  You know, like ME!  Two revised applications and ten weeks of phone calls and visits later, the latest explanation given to us yesterday was that, well, frankly, the people assigned to me actually had not bothered to read the application and had continued rejecting it, following the example set by the first attempt.

How can a person be so bad at their job, they have no defense other than, “well, it probably should have been approved…but no one actually read it.”  It’s TWO FREAKIN’ PAGES!  Most of which involves the addresses and contact information for me and my company.

Hence, my new and unexpected motto: America.  We tell the truth (unlike those fascist, incompetent, protectionist German tools).

not quite right

One of my greatest points of contention with the German is when, instead of allowing me and my friends to watch Harry Potter in peace, he insists on pointing out various characters with Scottish accents and muttering about how the Hogwarts castle is in Scotland, not England.  I know, we get along so well otherwise, it’s disgusting.  Another point of contention is that he claims I never blog anything nice about him, so consider this something nice.

Anyways, while this never fails to bug, I realized today that for him, it is one of those glaring inconsistencies that can ruin an otherwise harmless film.  Something so jarringly inappropriate, it’s all you can think about for the rest of the movie.  My personal most annoying list includes:

- You’ve Got Mail, in which Meg Ryan, owner of a small indie bookstore about to be out-muscled by the Big Bad Borders, buys her morning coffee at Starbucks.  Railing against big box retail while sipping your soy-grande-latte?  Seriously?

- Where the Heart Is, in which Natalie Portman frolics around WalMart at night, despite the fact that WalMarts open 24 hours.  Or at least until 2AM.

- The Graduate, in which Dustin Hoffman drives the wrong direction on the Bay Bridge.  Not to mention the fact that in the middle of the day, there is no traffic AND the metering lights aren’t on.  Hmph.

- Boys and Girls, in which Freddie Prinze Jr. and some girl I’ve forgotten “take a walk” from the Berkeley campus…to Marin.  Granted, any film starring Freddie Prinze Jr. involves far greater suspension of reality than this, but it’s irking nonetheless.

It’s one thing for the movie industry to expect us to believe that bad guys only attack one at a time, princes fall in love with little street girls, and that Bruce Willis can save the world.  But the owner of a family store about to be run out by an impersonal national chain patronizing Starbucks.  Give us some credit here.

spreading joy

Buying new shoes is a little less fun when you have absolutely no one to show them too.  However, if you are the kind of person who makes friends everywhere, this problem can be remedied by sharing them to your new BFF, E-in-med-school-mocha-with-whip.  Not quite the same, but I suppose he made as valiant an effort as possible for a man faced with a gold ballet shoe and pressed for an excited response.

In other shopping news, lychees have suddenly appeared in the produce stands around Munich.  I can’t decide if I’m overjoyed or wary of this Asian tropical fruit appearing in Germany in the dead of winter.  And it is the dead of winter, because it has started snowing again.  It’s been so long since the last snow, that at first I thought someone was dropping cigarette ashes on me.  Which happens when you’re short.  But ten minutes of cursing the jerk following me with his filthy bearers of lung cancer later, I realized there was no one smoking next to me and it was really really cold.  So, that’s what snow is like.

for the good of the nation

The German left for a week-long business trip this morning.  I am greatly distressed, primarily because he did so without taking out the trash, a clear violation of our little Missouri Compromise of Household Responsibilities.  But, with great hardship comes great opportunity. 

As America is weeks away from the 2008 primary season, I’ve begun re-reading all of my various political books and biographies.  I’ve spent much time trying to locate a copy of Quit Digging Your Grave With a Knife and Fork, but apparently it just isn’t as popular as the rest of that gang.  But today I also watched ‘The American President’, which never fails to make me wonder why Martin Sheen doesn’t run for office.  He already has seven years of White House experience, not to mention his advisory capacity in this film and various others.  And he is both liberal and politically active, enough that Ohio’s Democratic Party has actually asked him to run.  And while he may think celebrity and credibility are not the same (he’s clever too!), voters do not (see: Governor of California; Reagan; Schwarzenegger).  Plus, at least he has a little more cred, as someone who has been a life-long participate in political activism.

This film also inspired me to pursue a new career direction: President’s girlfriend.  To all future single Presidents of America, please consider this my formal application.  My qualifications are listed below:

- Child of immigrants (livin’ the dream).

- Well-educated (at a public university, yes I believe in public education).

- Language skills, including German and Chinese, two of our largest trading partners.

- From California (55 electoral votes.  And most of the money).

- Fundraising experience.

- Have not inhaled, burned flags, or lobbied members of Congress.

- Knowledge of all states and capitals and presidents in chronological order (thanks, Mrs. Sanchez!) and US history and social science fundamentals.

- WillingEager to eat fried Twinkies, Philly cheesesteaks, and any other regional delicacy.

Thank you for your consideration.  I look forward to hearing from you.  Best regards.

you silly-billy-goo-goo

If Seth Cohen and I had a child, this is what they would read.

The discovery of this on Amazon.com, apparently created by one of the Bay Area’s very own, sent me on an internet search of all things BSC.  Which is either highly entertaining, or extremely alarming.  Actually, perhaps not all that alarming to have BSC book clubs for adults.  I would kick ass at the board game, seeing as how I own it.  And I do enjoy snacks.

And thanks to Smelly’s discovery of What Claudia Wore, I am both amused and disappointed to discovery that Claud was maybe not the most dibbly fresh teenager ever created.  I distinctly remember thinking her watermelon outfit with the green and white tie-dyed leggings and the “oversized” red top with big black buttons would have been the coolest outfit ever.  But looking back, maybe not.  Good thing I always had more of a Kristy-and-MaryAnn thing going on. 

Considering the immense popularity and commercial tie-ins of this series, BSC ghost writer must have been the best job out there back in the day.  I mean, chapter one: discuss appearances of all club members.  Logan’s from the south and has a drawl.  Claudia’s Japanese and has really black hair and almond-shaped eyes (but!  they’re beautiful!  we like them even though they’re different!), and Jessi is black with the longest legs ever (which are also beautiful!).  Chapter two: how the BSC was formed.  It’s hard to be a single mom with four kids.  However, it gets easier when three of them can take turns watching the youngest and you end up marrying a billionaire.  Teenage mothers, don’t lose heart!  There’s hope for you yet.

My friend and I thought we should form our own baby-sitters club, but then we switched to SVH and thought it would be morefun to form a sorority and haze other twelve year olds.  And the baby-sitters club was really just like a lemonade stand on steroids – who really frequents child businesses other than parents and the unsuspecting neighbor who happened to stop by with mis-delivered mail?  Why would parents pay for something that’s written into the older-sibling job description?  After all, no one raises three cows and still pays for a latte.  Actually, I bet a lot of milk farmers still go to Starbucks for their lattes.  Or at least a caramel apple cider.  No farmer has enough sugar to make those at home.

heating things up

Sinking to new lows: Cal football, completing the freefall from No. 2 in the country to barely-bowl-eligible with a Big Game loss to a team that couldn’t give the ball away enough to Notre Dame.  I think rejection by the Emerald Bowl pretty much defines new lows.

Hitting new highs: Christmas in Munich!  With the opening of Christmas markets around the city, from the sprawling Christkind in Marienplatz to the hippies at Tollwood, festive cheer and gluhwein is everywhere.  And even kinderpunsch for me.  Not to mention the newly introduced practice of Advent calendars and chocolate for breakfast.  I have a suspicion that tradition does not actually require us to eat truffles, marzipan, and other goodies at the obscene hour of 7am, but hey, I’m not German, what do I know.

In keeping with the celebration of tradition, I tried to prepare the German for his upcoming trip to Beijing by proposing some conjee for breakfast all week.  Which he reacted to with horror and disgust.  Why anyone would turn up their nose to a big steaming bowl of soupy rice, meats, unidentified organs, scallions and nuts, I have no idea.  Especially when topped with chinese donuts.  But it also brings to light the greater food conflict in our household, which is that of the Appropriate Number of Warm Meals to eat in a day.

Germans customarily have one warm meal a day, usually lunch.  Breakfast and dinner consist of lighter fare involving breads, meats, cheeses, jams, and the like.  And many, such as the German, consider multiple warm meals to be both unhealthy and excessive.  I think this whole ‘warm’ meal thing is nonsense.  Warm is not a volume or measurement, people.  Does this mean a bowl of vegetable soup for dinner is worse than three rolls, topped with slabs of cheese and meat?  It sounds like one of those weird food rules where you can’t eat white food or you eat only orange foods.  What does temperature have to do with anything?

I think the majority of Americans don’t really consider temperature balancing acts when choosing their next meal.  I mean, who wants to eat an untoasted bagel?  Or chose from the cool sandwich side of the ‘wichcraft menu in December?  It’s just how we do.  Plus, my family is Chinese.  Every meal is warm.  Even the fruit is warm.  You would think in Germany, land of extreme climate (okay, not in the way Mongolia is extreme, but in the way that California is not), they would appreciate a few extra warm meals in the winter, but you would be wrong.