FIELDTRIP! Postscript

So, remember when we went to the Striezelmarkt and made a sidetrip to the Altstadt Christmas market in the courtyard of the castle? Remember how fun that was with the roasting pig and the suits of armor and the drunk people in the bathtub? Yeah, well, it BURNED TO THE GROUND. On Dec. 17, sometime in the early morning apparently, the place caught on fire and it took down the whole market. Judging from the pictures in the newspaper the castle is mostly OK, just some smoke damage, and fortunately it sounds like no one was hurt. But all the booths and all the stuff — gone. But don't be too sad. I'm sure it'll be back next year complete with all the burning, hanging oil lanterns, open pit fires, and confined spaces. I can't wait!

Merry Stollen Day! I mean Christmas!

Christmas greetings, everybody! Wouldn't you like to have a piece of Stollen? Well you can't have any because they only make it here. OK, Wikipedia tells me that's a lie. You can get it all over the world. But I never heard of it before and I'm betting you haven't either. So let's pretend like I'm right, OK?

Stollen, as we've briefly discussed before, is a traditional German Christmastime fruitcake. It's a bready cake that contains raisins, almonds, and little bits of dried and candied citrus peel (pronounced "pill" by my Utah readership). Wikipedia also tells me the dough is spiced with cardamom and cinnamon and is surprisingly low in sugar. Which I'm not sure I believe because my pupils dilate when I eat it. Oh yeah, that's probably due to the fact that it is coated with an inch of powdered sugar after baking. That part is not surprisingly high in sugar. Stollens are also very dense. One Stollen weighs about as much as a cinderblock. At least that's what it felt like in my backpack on a recent Stollen-purchasing outing.

OBLIGATORY HISTORY LESSON: Stollen has been dilating pupils since about 1450 when it was invented by industrious Dresdners trying to find a Christmastime use for all of their most expensive and highly prized ingredients, especially the citrus peel. While it's now made all over Germany (and allegedly the world) they say the most authentic stuff comes from Dresden. You know it's "authentic" because they put a gold sticker on it that says "Originale Dresdner Christstollen".

But here's an insider tip. (Don't tell anyone that I told you this or "they" will likely have me killed.) The best Stollen I've had all month — and believe me, I've had a lot, just ask my blossoming lovehandles — did not come from Dresden. It came from Annaberg-Buchholz, a tiny Christmas-loving town a couple of hours from here that we visited recently. The Stollen pictured here is an Annaberger. I can't remember the reasons for the slight difference. Something about Dresdners using lard and Annabergers using butter or something. I can't remember exactly. But the Annaberg version is softer, cakier, a little bit sweeter and, honest-to-goodness, better. So, do with that information what you will.

Also important to note, diehards apparently consider it a sin to eat Stollen before Christmas. So I'd better go eat a lot today to make up for my countless sins. (That's how it works, right?)

Anyway, I hope you're all having a wonderful Christmas! Alles gute from us both. (Cue obligatory holiday photo ...)




JEM

P.S. Stay tuned for a full account of our Christmas in Leipzig. WARNING: At least one story will contain nudity.

Space Warp

For the most part I think I'm getting used to life here. I'm getting used to the fact that I can't buy eyedrops and asprin at the same store as milk and bread. I no longer instinctively look for my red Mercury Tracer — currently being driven by my brother in Rexburg, Idaho — in parking lots when I leave a store. Speaking of cars, I no longer giggle at tiny Smart cars and am now shocked whenever (if ever) I see a pickup truck or SUV. I feel at ease with public transit and I'm comfortable with my new routines.

But I don't think this place will ever completely stop feeling foreign to me. Which is OK. It's good for me to live in an environment that's somehow, ever-so-slightly off from all my internal programming. It's humbling and exciting and sometimes frustrating, but it's good. I'm certain however, that it will always feel weird. Like if the Earth experienced a slight but abrupt change in the gravitational pull. Everyone would be tripping and running into things at first. Then they'd get used to it and be able to get around, but it would never feel quite right.

I realized this today when Jake and I went to a big hardware store called Hornbach a couple of bus stops from home that we'd never been to before. Although it was a big boxy store with a good-sized parking lot, it still had a distinctly German feel from the exterior. Something about the color scheme or the arrangement of things. It's hard to pin down. Weird gravitational pull. But when we went inside it looked, to the T, like any American Home Depot store. The layout of the aisles and cash registers, the orange signs and price tags, the fonts on those signs and price tags, the lighting, the displays, the arrangements, the dimensions, the smell, everything felt like we were standing in the Home Depot in our last town in the States. The Earth's gravitational pull was exactly what we were used to. Possibly for the first time since getting here we felt entirely at home, familiar, and comfortable in a public place. We walked through the front sliding doors and just stood there, silent and slack-jawed. It was like walking through some sort of space warp and suddenly we were back in America. We both almost started to cry. Seriously. Next to the cash registers in a hardware store.

I hadn't realized I hadn't felt that way in so long until I felt it again. Now we have a place we can visit whenever our equilibrium feels off. Funny the things that can trigger homesickness over here.



JEM

FIELDTRIP! to the Striezelmarkt

Frohe Weihnachten, Freunde! Merry Christmas, friends! Prepare to be overwhelmed with alcohol-induced jolliness and a craving for fruitcake because today we visit the Striezelmarkt, Dresden's world famous annual Christmas market.

You will notice from the above sign that this year is the 573rd annual incarnation of the Striezelmarkt. Yes, you read that right. The first recorded instance of the Striezelmarkt was in 1434, about 60 years before Columbus sailed the ocean blue and well over 300 years before the signing of the Declaration of Independence. I know I've mentioned this before, but I cannot get over how old stuff is over here. We Amerikaners have no concept of old.

The monthlong Striezelmarkt is among the largest in Germany, which is to say it's among the largest in the world. It's been estimated to receive 2 million visitors a year.


The market gets its name from the original name of Dresden's equally famous Christmas fruitcake, now called Stollen but formerly called Striezel. I'd tell you all about it, but honestly it's such a huge part of Christmas tradition here, it warrants its own entry. So we'll talk about it more later. Suffice it to say, it's really tasty. Tastier than any fruitcake you've likely ever encountered, which probably means very little to you. But trust me, you'll love it.

Not surprisingly you will find mountains of Stollen at the Striezelmarkt.


Other wonderful things you will find at the Striezelmarkt are ...


... gorgeous German-made, light-up paper star decorations (you see these hanging in every other window here this time of year and I adore them) ...


... and all manner of wooden things.


Germany, and specifically this corner of Germany, is the world capital of cute Christmas wooden things. Namely, nutcrackers, Schwibbogen (arch-shaped candle holders displayed in windows during the Christmas season), candle pyramids (we'll see a giant example later), and ...


... Räuchermänner! Aren't these guys adorable? They are little incense burners. They melt my insides.

You will also find lots of weird stuff, like these sporty fur hats and opium-scented candles. I didn't even know opium had a scent.

As you wander the market, you may find yourself itching for a festive drink. Never fear! You have many options, including hot chocolate, eggnog, coffee, and GROG. Yes, apparently people actually drink grog. I thought it only existed in Middle Earth and that it was drunk primarily by trolls. I'm learning so much here!

Another German-specific drink on this list is Glühwein, a mulled red wine served hot in mugs with cloves and cinnamon. It looks pretty tasty and makes me wish for, like, half a second that I drank alcohol.

While you're getting smashed on grog and hot wine, give the kids something that will make them feel like they are, too: a train ride through Christmastown-on-LSD!


And what German Christmas market would be complete without a gigantic Pyramide? None! That's what!


This is a monstrous, electric version of the candle pyramid I was talking about earlier. You put little candles in the base and the heat from the flames rise and push the propeller on top, which turns the platforms on the inside of the pyramid, creating this mini, slowly spinning parade of wooden characters. They are a German Christmas decor staple.

But although the Striezelmarkt is certainly the biggest and most well known Christmas market in Dresden, it is not the only Christmas market and it is not, according to the reporters here at American Dresdner, the coolest market. That title goes to the Altstadt market, which Jake and I wandered to after visiting the Striezelmarkt.


This intimate little occasion is located in the courtyard of King Augustus' palace and feels like wandering medieval Dresden. Everyone working there was dressed in medieval garb and among the handmade items for sale was a full suit of armor. The lantern-lit booths offered handmade wares ranging from baskets and hand-spun, hand-dyed yarn to steel viking helmets.


And, in case you get hungry here, there's plenty of meat on spits. Including this pig.


But I think the most noteworthy thing we saw at this market was a little band of possibly quite inebriated older Germans in a steaming wooden bathtub wearing nothing but Santa hats and smiles. They had a sign requesting 1 Euro per look and had collected quite a crowd of whooping and hollering onlookers. We tried to get a picture of one gentleman getting out of the tub (thankfully covering his front with a towel), but we were laughing so hard that the photo unfortunately didn't turn out. But the image of his wet, rumply butt will live in our memories forever, and judging by the screams and cheers of the crowd, we're not alone.

And on that note, I wish you all and all of yours a lovely Christmas season from Dresden. May it be free of drunk, wet, rumply German butts. Unless you're into that sort of thing.





JEM

The View from the Top

I just realized that I haven't formally introduced all of you to the most fabulous aspect of living on the sixth floor of a Plattenbau: the View. And thanks to some rather tumultuous skies of late, I've been able to land a couple of pictures that I think come close to doing it justice.

First, this is our rear view. This is what we can see from our living room and kitchen. You will notice the infamous soup factory in the foreground and the lovely gigantic-chimney-slash-cell-phone-tower. Usually this view is pretty unpleasant. But in the right light, it seems to take on a cool feel. I like the bird on the top edge who managed to get in on the action.


But here, my friends, is the crown jewel. This is the view from our massive bedroom windows. You will notice THE ENTIRE CITY OF DRESDEN. When we looked at this place for the first time, it smelled like asparagus (in retrospect, that probably was related somehow to the soup factory), was coated with dust, and had all the charm of storage unit. And then we looked out the window. And we took it immediately. We have not regretted the decision.


Not bad, eh?



JEM

P.S. I've got our next FIELDTRIP! on the stove. We'll be going to Dresden's world-famous Christmas market, the Striezelmarkt. And a good time WILL be had by all or I will happily refund your money.

Yes, Boss, I Am Disease Free!

I think one of the strangest things about living in a foreign country that I completely took for granted are the different laws. You assume, you know, that we're all western, capitalistic democracies, so we probably have pretty much the same rules. Not true. Here is today's example.

Yesterday I applied for an English teaching job at a local language school, and on the application I was asked for a photograph of myself, if I had any infectious diseases, if I had any "financial problems", and if I was "handicapped". Exact word. I'm actually surprised they didn't ask for my religion, sexual orientation, or political affiliation.

To quote Jake: "If they did that in America they would have no pants. Because they would have been sued off."

But we're not in America. We're in Germany. And practices like this are 100 percent legit here. Not only are they legal, they're standard procedure. So I don't blame this company. But I am counting my lucky stars that I'm young, healthy, and not especially unattractive.

And Germans are always whining about the high unemployment here. Hmmm.



JEM

Baby's First Haircut

In other news, Jake recently gave himself a haircut. He hadn't cut his hair since we got to Germany and was toying with the idea of letting it get kind of long. Then, a couple of weeks ago, he came home with a bad headache because the weather had changed (he always gets bad headaches when the weather changes) and so I rubbed his head. Afterward he felt better, but looked like this:


And then I vacuumed his head and this happened:


And I think it was pretty shortly after this that he decided it was time for a haircut.



JEM

An Evening at the Theatah

Don't ask me what's going on here.

It had been a while since we had enjoyed any culture, so last weekend we took in a play. We went with Jake's professor and a few other people to see "Sieben Schritte zur Selbstauflösung" ("Seven Steps to Self-Dissolution"), which Florian Beyer (pictured in the foreground), Jake's prof's brother, was performing in. The show was at Dresden's Neubau Schauspielhaus, a hipster theater in the hipster part of town. The lobby of the place was like a nightclub, with a bar, red walls, a disco ball, a record-spinning DJ, and all the young, good-looking people I never see in my neck of the woods. It was all very, very cool.

For whatever reason, going into the play, I was not concerned with being able to follow it, even though I knew it would be entirely in German. I've gotten really good at reading nonverbal language and I took drama in high school so I more or less get the symbolism and motivation in blocking and lighting and set and costume design and all that hooha.

I was not prepared for this.

Imagine the most post-modern, metaphoric, minimalistic, surreal theatrical commentary on cyberspace and current events. Now imagine it in German. Really fast, big-words German. If what you have imagined is some sort of illicit-drug-induced vision, then you have imagined exactly how I felt starting at about ten minutes in and going until several hours after the play had concluded. I spent the full hour and a half baffled by everything. Why is Florian pushing himself around in a wheeled office chair with a long stick? Why are those photographs floating in a fish tank? Are the actresses who were playing nuns two seconds ago and now appear to be playing hippie lesbians the same characters? Why is everyone holding big clear plastic balls? Why are those guys sword fighting now? Why is Florian's pal wrapped in bright blue tulle? And the gongs? What in the world is going on with the gongs?

Despite my bewilderment, it actually was really fun. I think watching people perform something they care about and have worked hard on is always fun, no matter what it is. But I'd be lying if I didn't take great comfort in Jake's professor's comment to me after the play:

"So, if you didn't understand all that, it's OK. I didn't understand it either."

Good to know I'm not alone.



JEM


P.S. Florian Beyer was adorable and should get thousands of wonderful roles!!

The Sledgehammer Wonder Workout

Jake decided when we moved to Germany and our lives were in complete upheaval anyway, it would be a good time to try to get into shape. Not wanting to invest in expensive equipment that we'll have to leave behind after three years and no longer really able to run because of chronic shinsplints, he googled "DIY exercise" and found this.

This guy, Reinhard Engel, (and he really is just a random guy — not a physical trainer or anything) has devised a bunch of exercises all revolving around a sledgehammer and called the whole shootin' match "Shovelglove". He wanted to exercise without having to go to the gym or roll around on the floor like some "degraded animal" and remembered reading a novel that said French coal shovelers had the world's greatest ab muscles. So he started to devise a way to simulate the movement and feel of shoveling without actually going outside and digging random holes. He met the sledgehammer and all sorts of magic ensued. You can read all about it and his theory and program on his hilarious website.

So, we took the tram to the hardware store and bought a sledgehammer. We got a few comments and looks on the way home. I suppose it would be sort of odd, if not outright terrifying, to see someone lugging a sledgehammer (and nothing else) onto the tram.

But when we got home, Jake immediately got to work and promptly lost 11 pounds doing his Shovelglove routine for 14 minutes every weekday as Reinhard suggests. He is continually getting leaner and his guns are bigger than I think they've ever been since I've known him (five years), and all he's doing is swinging a sledgehammer around and pretending to churn butter.

I got curious pretty early on and started doing it, too. At first it was difficult for me to swing the 11 pound sledgehammer even a couple of times. And after the first time I tried the above exercise ("Chopping Wood"), my back and shoulders hurt so badly I couldn't lift anything for a couple of days. But now I can do 30 with each arm with no problem. I don't look any different, really, but I feel stronger.

There's something about the movements of it, too, that feel really good. Reinhard's site talks a lot about the idea that these kinds of motions are what our bodies were built to do, and I totally agree with that. I've always hated doing push-ups, and I think now, that's just because the whole movement of it is so useless and unnatural. But I like doing this. It feels like I'm working, not exercising.

So, in closing, I think everyone should cancel their gym memberships and buy sledgehammers. Thank you for your time.



JEM

FIELDTRIP! to KaufMarkt

In an effort to make this blog slightly more interesting (and I strongly emphasize the word "slightly") I've decided to take my reader(s) on regular field trips. Some will be mundane, some will (hopefully) be thrilling, but I think they'll give you all a better idea of what life here in Germany is like, at least for me.

So with that, everybody grab your sack lunches and parental permission slips ... we're going on a FIELDTRIP! to my grocery store, KaufMarkt!


KaufMarkt (literally "buy store") is not to be confused with KaufPark (literally "buy park"), a shopping center just south of us, or a hardware store within said shopping center called MarktKauf (literally "store buy"). Are you all still here? Moving on.

Our neighborhood here on Otto-Dix-Ring can leave something to be desired by way of aesthetics. Regular vomit puddles at the busstop are a good example. But what the neighborhood lacks in vomit-free busstops, it makes up for tenfold in convenience. As it happens, we here at Otto-Dix-Ring are home to possibly the finest grocery store in Dresden. (With the exception of the other KaufMarkts.)

When Americans think of grocery shopping in Europe, I think they usually envision going to the bakery for bread, the produce stand for produce, and the butcher for meat. Which sounds terribly quaint, but let's be honest. That would be fun, like, once, and then it would just be a pain. I'm sure there are some Europeans who actually do this, but most go to grocery stores. Here in Germany, most of these grocery stores are really small, and I guarantee that if you go to one of them looking for a specific product, no matter what that product is, even if you've bought it before at that very store, you will not find it.

KaufMarkt is different. It's big by German standards, although it's probably comparable to a normal Albertson's in the U.S. And they're better at keeping things in stock. And by better I mean less bad. They still run out of things regularly. (Every time I go to there and they don't have any milk, I have to refrain from punching the stock person in the face and launching into some tirade about how I've never ever seen the milk run out in America, but that's a whole other story.)

But even though the store and experience feels relatively American, there are still plenty of German-specific aspects to enjoy. So let's get going!

First of all, I must prepare. Preparation involves bringing my own grocery bags. There are grocery bags at the checkout stand, but you have to buy them. They're only a few cents, but I try and reuse them just because of the principle of the thing. The theory, I think, is that people won't litter with the bags so much if they have to pay for them, and in that regard it completely works. I never see loose shopping bags flying around here the way I saw them in the States — in particular, growing up with a WINCO in my backyard.

Then I walk a couple of blocks to the semi-indoor, semi-outdoor shopping center where KaufMarkt lives. I thought about taking a picture of the shopping center, but it's just so ugly I couldn't bring myself to do it.



Then I get a cart. You have to put one Euro in the little slot to get the cart. Kind of like at the airport. You get the Euro back when you return the cart.

And then you go in the store and ride ... THE CART ESCALATOR! WOOHOO! This thing is really great. Grooves on the wheels lock in with grooves on the ramp and up you go.

Here are a few of the unusual things you'll notice once you're in:


This is the pickle aisle. KaufMarkt may run out of milk, my favorite cereal, makeup in my skin tone, and the best brand of frozen pizza, but I don't think they will ever run out of pickles. Ever.


As evidenced by the pickle aisle, I feel confident in saying you can judge a society's priorities by the biggest sections in their grocery stores. This is the meat section. It's bigger than the produce section and it's usually packed. You will find a few interesting things in this section, including, but not limited to, an abundant selection of weenies in jars. If you don't find this gross or disturbing and would not be opposed to eating a weenie straight from the jar, then you are a German. (Sidenote: After taking this picture, Jake and I ate boiled bottle weenies at a church activity, and they were actually really good. I plan on purchasing a jar in the near future. And dry heaving every time I see it sitting on top of our fridge.)


I don't have a lot to say here other than that we clearly no longer live in Utah.


You will be excited to learn that the milk here is "frische" and that they carry over 3,000 products from Germany's eastern states! (I suspect all 3,000 products are pickles and bottled weenies, but a more in-depth investigation is pending.)

At the checkout (and I apologize for not getting a picture of this, I tried, but this guy was staring at me and I felt uncomfortable) I have to bag my own groceries. The cashiers are too busy SITTING in their ergonomic chairs to be bothered with it. I have learned from having many impatient German elderlies run into me with their carts that the best way to do this is to just chuck everything into the cart as it's scanned and then go park the cart somewhere out of said elderly's way and bag them in peace and quiet.

Then I return the cart, load myself up and walk home. After the six flights of stairs carrying groceries, I inevitably have a more muscular butt and a stroke.

Well, I hope you had fun. I know I did! Stay tuned for our next FIELDTRIP! (location pending).



JEM

Interesting is Subjective

I've been tagged. Now I must tell you 7 INTERESTING* THINGS ABOUT ME or else I can't speak until I buy my friend and fellow blogger Dani a Coke. Isn't that how this works? Or is this more of a or-you'll-die-old-ugly-and-alone kind of thing? Or maybe it's a or-you-don't-love-Jesus-and-freedom kind of thing? Anyway, whatever it is, I can't risk it. So buckle your safety belts ... WE'RE OFF!

1. I'm currently in the middle of playing the highly acclaimed video game "Portal" (see above) and it's awesome.

2. I've developed an unhealthy dependence on Nutella (a delicious chocolate and hazelnut spread) since moving to Germany. I have to eat a slice of bread with Nutella on it about once every two or three hours or I start twitching and hallucinating.



3. Really deep water scares me. Not so much because I think I'll drown as much as I think a sea monster will eat me.



4. In high school I took French and I always thought the kids who took German were a little weird.



5. One of my life's goals is to ride a camel with two humps. If it happens to be in the vicinity of Egyptian pyramids, that's cool, too. (It's like a built-in saddle! Isn't it awesome?!)



6. When I was a kid my dream was to become a marine biologist (a strange choice considering number 3 on this list), until I learned that it involved science.


7. I have watched every single episode of the TV series "Firefly" at least three or four times.



* I'm using the word "interesting" very loosely here.





JEM

Longing

Jake's been in Amsterdam all week for a science conference. And this is what I feel like without him. Come home soon, sweetheart!




JEM

P.S. Apologies to cuteoverload.com for stealing your picture.

Adventures in Babysitting

So, I babysat three kids yesterday. Desiree is 10, Jared is 8 and Lars is 3, I think. (He and I were never able to reach a real conclusion here.) Their collective English ability consists of: "Hello, my name is ...", "What is your favorite color?", and "Do you have guinea pigs?" (Which, of course, is WAY ahead my second language ability at their ages. But I digress ...) So this naturally made things extra interesting. At no point more so than when, in the pouring rain, I locked myself and Desiree out of the house (Jared was at karate), leaving Lars all by himself watching us through the second floor window with an expression of mild concern.

To explain how this happened, I must explain German doors. Unlike private exterior doors in America, which have knobs and locks that must be manually set from either inside the door or with a key from the outside, all German private exterior doors (at least all that I've encountered) have no exterior knob. They just have this handle apparatus that does nothing to manipulate the latch and lock keeping the door closed. It's just there for convenience when pushing the door open. The thing — and I stress the ONLY thing — that can open the door from the outside is a key. So a closed door is ALWAYS locked to the outside. This means you never never never let that door close behind you without your key on your person. I have been pretty obsessive-compulsive about this so far. I check my purse at least three times for my keys before I leave the apartment because I am terrified of being locked out.

Which brings me to yesterday. Desiree gets home from school and buzzes from outside the yard gate (the gate works the same way as the doors — always locked — and I have to push a button from inside that lets her in). So I push the button, but she buzzes again. I push a different button, thinking I messed up and pushed the wrong one initially. She buzzes again. I look outside at her, bewildered. She does some flailing I don't understand. And this is when I apparently lost all sense. I run downstairs and outside to talk to her and see what I'm doing wrong. It's raining and I'm wearing only slippers. She tells me what to do, slowly and with lots of gesturing (I was right the first time, but she didn't catch the gate quick enough). OK! So I turn around to run back inside and ... yes. The door is closed. And then I'm screaming and Desiree is trying to figure out how to climb the fence. And then we see Lars just standing in the window watching us. So we start waving and jumping and pointing toward the front door and — miracle of miracles — he smiles, bobbles down the stairs and opens the door for us.

And that is how I came to owe my life to a toddler with a stinky diaper.



JEM

An Ode to Our Suitcases

I just wanted to announce that as of a couple of days ago, we officially have no clothing in suitcases, backpacks, or garbage bags. It is all now in a closet and a dresser. We're like real live people.

But before we banish our suitcases to the scary basement storage closet, let's reflect.

We bought our three suitcases about five months ago at the noble Deseret Industries, each for under (if I remember correctly) $7. We bought them because they were ginormous and the zippers and wheels still worked. Mostly. After much cramming, vacuum packing, and discarding, we filled them with all the things we couldn't live without.

And then, on July 9 ...

We dragged them through the Salt Lake International Airport, where I apparently turned into a celestial being. We checked them and were reunited with them eight years later in the Dresden airport.

And then we moved into this little rented room, where we spent the next 10 days in a brief stretch of my life I try to avoid thinking about for any length of time. (Jake started work immediately, so I got to sit here by myself all day being alternately freaked out and really bored.) But then, heaven be praised, we found an apartment ...

... where I turned into a lollipop after dragging our stuff up the stairs — and I didn't even do the biggest suitcases. I thought Jake was going to have a stroke. This picture is the strangest of them all for me. This is literally everything we own standing in one corner of a three bedroom apartment that is EMPTY. There was not a horizontal surface other than the floor in the whole place. No fridge, no oven, no kitchen sink, nothing.

But through it all, our trusty Suitcases were there, keeping our clothes and other possessions together and off the floor. Thank you, Suitcases, for your loyal companionship.



JEM

Dresden: Home of the Bra?

So I'm reading "Dresden" by Frederick Taylor and he says in passing in Chapter 3 that the brassiere was invented in Dresden in 1889 by one Christine Hardt. Naturally, I find this fantastic. So I go to the Interwebs to learn more about Fräulein Hardt. And I can't find any mention of her or that year with regard to the advent of the bra. In fact I can't find one solid answer as to who did, actually, invent the bra.

A lot of people (including MIT) seem to side with New York socialite Mary Phelps Jacobs who sewed together two silk handkerchiefs and some ribbon so she wouldn't have to wear a corset with her evening gown in 1913.

Others claim it was a German man named Otto Titzling who, in 1912, engineered a sort of reconfigured half-corset with shoulder straps for an ample-chested opera-singing acquaintance. The story goes that his idea was swiped and patented by a Frenchie named Phillip de Brassiere. But Snopes.com says that whole story is total bunk, completely fabricated by Wallace Reyburn in the satirical book called "Bust-Up: The Uplifting Tale of Otto Titzling and the Development of the Bra".

Still others say that if we're going to get down to the nitty-gritty of it, the bra was really invented by the Minoans in the seventh century B.C.

But, if it's OK with everyone, I'm going to stick with Frederick Taylor on this just so that I can say that I live in the home of the brassiere.



JEM

Five things ...

Usually I find surveys pretty dull, but I saw this one on my pal Dani's blog (www.vestlife.blogspot.com) and found it more telling and interesting than most. So here goes nothing ...

Five things I was doing 10 years ago: (October 1997 — high school freshman, age 14)*
1. Stalking three or four different older boys (who shall remain unnamed to protect the innocent) at Hillcrest High.
2. Playing guitar constantly at my house or at friends' houses. When not near a guitar, I was thinking about playing guitar.
3. Thinking a lot about whether the age difference would be a problem if I were to marry Jakob Dylan, lead singer of the Wallflowers. (He was 28 at the time, exactly twice my age. And the Wallflowers hadn't gone crap yet.)
4. Going to D.I.
5. Watching "That Thing You Do" over and over.

*For the record all of these things were done with my dear friend Marci.

Five things on my "to do list" today:
1. Buy cereal. (Check. Can't go the weekend without our SwietWiet and Red Berry Wellance!!)
2. Clean the apartment. (Check. Obscene amounts of dust swept up in bedroom. Yuck.)
3. Download "The Office." (Going to do as soon as I finish this.)
4. Get to 100 pages in novel. (Almost check. Still two pages shy.)
5. Deutsch lesson. (Check. I can now talk to a cab driver in German.)

Five things I would do if I were a millionaire:
1. Furnish this blasted apartment.
2. Take German classes.
3. Buy those smoking hot black boots I've been eyeing at the shoe store.
4. Travel. And fly all my family and friends out here to do it with me.
5. Buy Jake all the gadgetry he could handle without exploding.

Five things I will never wear again:
1. Really baggy old man polyester pants. (Thanks, Jake, for turning my life around by putting your foot down here. Yes, I was still doing this in college.)
2. Scrunchies.
3. Exploded bangs.
4. Shoulder pads.
5. Any jewelry item that has a green alien head on it ... OK, I might wear that again.

My favorite toys:
1. The Interwebs.
2. Nintendo DS.
3. Guitar.
4. Knitting needles and yarn.
5. iPod.

I don't think that turned out nearly as interesting as I thought it would.



JEM

Happy Birthday, Jake!

While I bum around all day, Jake analyzes data about gene networks dealing with the hippocampus. If anyone wants tips on marrying way out of your league, just let me know, I'm an expert.

Today is my wonderful husband's 27th birthday, so let's get to know him better with 20 Quick Facts About Jake!

1. Loves milk.
2. Recently lost 11 pounds with sledgehammer workout routine. (Don't fret, we'll talk more about this later.)
3. Is a leader for the Young Men in our ward.
4. Loves video game "Half Life 2".
5. Reads books with titles like "Electric Sensors for the Evil Genius" for pure enjoyment.
6. Favorite color is orange.
7. Favorite band is U2.
8. Used to be an Audi/VW car salesman.
9. Fifth of six kids.
10. Least favorite chore: dishes.
11. Most favorite chore: vacuuming.
12. Must dance whenever he hears "Chains of Love" by Erasure.
13. Afraid of aliens and heights.
14. Builds computers for fun.
15. Has hair EXACTLY like Trapper John from M*A*S*H.
16. Weakness for puppies.
17. Currently working toward his Ph.D. in bioinformatics.
18. Believes androids will be commonplace within our lifetimes. (I disagree, but we still make it work.)
19. Of all the superheroes, he most identifies with Batman.
20. Against all his better judgment he married me on Dec. 20, 2002.

I love you like crazy, mein Schatz, and I hope you have a wonderful day.



JEM

Pro 2: Amazing Art in Random Places

In the Intermountain West, where I'm from originally, if there is any manmade structure that is pretty or old (100 years old is old) it's treated like diamonds. The city puts plaques and little gardens around it. They get it certified as a historical whatever. The local watercolor society paints pictures of it in every season and from every angle. It is adored.

Something I've noticed here is that pretty and old are the rule, not the exception. There are fantastic sculptures and stunning architecture everywhere. And it's no big whoop. They don't put up plaques telling you every detail about its creation. As a matter of fact, most people don't really seem to notice it at all.

This couple in the photo is flanking the window of a dentist's office. Not a palace or a museum. A dentist's office. I ride by them on the bus all the time, and I love them. But I don't think I've ever seen anyone else look up at them. In fact, the wall just below them (I purposely cut it out of the photo) is splattered with graffiti.

I haven't decided yet if the nonchalance is refreshing or disconcerting, but I definitely enjoy soaking it all in, no matter what the locals think (or don't think) of it. I'll post more pictures of the public art for your enjoyment as I take them.



JEM

Communist Plumbing and You

I feel that our bathroom plumbing warrants a word. You can see here that we do not have a shower. Not that I didn't try to shower when we first moved here. It didn't work very well. Mostly I just splashed all over the non-tiled walls and the place smelled like wet, musty paint for a while. So I relunctantly succumbed to the bath. Before this I hadn't bathed since childhood. Well, in the sense that I didn't sit in a person-sized ceramic bowl of hot water. I did clean myself. I just showered, was all. At first I hated my return to the bath. I hated all the contortions involved with leg-shaving and washing all those parts that aren't very accessible when sitting. But I've gotten my routine down, now, and I thoroughly enjoy my baths. Maybe you can tell from my happy boiled lobster toes in this picture. I even (with my dear husband's help) created a bathtime mix on iTunes. I'd always hated the Beatles' song "Octopus's Garden", but it turns it that's only because I'd never listened to it while scrubbing up in a tub.

But enough about my hygiene. The really interesting thing here is our stunning faucet arrangement. I'm not sure why the communists were opposed to having two faucets in the bathroom, but I have to admit, I find the set up rather ingenious engineering-wise, if not sort of useless. The faucet, as you can tell, swivels between the sink and the tub, and the shower head comes straight out of the sink faucet. Making it impossible to brush your teeth while running a bath. I suppose with my schedule, I can afford to lose a little multi-tasking.

That third fixture, between the shower and the faucet is our washer hookup. The hose runs along the base of the tub and attaches to the washer, which sits right next to your head when you're sitting in the tub. The washing machines drains, as I've mentioned before, but still haven't gotten over, through an open-ended hose that I have to remember to lay in the tub anytime I do a load. So there goes another multi-tasking option: No doing laundry while anyone's taking a bath. Unless they like to bathe in dirty laundry water.

Strange that my amazing Doc Brown bathroom is able to do all the multi-tasking it wants, but in the process it leaves me even less productive than normal.



JEM