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