American Dresdner: Have you become a hermit?
Jasmine E. Michaelson: Well, hermit is such a harsh word.
AD: Let me rephrase that. How many times have you left the apartment in the last three days?
JEM: Twice.
AD: What did you do?
JEM: I met Jake for lunch one time and the other time I took out the garbage.
AD: Taking out the garbage does not count as leaving the apartment.
JEM: Why not? I had to put on shoes.
AD: Did you tie them?
JEM: No.
AD: Then it doesn't count. Why have you become a hermit?
JEM: I still disagree with the word choice, but to answer your question, it just happened. I made no conscious decision to become a "hermit" (makes air quotes with fingers). The weather's been really gray and miserable and I just haven't felt particularly motivated to go out and have adventures.
AD: Critics may say you are wasting the chance of a lifetime by being a hermit while living in Europe, something many people dream of doing, but never get the chance to do. What is your response to these critics?
JEM: I can't visit museums and cathedrals and listen to street musicians every day, I'm sorry.
AD: Why not?
JEM: I've got important stuff to do around the apartment.
AD: Like what?
JEM: Like sweeping up dust bunnies, reheating leftovers and writing my awesome novel.
AD: I suppose that's a legitimate use of time. Assuming it's not complete garbage.
JEM: It's not. Only about 45 percent garbage. The rest is self-indulgent drivel.
AD: How much time have you spent on it today?
JEM: About two hours.
AD: And what did you do the rest of the day?
JEM: Took out the garbage.
AD: And that took six hours?
JEM: This interview is over. (Tears microphone off shirt and storms from room in huff.)
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Minority Rule
The kid's got a fistful of fliers or coupons or something, and he's right there. Totally unavoidable. A German could avoid it. They can look straight through people when they want to. But for a small town American the encounter is unavoidable. It's like I can't not make eye contact with him. So I do and he's all smiles and jumps into this sales pitch that I don't understand a word of.
I tell him he's got to slow down, my German's not very good, and now he's curious.
Where are you from?
America.
(Rough translation) Really? Wow! I never would have guessed! You look just like a German at first glance!
Then he asks me all kinds of questions. What am I doing here? How long will I live here? What part of the city do I live in? Do I like it here?
And then he says something like, "This made my day, I've never met an American before."
My entire life I've been a member of the majority. Majority religion, majority race. Heck, at my university I belonged to the majority gender. But of all of my majorities, the one that has always been the most unremarkable was my nationality. And here's some kid telling me how cool it is to meet an American.
And I'm thinking this is pretty cool.
JEM
I tell him he's got to slow down, my German's not very good, and now he's curious.
Where are you from?
America.
(Rough translation) Really? Wow! I never would have guessed! You look just like a German at first glance!
Then he asks me all kinds of questions. What am I doing here? How long will I live here? What part of the city do I live in? Do I like it here?
And then he says something like, "This made my day, I've never met an American before."
My entire life I've been a member of the majority. Majority religion, majority race. Heck, at my university I belonged to the majority gender. But of all of my majorities, the one that has always been the most unremarkable was my nationality. And here's some kid telling me how cool it is to meet an American.
And I'm thinking this is pretty cool.
JEM
Monday, January 28, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Con 2: Crap Music
There was a time when Germany made some of the finest music in the world (Beethoven and Bach were both Germans), but sadly, that time is past. Today Germany is world-renowned for producing music that is complete crap.
One genre Germans are crazy for their techno/trance/house music. Please watch the first 60 seconds of this video to get an idea of what this all about. But for heaven's sake don't watch it to the end. Your brain will liquify and drip out of your nose. And this is some of the better stuff.
Techno is to Germany what hip-hop is to the U.S. It's what leaks from the crappy ear buds of every fake-baked, tight-white-pants-wearing, over-gelled-hair-rocking, eyebrow-waxing, Euro-trash young person you will encounter in Germany. I'll try to snap a few spy photos for you of these people, but pretty much if you watch this video you get the right idea. The prettyboy in the yellow shirt spinnin' the beats is a textbook example.
Here's my favorite thing that the teen/tween techno fans do. On their cell phones they have this neat little function where they can play music through these miniscule speakers, which, you can probably imagine, sounds a little bit like a wasp dying in your ear canal. And when these teens get on the tram in a group, they always think, "Hey, you know what this party needs?" (survey crowd of elderly people, mothers with children, and me) "Some juicy beats!" And they crank that itty-bitty speaker as far as it will go with the most mind-numbing song they own and favor us all with a little taste of their coolness. And it's all I can do to keep from gettin' down right there on the tram.
Or stealing their cell phone and crushing it in my teeth.
JEM
Friday, January 18, 2008
Prague Blog
Right after Christmas we spent a day in Prague with some friends.
Don't you want to slap my mouth when I say that? "Yeah, we just buzzed over to Prague. Whatever. (*eye roll and wristy wave of hand*)" But guess what? You can't slap me! Cuz I'm way over here by Prague, and you're, like, wherever you are that's not here! But I'll make you a deal. If you fly over here and are in my presence for more than two seconds, I will let you slap me in the mouth. But until then, and probably after then, and likely even during the slap itself, I will continue to annoyingly rub your noses in the fact that I live within driving distance of Prague.
We'll likely be making a few more treks to this beautiful city, so I won't exhaust it in this one entry. But I did want to share a few photos with you so that A. you can be jealous and B. my primary censor and editor Jake will get off my back about American Dresdner needing to get out of the apartment.
So, here we go! Among the things everyone should see in Prague is the cathedral in the palace.
Horror-movie-tastic! You should go inside, too. Here are some of the things you'll see there:
That's the only really touristy thing we're going to look at today. We'll visit more next time. Now, we're going to look at some weird things that brought me joy. Like this awesome sculpture:
And my former employer raking in the korunas:
While our friends drove on to Austria, we had to hop a train back home, and ended up having to wait it out for a couple of hours in the freezing, dilapidated Prague train station. Here are some things we saw there:
But here was one of the sweetest parts of the whole day for me. We were wandering the train station, killing time, and feeling a little disgruntled after using the train station's rather unsettling public restrooms (the men have to relieve themselves on a wall with dirty water trickling down it and the women don't get the option of using toilet paper — thank heaven I had a pocket pack of tissues, but let's not dwell on this), when we discovered this:
There was some sort of thrift store situation occupying several massive rundown art nouveau halls at one out-of-the-way end of the train station.
I've been to lots of thrift stores, but I've never seen anything like this. Thrift stores are supposed to be in basements and garages and unfinished warehouses. Right? This was some kind of surreal dream.
I'm a big fan of thrift stores. I have been since I was in middle school. I love the hunt and I love imagining the stories behind all these weird clothes and weird things. Some people are squeamish about wearing something a stranger once owned, but I kind of like it. Jake's got a cousin who's a fellow thrift store hound who suggested to me once that maybe clothes can be haunted by their former wearers. I've gotten a kick out of that idea ever since she mentioned it to me. And if ever thrift store clothes were haunted, I think these would be.
So, naturally, I had to take a few home.
JEM
Don't you want to slap my mouth when I say that? "Yeah, we just buzzed over to Prague. Whatever. (*eye roll and wristy wave of hand*)" But guess what? You can't slap me! Cuz I'm way over here by Prague, and you're, like, wherever you are that's not here! But I'll make you a deal. If you fly over here and are in my presence for more than two seconds, I will let you slap me in the mouth. But until then, and probably after then, and likely even during the slap itself, I will continue to annoyingly rub your noses in the fact that I live within driving distance of Prague.
We'll likely be making a few more treks to this beautiful city, so I won't exhaust it in this one entry. But I did want to share a few photos with you so that A. you can be jealous and B. my primary censor and editor Jake will get off my back about American Dresdner needing to get out of the apartment.
So, here we go! Among the things everyone should see in Prague is the cathedral in the palace.
Horror-movie-tastic! You should go inside, too. Here are some of the things you'll see there:
That's the only really touristy thing we're going to look at today. We'll visit more next time. Now, we're going to look at some weird things that brought me joy. Like this awesome sculpture:
And my former employer raking in the korunas:
While our friends drove on to Austria, we had to hop a train back home, and ended up having to wait it out for a couple of hours in the freezing, dilapidated Prague train station. Here are some things we saw there:
But here was one of the sweetest parts of the whole day for me. We were wandering the train station, killing time, and feeling a little disgruntled after using the train station's rather unsettling public restrooms (the men have to relieve themselves on a wall with dirty water trickling down it and the women don't get the option of using toilet paper — thank heaven I had a pocket pack of tissues, but let's not dwell on this), when we discovered this:
There was some sort of thrift store situation occupying several massive rundown art nouveau halls at one out-of-the-way end of the train station.
I've been to lots of thrift stores, but I've never seen anything like this. Thrift stores are supposed to be in basements and garages and unfinished warehouses. Right? This was some kind of surreal dream.
I'm a big fan of thrift stores. I have been since I was in middle school. I love the hunt and I love imagining the stories behind all these weird clothes and weird things. Some people are squeamish about wearing something a stranger once owned, but I kind of like it. Jake's got a cousin who's a fellow thrift store hound who suggested to me once that maybe clothes can be haunted by their former wearers. I've gotten a kick out of that idea ever since she mentioned it to me. And if ever thrift store clothes were haunted, I think these would be.So, naturally, I had to take a few home.
JEM
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
I'll Take That Dimetapp Now, Thanks
I just finished knitting my first pair of socks a couple of days ago.
AND I'M REALLY EXCITED ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm now taking orders. You can expect to receive your custom socks in 3 to 5 years. Oh yeah, and if you're new and wondering why we have a sledgehammer in our living room, read this.
Bye.
JEM
AND I'M REALLY EXCITED ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm now taking orders. You can expect to receive your custom socks in 3 to 5 years. Oh yeah, and if you're new and wondering why we have a sledgehammer in our living room, read this.
Bye.
JEM
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
They Want Blood
As a Mormon, I believe we are all children of God. That being said, I think the 4-year-olds in my Sunday school class are trying to destroy me.
I got the assignment to help teach this class a few months ago. I was initially paired up with this wonderful young mom in the ward who speaks flawless English. My first lesson went pretty well. Preparing it was more work than I've ever put into any church teaching assignment, and in the end it was way too short, but the kids seemed to be attentive and interested. In retrospect, that probably had more to do with my accent and strange way of speaking than any language-transcending child skills. But I taught several more lessons, and they also went pretty well. My German was improving and the kids were starting to get used to me. They weren't perfect. But my teaching partner was always there to wrestle and subdue and chastise when necessary.
But at the beginning of the year, things got shuffled. My partner stayed with the 3-year-olds-turning-4 class, and I moved up with the kids we'd been teaching to the 4-year-olds-turning-5 class. The first Sunday a woman from the Primary presidency came to my class to sit in and help keep the kids in check. They were a bit crazier than normal, but it was tolerable. And I think by the end of class they could tell you that WdR stands for "Wähl das Rechte" ("Choose the Right"), so I consider that a success.
But last Sunday I was alone. In a small room with five children I don't understand 85 percent of the time. And for 45 minutes anarchy reigned. Even the mild-mannered kids were going nuts. And the already nuts kids were going completely postal. Kids were screaming and climbing tables and running through the halls. They were crumpling up the drawings I'd worked on all night to illustrate a story. The most quiet the kids got (when they were all in the room at the same time) was when one girl tripped and smacked her head on a table. While she cried it out and I held her, everyone else watched and said nothing. It was amazing. But it only lasted about 30 seconds. In the end, I think the kids could tell you that I tried to tell some story that involved birds and then we sang a song while one girl angrily and repeatedly hit my songbook.
The reason I share this is because next week I'll be alone again and I am pleading with you, people of the Internets, in all your wisdom, to share any tips you might have on wrangling rabid badgers, I mean 4-year-olds. Keep in mind that verbally reasoning with them is out of the question in my case. I can stay "Stop it", "Listen", "Be quiet", and "Sit down", but I can't be expected to be able to choke out much more than that in German come gametime when the adrenaline is really flowing. Whatever I do will have to be very straightforward and action-oriented. I'm thinking reiterate the rules and figure out some kind of reward system for the kids who are good.
With your help, and God willing, I will live to fight another day.
JEM
I got the assignment to help teach this class a few months ago. I was initially paired up with this wonderful young mom in the ward who speaks flawless English. My first lesson went pretty well. Preparing it was more work than I've ever put into any church teaching assignment, and in the end it was way too short, but the kids seemed to be attentive and interested. In retrospect, that probably had more to do with my accent and strange way of speaking than any language-transcending child skills. But I taught several more lessons, and they also went pretty well. My German was improving and the kids were starting to get used to me. They weren't perfect. But my teaching partner was always there to wrestle and subdue and chastise when necessary.
But at the beginning of the year, things got shuffled. My partner stayed with the 3-year-olds-turning-4 class, and I moved up with the kids we'd been teaching to the 4-year-olds-turning-5 class. The first Sunday a woman from the Primary presidency came to my class to sit in and help keep the kids in check. They were a bit crazier than normal, but it was tolerable. And I think by the end of class they could tell you that WdR stands for "Wähl das Rechte" ("Choose the Right"), so I consider that a success.
But last Sunday I was alone. In a small room with five children I don't understand 85 percent of the time. And for 45 minutes anarchy reigned. Even the mild-mannered kids were going nuts. And the already nuts kids were going completely postal. Kids were screaming and climbing tables and running through the halls. They were crumpling up the drawings I'd worked on all night to illustrate a story. The most quiet the kids got (when they were all in the room at the same time) was when one girl tripped and smacked her head on a table. While she cried it out and I held her, everyone else watched and said nothing. It was amazing. But it only lasted about 30 seconds. In the end, I think the kids could tell you that I tried to tell some story that involved birds and then we sang a song while one girl angrily and repeatedly hit my songbook.
The reason I share this is because next week I'll be alone again and I am pleading with you, people of the Internets, in all your wisdom, to share any tips you might have on wrangling rabid badgers, I mean 4-year-olds. Keep in mind that verbally reasoning with them is out of the question in my case. I can stay "Stop it", "Listen", "Be quiet", and "Sit down", but I can't be expected to be able to choke out much more than that in German come gametime when the adrenaline is really flowing. Whatever I do will have to be very straightforward and action-oriented. I'm thinking reiterate the rules and figure out some kind of reward system for the kids who are good.
With your help, and God willing, I will live to fight another day.
JEM
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