1. I went to dinner with my future work mates. Most of them I already know, and a few were new to me, including the guy sitting across the table from me, Christian. We chatted about whatever, and then the very Italian waiters ("BUONA SERRA! BUOOOOOOONA SEEEEEERRRRAAAAA!") came over to take our drink orders. I shook my head "no thanks" because I don't drink, and then (gasp!) Christian did the same! I was shocked! Shocked, I tell you, to meet a German who doesn't drink. I asked him why, and he said "Because I'm Straight Edge." Then he asked if I'd ever heard of that.
As a matter of fact I have, but only as an entry in a silly book I bought called The Field Guide to the Urban Hipster, where it showed a Eurotrashy guy with glasses, a buzzcut, and a mean look on his face. Now that I think about it, he looked remarkably like my new friend, except for the mean look.
So I did a little research and found that I've been living a life that conforms to many of the Straight Edge beliefs, especially the refraining from the tobacco, alcohol, and recreational drugs. Its origins derive from a band called Minor Threat, which I've never heard of... though I have heard of, and often listen to Fugazi, which was started by the former lead singer of Minor Threat, Ian MacKaye.
2. This week I realized that the only people in Germany who are guaranteed not to speak any English AT ALL are people who work at Information booths in large German train stations, and the good folks at the government offices where everyone who doesn't speak German comes to fill out complex and confusing paperwork. It's awesome. I've been spending lots of time with some of the Germanest folks ever, working on a rather convoluted process of obtaining a work visa. As far as I can tell, there is no set process (how very UNGerman!) at all... in fact, they seem to be adding little tedious requirements as we go, just because they can. And you can't not be polite - you don't want to get thrown out of the country because you told some frauline to get the giant stick out of her ass about what is obviously perfectly good proof of health insurance. And so I wait and service their little visa needs. A signed letter from him, a photocopy of that. If they ask for a sperm sample, I'm calling the American embassy.
3. A week ago, I bought a little basil plant. That night! I could barely contain my excitement at the thought of all the fresh basil I need for the rest of my life. I love basil! And this was gonna be my bottomless jar of fresh. Then the next day, it was sad, sad, sad. Droopy and wilted, with evil around the edges, like Dick Cheney. So I fed it a little water, and it perked up, but it was never the same. I fought back the reeper for a week, and today I came home to what has become a lost herbal cause. It's dead. It's a goner. And that makes me sad. I never claimed, my thumbs were green, but I couldn't even keep basil alive.
No comments:
Post a Comment