Achtung Italy

Today, I have the pleasure of hosting Kristin from Taming Insanity.

She's super neat and entertaining, so hunker down with a giant burrito because she's going to tell you a story.

(If anyone needs me, I'll be over at her place, sharing a different version of Mother's Day in the "Spelled Without an H" household.)

In high school we had to take a foreign language to graduate. Being the rebel that I am, I refused to take Spanish because everyone else took it. French seemed like it would be full of romantics which was clearly unacceptable. So I went with option #3: German.

I found I was surprisingly interested in the language and went on to take more classes in college. These included German Feminist Writing and German Poetry. Lest I sound like a brainiac let me clarify: there was only one teacher in college. We were at her mercy and learned whatever she chose to teach.

Our German Feminist Writing class was my least favorite. We primarily read short stories featuring women forced to overcome horrible men. Often, the class would devolve into a debate on whether a particular scene depicted a romantic gesture or rape. The class could never settle the argument. It's kind of ruined my idea of feminism. My idea of romance was already pretty low.

Even so, I had visions of taking Europe by storm. One day, I planned to live in Germany and eat chocolate all day. I would party so hard and comment on the many different types of sparrows.

One summer I went on a trip of southern Germany and Northern Italy with my mom, sister and a tour group. It was quite the whirlwind...we barely slept and visited 4 countries in 10 days. Ironically, my German did not serve me well while in Germany. It did, however, save me from wandering the streets of Venice for the rest of my life.

As teens who can finally drink are wont to do, when we hit Venice we immediately danced our way straight to the discotheque. Naturally, one of the group got wasted. Being wasted was the primary way to get yourself sent home early, so my sister and I determined we would smuggle him back to the hotel. Little did we know, Venice shuts down completely at night. To the point where even the storefronts close their displays. All landmarks are hidden. It takes tourist trap to a whole new level.

We walked for approximately forever before we determined we were officially lost and with a drunk guy. Then we started popping into every hotel we saw to see if we could get directions. Imagine our surprise when not one person in all of Venice spoke English.

I began to suspect they were lying to us during the following exchange:

Me: Does anyone speak English? We need directions.
Lady 1 (in German): What does she want?
Lady 2 (in German): She wants to know if we speak English.
Lady 1 (in German): Tell her no.
Me (in German, proudly): Wait! I can speak German too!! We need directions, please.

They very grudgingly explained how to get back to our hotel which we had passed two miles ago. We wandered back there while I tried to steer a drunk and maintain my composure. But, I was pretty sure I had just taken Europe by storm. My German skills thwarted Venetian scheming!

And to boot, I finished the trip without being romanced or raped.

Who's up for potstickers?

Hey animal crackers,

The cool kids are hanging out at Stir-Fry Awesomeness today.

Why, you ask?

1) Tracie is super neat.

 2) I'm guest-blogging/guest-confessing.

3) It's high and fiber and we're both very concerned about your regularity.

So, grab a low-fat bran muffin and a tall glass of prune juice and enjoy my over-share!

The Center of the Universe

Hey, kids.  I'm over here today, and Tink from This is How it Feels will be entertaining you.

There's food in the fridge, keep your feet of the sofa and don't forget to put the seat back down.

 "It's amazing the sh!t you DON'T see when you actually live here." 

- said to Orlando as we were going to see the Statue of Liberty.

It's amazing the beauty we take for granted. I have always had a love for the City. I refer to it as THE City, because that's what anyone from the Northeast U.S. calls NYC. Also,  it could be because it's the only city that really matters. Acting as tour guide for Orlando, I never realized how much of the city I still have yet to see. 

A perfect example is Grand Central Terminal. We've all seen it in the movies, and know it's beautiful, but up until Orlando came to stay with me, I had never looked at the ceiling, because that is the first thing he did. Whodathunk that all the constellations of the zodiac are painted up there. Now I have to look every time I am there. 

I'd only ever seen the Statue of Liberty from the BQE on my way to Grandma's house in Brooklyn. I thought the Chrysler building was the Empire State Building for the longest time. I've never eaten lunch in Central Park (although, I've also never been killed and mutilated there either, so I guess it evens out). I haven't even been to Ground Zero.

It's not just the sights we take for granted, either. It's the Culture. The People. 

In the city, we are all just little separate universes, floating around, longing to collide, but being too scared, busy, annoyed, hungry, tired, uppity, angry, and/or stressed to do so. It's like we are in subway cars. We are trains that are speeding alongside each other, and while you can see into the next car over, it's not quite tangible through the bars of the glass and metal cages. You can see the woman in the next car, who is looking overworked, undersexed, and generally unhappy, but smug because she has a college degree. You can make up all the backstory you want about her. You can make her into a woman who leads a double life, corporate exec by day, Go Go girl at night. but you never really know, because she is intangible. 

I mean, I'm not saying I want to reach out and touch every single universe out there. But maybe that guy talking to himself while wandering around the Grand Concourse is the next Socrates. Then again, he could be schizophrenic. Or both. 

Those kids in Grand Central who asked me how to get back to Kansas could have been pulling my leg, or they could have seriously flown from Kansas to NY for a spur of the moment trip, realized that it's a city that runs on the blood of the innocent, and were trying to make their way back home to Dorothy, Toto, and Auntie Em (<-----True story. Swearsies.... minus the Auntie Em, Toto, and Dorothy Part). 

So I've been making a habit of doing something I wouldn't normally do. 

Today, I stopped, and I listened to the Woman from Africa singing in the Penn Station Subway. I don't know what she was saying, but she had the most beautiful voice I ever heard. Even better than the Tribal Native Americans. But only slightly better, and only because she was crying as she was singing.

I gave a bum some change, and he grunted at me and walked away. He's gonna find a way to get high whether or not it's with MY change, and judging from the way his other personality was talking to him, I don't blame him for being under the influence.

I asked a woman on the subway for a Pen, and we struck up a conversation about Fashion, Don't Ask Don't Tell, and Orlando. All between 34th St. and Times Square on the 7 Train. And you know what, when that train began to fill up, she scooched to the seat next to mine. Why? because we were BFF's, albeit for 5 minutes. 

I stopped for those boys from Kansas. I told them how to get to Jamaica, and patiently explained that Jamaica was part of Queens. I patiently explained that by "train" I meant "subway", because a subway is just a train underground. I told them how to get to the big Amtrak office in Penn Station. Even though I only had 7 minutes to take money out, purchase my ticket from the machine that was only taking cash at the time, and board my train. Because they looked like they were in real distress. Maybe they were just practicing an exercise for their acting class, but dammit, they were good, and their performance was worth the time. 

The point is I began reaching out to people. Those boys will either remember me for the one person that stopped and helped them, or the d-bag that was subject to their exercise. Either way, they will remember me. I may have not made what the world sees as "useful" connections, but I made connections that personally enriched my life. And really, that's what it's ll about. Have you reached out and touched somebody today?*

Love,

---

*I don't mean in the "back of the adult bookstore" pervos!

Guest post are for cool kids!

I'm guest posting today at Diary of a Mad Bathroom.

If you haven't already discovered this blogging wonder, then I suggest you high-tail it over there, get to know her and then follow her like the tiny bloggy stalkers we all are.

One of my recent favorites of hers is whenever she does Post It Note Tuesdays.  Plus, I think it's the fastest and best way to get to know her.

In the meantime, has anyone been watching the Olympics?  Does anyone else want to move to Vancouver with me, get a few more tattoos, make maple syrup and learn to tap dance?

Just me?