We returned from our Ann Arbor Christmas last night having seen many of the people we had hoped to see and missed a few others. Mercifully, Ellis slept the entire 290 miles back to the farm.
For a second year, our hosts in Ann Arbor went out of their way to make the three of us comfortable and welcome, whether it be playing cards, cooking or stocking up on my favorite beers.
Ellis did very well with all of the new people and did quite well playing with his second cousins, although being the youngest, they did leave him in the dust a few times. His Aunt Lindsey played with him a lot and took him off our hands so we could have an evening of much needed adult time with friends.
Ellis is poised for a language explosion. He babbles and imitates us all of the time, but not quite with words. He is getting the first sound of more and more words as we ask him what he wants and he mimics things back to us such as when we ask if he wants to take a bath and he makes the sign but also says, "Ba!" He clearly understands many more words than we realize as he often acts appropriately based on what we say. Normally, when we suggest going outside, he gets his coat, but today Rachel said, "Do you want to go outside with dad?" and Ellis got his boots and my coat in addition to his own. I was also surprised to see him try to take his clothes off on his own today at my suggestion. I said, "Let's take off your shirt," and he started to try to get it off on his own, same with the pants. He also has a firm grip on "no" and generally uses it when asked a yes or no question. However, he doesn't get "yes" yet. Instead, he says "oh" as one might in tone it in an exaggerated proclamation of "Oh, Boy!" and then he laughs a moderately sinister laugh.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Apartment: Check, I hope
It appears as though we will be renting the first apartment I have looked at. It is in West Medford about 5 minute bike ride from work. Of course the mountains of snow would get in my way now, but they won't be there forever.
A few positive features of the apartment:
A few positive features of the apartment:
- Size (1600 sq. feet) for money is extremely good for Boston.
- Downstairs neighbors are a similar couple with a kid similar in age to Ellis.
- The yard has two raised patios, one each for us and them.
- Lead paint was all removed from the apartment. (This isn't all that common here.)
- Scout is welcome to live with us
- 2 blocks from a giant park
- 5 blocks from a sizable nature area
- Current tenant will sell me Maytag washer and Whirlpool dryer for a total of $85.
- All brand new replacement windows
- Gas heat
- Gas stove
- Gas hot water
- New bathroom with tile floor and a good tub.
- Generally painted in tasteful but interesting colors
- 2 parking spaces
- Sizable room off of the kitchen that could hold our deep freezer...or maybe home brew gear.
- Big kitchen for a rental
- It is in an oldish house and the floors are a bit wonky.
- While the majority of the apartment has been modernized in many ways, the kitchen cabinets are from '77.
- Floor plan is a little weird, but of course this was the 2nd story of a giant house at one time and hence had no obvious place for the kitchen.
- One tiny room I will call the plywood paneled room. The current tenants went with it and decorated it accordingly to good effect. This is the likely freezer room. We will see what we come up with though.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Damned old skyway blues
As Rachel mentioned, the excitement of new jobs, a new city and Christmas with family have been tempered by the loss of Rachel's grandmother this week.
On my side, I have spent a week with my new company and despite a bit of tentativeness on all sides, we are off to a good start. I have, however, fared poorly getting back to Indiana for the funeral. I was supposed to fly last night, but saw the northeast snow storm coming, so I adjusted for an earlier flight. But the storm outfoxed me and got here at 2 pm. Northwest canceled nearly all flights and consolidated everyone on ours. They loaded my plane at 2:40 and spent 4 hours de-icing and trying to get us out. We even taxied out once, but then the pilots couldn't see out the side passenger windows well enough to verify that the wings hadn't re-iced on our way out to the runway, so back we went and as they fired up the de-icers for one last try, NWA called the flight.
During that 4 hours, I sat between two guys bigger than me, one a hell of a nice guy who worked in automotive and we knew the same people. He was going to Indiana as well and suggested that if we could just get to Detroit, where we would both miss our connection, that his company would pay for the rental car and I could hitch on with him. The other of my companeros for this 4 hours was a strangely conservative, glass engineer dumb-it-all (a know-it-all who actually gets his facts wrong) with a loud voice and an endless supply of jokes following the pattern of "How is a woman like hurricane?" As he complained about the poor work ethic of de-icers he believed to be examples of union-protected laziness, an argument broke out with a retired member of the Northwest Ground Crew Corp. Nice.
As we unloaded, sweaty from several hours without climate control during de-icing, NWA had one person posted whose job it was to tell us that they would only rebook on the phone and that we were all going to have to wait for a full 24 hours for a flight. Generally, the people on the phone and in the airport for NWA have been terribly rude with the customers with the staff here putting us off on the phone staff and vice-versa and the ticket counter folks putting us off on the gate personal and vice-versa.
The bright spots of course are that my company has been understanding, I got back to a warm place last night with friends in the city and I should still get there in time for the funeral and to see everyone. Secondarily, I noticed that for the most part, the average folks in Boston were all quite helpful with each other, pushing each other's cars, giving strangers instructions and help to get somewhere warm etc.
It will be quite a relief to see everyone tonight, especially Ellis, who I have been missing a lot lately with his gallivanting to Ireland last month and my gallivanting to Boston this month. He did hear my voice on the phone the other night and declare, "Da!"
Alright, I gotta go jump into the standby mosh pit.
On my side, I have spent a week with my new company and despite a bit of tentativeness on all sides, we are off to a good start. I have, however, fared poorly getting back to Indiana for the funeral. I was supposed to fly last night, but saw the northeast snow storm coming, so I adjusted for an earlier flight. But the storm outfoxed me and got here at 2 pm. Northwest canceled nearly all flights and consolidated everyone on ours. They loaded my plane at 2:40 and spent 4 hours de-icing and trying to get us out. We even taxied out once, but then the pilots couldn't see out the side passenger windows well enough to verify that the wings hadn't re-iced on our way out to the runway, so back we went and as they fired up the de-icers for one last try, NWA called the flight.
During that 4 hours, I sat between two guys bigger than me, one a hell of a nice guy who worked in automotive and we knew the same people. He was going to Indiana as well and suggested that if we could just get to Detroit, where we would both miss our connection, that his company would pay for the rental car and I could hitch on with him. The other of my companeros for this 4 hours was a strangely conservative, glass engineer dumb-it-all (a know-it-all who actually gets his facts wrong) with a loud voice and an endless supply of jokes following the pattern of "How is a woman like hurricane?" As he complained about the poor work ethic of de-icers he believed to be examples of union-protected laziness, an argument broke out with a retired member of the Northwest Ground Crew Corp. Nice.
As we unloaded, sweaty from several hours without climate control during de-icing, NWA had one person posted whose job it was to tell us that they would only rebook on the phone and that we were all going to have to wait for a full 24 hours for a flight. Generally, the people on the phone and in the airport for NWA have been terribly rude with the customers with the staff here putting us off on the phone staff and vice-versa and the ticket counter folks putting us off on the gate personal and vice-versa.
The bright spots of course are that my company has been understanding, I got back to a warm place last night with friends in the city and I should still get there in time for the funeral and to see everyone. Secondarily, I noticed that for the most part, the average folks in Boston were all quite helpful with each other, pushing each other's cars, giving strangers instructions and help to get somewhere warm etc.
It will be quite a relief to see everyone tonight, especially Ellis, who I have been missing a lot lately with his gallivanting to Ireland last month and my gallivanting to Boston this month. He did hear my voice on the phone the other night and declare, "Da!"
Alright, I gotta go jump into the standby mosh pit.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
not ready to post for a while
My grandmother died this week. I want to write something about her. I don't know how or what. We are all ok, but I think they'll be no posts for a bit.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
various and sundry
- After weeks of saying "da" for dad, Ellis is finally started saying "ma" today. Tragically, he had a word for calling Scout (a half-yell that sounded like a mash-up of Scout and dog: "DAAAOH!") two days ago.
- Trey is fine. Sorry if anyone was alarmed. It wasn't serious, just seriously disgusting.
- I had to work pretty hard to understand German, so I never accidentally overheard conversations when out in public. Back in an English speaking nation, it's hard not to and I forgot how amusing/ annoying it is. I also forgot how to pretend that I'm not listening to other people's discussions. Oops.
- The only music we brought with us to Germany was on our computer, so we had only a fraction of our collection. Today I opened up one of the boxes of CDs that I hadn't listened to for two years and was feeling like someone had sent me a gift of music perfectly suited to my taste. I was actually thinking things like "Oh, wow, I love this album." Catherine concluded I was a nit-wit. She is likely right.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
back in the US
We are in Indiana and the flight was fine. Here's how we're managing, in order of best to worse-
- Ellis: Has both grandparents and Aunt Catherine wrapped around his finger. Especially loves that this house has 1) a dog 2) snow 3)an enormous bathtub 4) loads of sugary food (and we haven't even started the Christmas baking)
- Rachel: Tired, oh so tired, but happy to be home. Also engaging in low-level freak out about remaining Christmas shopping and the upcoming move to Boston.
- Trey: Food poisoning. Very bad food poisoning. It's best not to report further on this.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
last hours in bammental
I'm spending the last hours in our apartment the same way I spent the first: sitting on the cold, hard tile and waiting. Only this time, I'm waiting for a friend to pick us up instead of the IKEA delivery truck and Ellis is on the outside instead of the inside.
In a weird role reversal, I am feeling sentimental about leaving and Trey is focused on, even enthused about, the future. Maybe I am sad to leave this place because I spent so many of my days here. After rushing around and freaking out trying to get everything cleaned and packed, now I'm just thinking about how we're leaving the place Ellis learned to roll over, crawl, and walk. And I think about all the struggle to learn to shop in German and cook with weird ingredients and make our apartment feel even a little bit like a home. It was hard and now it's almost over. I can't tell if what I'm feeling now is relief about its ending or regret that I couldn't do better.
In a weird role reversal, I am feeling sentimental about leaving and Trey is focused on, even enthused about, the future. Maybe I am sad to leave this place because I spent so many of my days here. After rushing around and freaking out trying to get everything cleaned and packed, now I'm just thinking about how we're leaving the place Ellis learned to roll over, crawl, and walk. And I think about all the struggle to learn to shop in German and cook with weird ingredients and make our apartment feel even a little bit like a home. It was hard and now it's almost over. I can't tell if what I'm feeling now is relief about its ending or regret that I couldn't do better.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
If I leave here tomorrow
We are sitting in the bed in the flat for our last night in our German apartment. Tomorrow we will take advantage of the hospitality of our French friends who will put us up for the night and then take us to the airport Thursday morning. I am feeling pretty good about all of the choices, despite a steady stream of comments coming in from the conference in America about how much better my data is than my competitor's. But, the thing is, their data is easier to put in a pretty package. So, despite the fact that I have 1200 samples and they have 6, they will get into a better journal than I will.
I want to thank Ben and Katherine for their nice comments on the last post about my departure from academics. Now that I am on the precipice, I feel like I should have something profound to say about it. Instead, like the guy who gets to the top of Everest expecting an epiphany but discovers he is so oxygen deprived, cold and exhausted he can't think straight, I am so tired, nervous and excited, I can't think straight.
I have a vague urge, though, to get a tattoo to commemorate the event, so it must be big. I have spent 8 years pursuing a false idol and now I watch as others stare in amazement that I am ending that pursuit. Leaving the fold, a little shunned. I must be traveling on now, there's too many places I haven't seen (Lynyrd Skynyrd, 1974).
I want to thank Ben and Katherine for their nice comments on the last post about my departure from academics. Now that I am on the precipice, I feel like I should have something profound to say about it. Instead, like the guy who gets to the top of Everest expecting an epiphany but discovers he is so oxygen deprived, cold and exhausted he can't think straight, I am so tired, nervous and excited, I can't think straight.
I have a vague urge, though, to get a tattoo to commemorate the event, so it must be big. I have spent 8 years pursuing a false idol and now I watch as others stare in amazement that I am ending that pursuit. Leaving the fold, a little shunned. I must be traveling on now, there's too many places I haven't seen (Lynyrd Skynyrd, 1974).
Monday, December 03, 2007
parents: get ready to feel better about what your kids are eating
It is a nutritional waste-land around here these days. With all the packing to be done, the urgency of emptying the kitchen, and the lack of a dining table, regular meals are a thing of the past. Bad enough for us, but I feel much worse about Ellis. I am not super strict about what he eats and with the tendency of most Germans to feed kids till they pop, I would feel bad if I always refused the chocolates, bits of bread, and slices of bologna. But at least I make some effort to balance his diet. And now, not at all. For instance, the dozen or so little packets of gummi bear the grocery cashiers have given in the last 
6 months were stockpiled in the cupboard. He's eaten them all in the past 4 days.
Last night we went to the Christmas Market and his dinner consisted of charred meat on a skewer, two sips of kinder punch (who knows what's in there?), one quarter of a blueberry muffin, and 3 bites of chocolate covered fruit. At least the first item gave him an opportunity to share a passion with his Dad.
This morning, for "breakfast" I let him wander around the house with a slice of cold pizza. It's bad people.
6 months were stockpiled in the cupboard. He's eaten them all in the past 4 days.Last night we went to the Christmas Market and his dinner consisted of charred meat on a skewer, two sips of kinder punch (who knows what's in there?), one quarter of a blueberry muffin, and 3 bites of chocolate covered fruit. At least the first item gave him an opportunity to share a passion with his Dad.
This morning, for "breakfast" I let him wander around the house with a slice of cold pizza. It's bad people.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Two Down, One to Go
Last night we had a nice evening with my French coworker and his wife. He pulled out his trusty electric Raclette cooker and allowed me to check off of my list a traditional cooked cheese specialty that I had never had. This brings me to two out of three on the major melted cheese dish scavenger hunt having had Fondue as well, and leaving only Rarebit to go. Although with the name Rarebit having been appropriated by things that are little more than a grilled cheese sandwich, it might be a while before I find the real thing.
We were amazed that Raclette hasn't become more popular in the U.S. the way fondue has. If folks can dedicate entire restaurants to fondue, I don't see why people wouldn't fall in love with a Raclette restaurant. It has all of the major elements that launched the much less interesting Mongolian Barbecue* style places: you participate in making your own food, you would have more choices than you needed to have a nice meal and it is generally "all you can eat". From a restaurant owners perspective, it also makes you crave wine or beer, which is where restaurants make a lot of money. Basically you cook meats and vegetables on a stone while broiling cheese underneath, which results is nearly a fondue consistency, then you eat it together. The Raclette cheese is a little Swissy and semi-soft. One way we had it last night was on cold boiled potatoes which caused it to solidify just a bit around the potato and this was really excellent.
The name Raclette comes from the more traditional approach of taking a whole wheel of the stuff and suspending above a flame and scraping drippy bits off on your other stuff. The scraper or the act of scraping is Racle, or some such thing in French and hence the name. Nothing like dedicating a whole cheese to warming and scraping onto cured meat, yum. Our host's son used the cheese as a sculpting medium, collecting two or three servings and making a giant cheese ball which he then cut up like a tough steak. Our host said, "Oh, yes, all French children play with the Raclette. I did too." Guess we should start importing play doh.
We had no idea we were going to have Raclette so I picked two bottles of a wine that I knew the French friends really like from our village wine shop. They were impressed and the Minervois was a great match for the cheese. Note the wee size of the English Language Wiki entry on these wines. It is one of the things I will miss about life over here, these little regional things. Neither wine was over $10 and we agreed that while the expensive one was a nice match for the cheese, the second, cheaper bottle was probably better wine. One sad truth: I won't be buying 7 year old wines from quirky regions for $6 in Boston. But, this has inspired my interest in regional foods at home, which folks here know little or nothing about. For instance they think "barbecue" is a verb for what you do to a sausage when it really is a noun with a different definition in Kansas City, Memphis, Texas, Georgia, the Carolinas and Louisiana. New mission: don't let Americans or the rest of the world sell our really good food traditions short. Ya know, in my free time.
*Whenever I hear "Mongolian Barbecue" all I can picture is a restaurant with a cage like a lobster tank in the front full of men from just north of China waiting to be selected for the barbecue. I know, racist cannibalism is worse than gross. Just a fleeting image though. Is speciesist carnivorism any better? I know I think so.
We were amazed that Raclette hasn't become more popular in the U.S. the way fondue has. If folks can dedicate entire restaurants to fondue, I don't see why people wouldn't fall in love with a Raclette restaurant. It has all of the major elements that launched the much less interesting Mongolian Barbecue* style places: you participate in making your own food, you would have more choices than you needed to have a nice meal and it is generally "all you can eat". From a restaurant owners perspective, it also makes you crave wine or beer, which is where restaurants make a lot of money. Basically you cook meats and vegetables on a stone while broiling cheese underneath, which results is nearly a fondue consistency, then you eat it together. The Raclette cheese is a little Swissy and semi-soft. One way we had it last night was on cold boiled potatoes which caused it to solidify just a bit around the potato and this was really excellent.
The name Raclette comes from the more traditional approach of taking a whole wheel of the stuff and suspending above a flame and scraping drippy bits off on your other stuff. The scraper or the act of scraping is Racle, or some such thing in French and hence the name. Nothing like dedicating a whole cheese to warming and scraping onto cured meat, yum. Our host's son used the cheese as a sculpting medium, collecting two or three servings and making a giant cheese ball which he then cut up like a tough steak. Our host said, "Oh, yes, all French children play with the Raclette. I did too." Guess we should start importing play doh.
We had no idea we were going to have Raclette so I picked two bottles of a wine that I knew the French friends really like from our village wine shop. They were impressed and the Minervois was a great match for the cheese. Note the wee size of the English Language Wiki entry on these wines. It is one of the things I will miss about life over here, these little regional things. Neither wine was over $10 and we agreed that while the expensive one was a nice match for the cheese, the second, cheaper bottle was probably better wine. One sad truth: I won't be buying 7 year old wines from quirky regions for $6 in Boston. But, this has inspired my interest in regional foods at home, which folks here know little or nothing about. For instance they think "barbecue" is a verb for what you do to a sausage when it really is a noun with a different definition in Kansas City, Memphis, Texas, Georgia, the Carolinas and Louisiana. New mission: don't let Americans or the rest of the world sell our really good food traditions short. Ya know, in my free time.
*Whenever I hear "Mongolian Barbecue" all I can picture is a restaurant with a cage like a lobster tank in the front full of men from just north of China waiting to be selected for the barbecue. I know, racist cannibalism is worse than gross. Just a fleeting image though. Is speciesist carnivorism any better? I know I think so.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Escape Velocity
I will echo Rachel's sentiment that it seems as though we are likely to get out of here in one piece, at least one physical piece made up of several small pieces of luggage and various other items we can't seem to leave behind.
Because many coworkers are heading to a conference this weekend, I started saying good-byes today, which broke the seal on the Ark of Melancholy Feelings About Leaving Academics. I am feeling some guilt as well with coworkers giving me grief over not having this paper finished up and ready to go when I leave. Of course if I had waited until this paper was finished in order leave, this job that I am going to wouldn't have been there anymore and I would have started working on something else while I looked and then another job would have come along when I was in the middle of that project and on an on. From one academic job to another, one generally has 4-6 months and that is enough to wrap up a paper. But in the "real" world, they just aren't willing to wait that long for you to show up. Plus, to an academic, the only valuable output is a paper. Never mind all of the other things I have done and the microscope I built that is serving 5 projects. And never mind that my lab notebook and the documentation I am leaving behind is also very thorough and far beyond the trouble most would go through.
I guess this is one of the many reasons I am leaving academia. Up until today, I can honestly say I had been feeling rather light and free to be leaving this strict hierarchy and thinly veiled hazing that one must navigate in building an academic career. But the genetic seeds of a guilty conscience and their careful cultivation in Midwestern soil makes it awfully easy to fall into the trap of feeling like I am somehow doing someone wrong in leaving. In many ways, it is circular: I have decided that I don't share the values of many academics and that my talents are more suited to industry, but as I am leaving, the judgment of those academics is preventing me from being really excited about my new job. I wouldn't let those judgments and attitudes stop me from looking for a new job. So how ridiculous is it to let them keep me from feeling good about it?
Because many coworkers are heading to a conference this weekend, I started saying good-byes today, which broke the seal on the Ark of Melancholy Feelings About Leaving Academics. I am feeling some guilt as well with coworkers giving me grief over not having this paper finished up and ready to go when I leave. Of course if I had waited until this paper was finished in order leave, this job that I am going to wouldn't have been there anymore and I would have started working on something else while I looked and then another job would have come along when I was in the middle of that project and on an on. From one academic job to another, one generally has 4-6 months and that is enough to wrap up a paper. But in the "real" world, they just aren't willing to wait that long for you to show up. Plus, to an academic, the only valuable output is a paper. Never mind all of the other things I have done and the microscope I built that is serving 5 projects. And never mind that my lab notebook and the documentation I am leaving behind is also very thorough and far beyond the trouble most would go through.
I guess this is one of the many reasons I am leaving academia. Up until today, I can honestly say I had been feeling rather light and free to be leaving this strict hierarchy and thinly veiled hazing that one must navigate in building an academic career. But the genetic seeds of a guilty conscience and their careful cultivation in Midwestern soil makes it awfully easy to fall into the trap of feeling like I am somehow doing someone wrong in leaving. In many ways, it is circular: I have decided that I don't share the values of many academics and that my talents are more suited to industry, but as I am leaving, the judgment of those academics is preventing me from being really excited about my new job. I wouldn't let those judgments and attitudes stop me from looking for a new job. So how ridiculous is it to let them keep me from feeling good about it?
hello from the hobo apartment
Ellis and I returned from Ireland on Tuesday. The apartment was freezing and looked like it was occupied by squatters. Also, I am sick with some sort of head cold that I hope is not a sinus infection. And Ellis is refusing to eat most of the food I offer him- maybe he doesn't understand that it's mealtime because we don't have a table. Finally, every time we start the laptop it gives us this message: "Your battery is charging normally, but reaching the end of its usable life." This is type of "every thing's fine, but for how long?" warning is so not what we need right now.
I have good news on my job front, optimism that we will make it out of here with sanity and marriage intact, and stories of cuteness from Ireland, but those will have to wait until I have more time to post.
I have good news on my job front, optimism that we will make it out of here with sanity and marriage intact, and stories of cuteness from Ireland, but those will have to wait until I have more time to post.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Crime and Punishment
With all that we have to do for the move and the fact that my working life here is pretty much reduced to chopping wood for the next two weeks, and perhaps sharpening the ax once or twice in that interval, I am feeling without a creative outlet. I tried to sit down and play some music, but since my lovely wife took her lovely voice to Ireland, that endeavor broke down rather quickly. So, the other option is to write a blog post. Everyone who knows me will tell you that I love to tell stories, but many of those stories are inappropriate for the blog and I don't really care to fictionalize them nor have I ever in my life written a successful morsel of fiction. And by successful, I mean anything that I would put up in a public place with my name on it. But thinking about Ellis getting bigger and misbehaving got me thinking about crime and punishment in my family growing up. So here is a little essay for you that contains elements of three of my favorite personal legends.
I can only think of a small handful of times that my father, acting completely independently, felt the need to punish me with a level of distinction beyond the run of the mill grounding. I suspect he picked up his style from the drill sergeants that he found so deplorable as an old man of 23 in basic training, because his tactics relied primarily on humiliation. My sister, a tougher and more independent sort, carried an immunity to this sort of punishment and even reveled in the attention that it brought her.
When I was still pretty young, say six or seven, it was much more common for my mom to go out to do something in the evening, leaving us at home with my father. Occasionally on these evenings a visitor would drop in, a neighbor or friend from high school, and this was often the time when my father would feel tried and tested by one or both of his children. In response, he invented "The Jackass Corner", a punishment that the offending soul could end at his own determination by simply turning to face all those present, putting hands to head Bullwinkle style and declaring, "Nah-na, na-nah-nah, I was a jackass." This was the ideal social punishment for a serious little kid who preferred listening to the adults and of course was always seeking their approval. While I would stand in the JC for tens of minutes wondering if the adults present found my lack of nerve cowardly, or my resolve to not give in a sign of gumption, my sister would revel in the opportunity to say "jackass" and do a hip swinging dance during the oration. The only time she spent in The Jackass Corner was spent planning her choreography or the next caper that would land her back there.
We could spend some time here arguing the merits of this style of punishment and the way it may have damaged our psychological development. I doubt that the degree to which I am easily embarrassed as an adult has much to do with the JC and I also don't believe that my father made some sort of calculation, seeing that humiliation was a potent force with me and deciding to exploit it. While my father can count the antler points on a brownish deer against the brownish forest floor from a half mile away at dusk while driving a car with dirty windows at 75 mph, he just isn't that observant when it comes to people. Rather, I suspect my dad simply tried something and was lucky enough that one of his kids was the right kind of kid for that tactic.
By the time I was 17, visits from my father's old friends had become rare and I hadn't spent a moment in the JC in over a decade. I no longer got myself into trouble when visitors did come, shooting for more of an aloof disinterest from the edges of the group, while paying close attention for information that might be used against my father later in curfew negotiations. His best bud from high school was accommodating, supplying me with information that allowed me to make brilliant arguments such as, "while I would like to take the car and stay out until 2 a.m., I promise I won't drive to the other side of Toledo to go swimming in a gravel pit like Dennis says you did when you were about my age."
While I had been collecting embarrassing nuggets from my father's past, he had been waiting to create his masterpiece of humiliation based punishment. Early in my junior season of Lacrosse, when I was hoping to be a leader on the team and carve out a little more respect for my abilities playing a position generally designated for the bigger guys in a sport where I was already considered undersized, the last thing I wanted to be was late to practice. The early season practices take place in a gymnasium and consist of lots of running, which is generally doubled for anyone who is late. Somehow, that afternoon, I had gotten into a particularly nasty argument with my mother before practice, and she forbid me to take the car and refused to drive me to practice. After much hubbub, my father finally gave me the keys and told me to get out and go to practice. Still fuming at my mother, I apparently backed out of the driveway "driving angry" (is that possible in a 1977 Fairmont?), something I don't really remember, but he felt it deserved a strong corrective gesture.
I hustled into practice, we did our first bit of running and I was leading one of the groups in our first drill, when I heard a voice in the gymnasium calling, "Boy, boy." I looked, and to my astonishment, my father was walking down the stairs. "Boy, come on, you're goin' out to the woodshed, now." His diction and volume couldn't have been more perfect. In retrospect, I suspect he practiced the whole way to the high school, driving slow and lazy to make sure practice was well underway when he got there for his big entrance. Pretty soon, 60 high school boys, who I would see everyday for the next one and half years, along with several coaches, were staring, silent, as my father walked toward me and grabbed my shoulder pads to take me out to the woodshed.
Once outside, I got a rather boring lecture about driving safety, the value of cars, trust and how I had to learn to not let things upset me so much. When I suggested that I probably ought to pack up my equipment and come home, my father said, "Oh, no, you are going back in there." Of course I was, the punishment had only just begun. By the next day, I had total strangers at school asking me if I was the one with "the dad" and my new team nickname was indeed "Woodshed" which I'll admit was better than the poor guys stuck with "Schmuck" and "Flippersaurus".
None the less, it remained a team joke for some time. Our coach that year was only 22 and was fresh out of college. He had trouble earning our respect and had told us a few too many frat boy stories which didn't help. So after a week of particularly bad behavior on and off the field that included a bad loss to a team with far less experience, several academic suspensions and a puking incident involving freshmen and Kodiak chewing tobacco, we were getting a pretty good reaming, "I may only be a little bit older than you," he started, "and I know you know I was kind of crazy in college, but I showed up for classes, practice and games, in a tie on the bus for away games, and I listened to the guys teaching me the game. And, I didn't mistreat the guys on my own goddamned team, even if they were stupid enough to swallow Kodiak on the team bus. Now you are all going to start listening to me. Get used to the fact that I am in charge of this team. Unless Woodshed's dad shows up again, then he is automatically in charge until further notice." There were a few chuckles. "Now don't laugh too hard cause Woodshed is the only experienced player on this team who hasn't missed a practice and he could give 2 GPA points away to some of you lazy asses and still be academically eligible. If I have to, I will beat every ass on this team and invite Woodshed's old man back when I get tired."
It should be noted too, that this coach did take the time to make sure that the trip to the woodshed was indeed for show and that I wasn't getting my ass beaten on a regular basis.
I can only think of a small handful of times that my father, acting completely independently, felt the need to punish me with a level of distinction beyond the run of the mill grounding. I suspect he picked up his style from the drill sergeants that he found so deplorable as an old man of 23 in basic training, because his tactics relied primarily on humiliation. My sister, a tougher and more independent sort, carried an immunity to this sort of punishment and even reveled in the attention that it brought her.
When I was still pretty young, say six or seven, it was much more common for my mom to go out to do something in the evening, leaving us at home with my father. Occasionally on these evenings a visitor would drop in, a neighbor or friend from high school, and this was often the time when my father would feel tried and tested by one or both of his children. In response, he invented "The Jackass Corner", a punishment that the offending soul could end at his own determination by simply turning to face all those present, putting hands to head Bullwinkle style and declaring, "Nah-na, na-nah-nah, I was a jackass." This was the ideal social punishment for a serious little kid who preferred listening to the adults and of course was always seeking their approval. While I would stand in the JC for tens of minutes wondering if the adults present found my lack of nerve cowardly, or my resolve to not give in a sign of gumption, my sister would revel in the opportunity to say "jackass" and do a hip swinging dance during the oration. The only time she spent in The Jackass Corner was spent planning her choreography or the next caper that would land her back there.
We could spend some time here arguing the merits of this style of punishment and the way it may have damaged our psychological development. I doubt that the degree to which I am easily embarrassed as an adult has much to do with the JC and I also don't believe that my father made some sort of calculation, seeing that humiliation was a potent force with me and deciding to exploit it. While my father can count the antler points on a brownish deer against the brownish forest floor from a half mile away at dusk while driving a car with dirty windows at 75 mph, he just isn't that observant when it comes to people. Rather, I suspect my dad simply tried something and was lucky enough that one of his kids was the right kind of kid for that tactic.
By the time I was 17, visits from my father's old friends had become rare and I hadn't spent a moment in the JC in over a decade. I no longer got myself into trouble when visitors did come, shooting for more of an aloof disinterest from the edges of the group, while paying close attention for information that might be used against my father later in curfew negotiations. His best bud from high school was accommodating, supplying me with information that allowed me to make brilliant arguments such as, "while I would like to take the car and stay out until 2 a.m., I promise I won't drive to the other side of Toledo to go swimming in a gravel pit like Dennis says you did when you were about my age."
While I had been collecting embarrassing nuggets from my father's past, he had been waiting to create his masterpiece of humiliation based punishment. Early in my junior season of Lacrosse, when I was hoping to be a leader on the team and carve out a little more respect for my abilities playing a position generally designated for the bigger guys in a sport where I was already considered undersized, the last thing I wanted to be was late to practice. The early season practices take place in a gymnasium and consist of lots of running, which is generally doubled for anyone who is late. Somehow, that afternoon, I had gotten into a particularly nasty argument with my mother before practice, and she forbid me to take the car and refused to drive me to practice. After much hubbub, my father finally gave me the keys and told me to get out and go to practice. Still fuming at my mother, I apparently backed out of the driveway "driving angry" (is that possible in a 1977 Fairmont?), something I don't really remember, but he felt it deserved a strong corrective gesture.
I hustled into practice, we did our first bit of running and I was leading one of the groups in our first drill, when I heard a voice in the gymnasium calling, "Boy, boy." I looked, and to my astonishment, my father was walking down the stairs. "Boy, come on, you're goin' out to the woodshed, now." His diction and volume couldn't have been more perfect. In retrospect, I suspect he practiced the whole way to the high school, driving slow and lazy to make sure practice was well underway when he got there for his big entrance. Pretty soon, 60 high school boys, who I would see everyday for the next one and half years, along with several coaches, were staring, silent, as my father walked toward me and grabbed my shoulder pads to take me out to the woodshed.
Once outside, I got a rather boring lecture about driving safety, the value of cars, trust and how I had to learn to not let things upset me so much. When I suggested that I probably ought to pack up my equipment and come home, my father said, "Oh, no, you are going back in there." Of course I was, the punishment had only just begun. By the next day, I had total strangers at school asking me if I was the one with "the dad" and my new team nickname was indeed "Woodshed" which I'll admit was better than the poor guys stuck with "Schmuck" and "Flippersaurus".
None the less, it remained a team joke for some time. Our coach that year was only 22 and was fresh out of college. He had trouble earning our respect and had told us a few too many frat boy stories which didn't help. So after a week of particularly bad behavior on and off the field that included a bad loss to a team with far less experience, several academic suspensions and a puking incident involving freshmen and Kodiak chewing tobacco, we were getting a pretty good reaming, "I may only be a little bit older than you," he started, "and I know you know I was kind of crazy in college, but I showed up for classes, practice and games, in a tie on the bus for away games, and I listened to the guys teaching me the game. And, I didn't mistreat the guys on my own goddamned team, even if they were stupid enough to swallow Kodiak on the team bus. Now you are all going to start listening to me. Get used to the fact that I am in charge of this team. Unless Woodshed's dad shows up again, then he is automatically in charge until further notice." There were a few chuckles. "Now don't laugh too hard cause Woodshed is the only experienced player on this team who hasn't missed a practice and he could give 2 GPA points away to some of you lazy asses and still be academically eligible. If I have to, I will beat every ass on this team and invite Woodshed's old man back when I get tired."
It should be noted too, that this coach did take the time to make sure that the trip to the woodshed was indeed for show and that I wasn't getting my ass beaten on a regular basis.
good thing we're moving home soon
Because I am exhibiting the following signs of having lived in Europe too long if I plan to function again in America:
- Choosing mayonnaise over ketchup for dipping french fries.
- Inability to navigate a Tesco (UK/Irish superstore similar to WalMart). I have to seriously reign myself in to not be zigzagging through the aisles telling Bridget to "look at this....ooh look at this....hey, have you seen this before....look at this." She might as well be shopping with a third toddler.
- Being overwhelmed by TV in English. I am complaining about the fast cuts between scenes and the violence as if I am 96 years old. Much to Bridget's and Orrin's annoyance, I insisted that the only program we could watch was "The Two Fat Ladies." This show is the television equivalent of a warm glass of milk. The stories they tell are boring and the rate at which they cook is nearly glacial. Perfect for lulling yourself into a near comatose state.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Did I forget anything
The move home is starting to feel really real.
The tape measure on the floor in the first picture marks the distance within which every thing must fit while the couch base turned on end at the extreme right marks the height and width (cross-section) that is acceptable. Right now we have 4 cubic meters and are entitled to 5. Any ideas?
The tape measure on the floor in the first picture marks the distance within which every thing must fit while the couch base turned on end at the extreme right marks the height and width (cross-section) that is acceptable. Right now we have 4 cubic meters and are entitled to 5. Any ideas?
Saturday, November 17, 2007
one more trip to Clonmel
Ellis and I are in Ireland to visit (and wait for the new baby) with Bridget, Orrin, and Silas. With any luck, Ellis's new baby cousin will make an appearance before Trey needs us back in Germany.
Silas and Ellis are pretty funny together, at least as long as we can keep our senses of humour. For instance, Ellis is trying to explore the various cabinets and drawers here and so Silas is forced to follow him around saying "No, Eh-lis! Don do dat! No! Not!"
More often, though, they are just out and out cute. For instance, when they do side by side butt wiggles up into the learning tower and when they sit together on the bottom step drinking juice from their sippy cups. They were also quite cute having some ice cream for dessert the other night. Each time the bowl was pronounced empty they would both indicate that they definitely needed more. When I inquired where we could find more, Silas would sprint to the freezer saying "I show you." Then they would both join me at the counter while I scooped some out. If Ellis was returning to the couch to partake of the ice cream, Silas would run back shouting "Come on Eh-lis!"
Pictures coming tomorrow.
Silas and Ellis are pretty funny together, at least as long as we can keep our senses of humour. For instance, Ellis is trying to explore the various cabinets and drawers here and so Silas is forced to follow him around saying "No, Eh-lis! Don do dat! No! Not!"
More often, though, they are just out and out cute. For instance, when they do side by side butt wiggles up into the learning tower and when they sit together on the bottom step drinking juice from their sippy cups. They were also quite cute having some ice cream for dessert the other night. Each time the bowl was pronounced empty they would both indicate that they definitely needed more. When I inquired where we could find more, Silas would sprint to the freezer saying "I show you." Then they would both join me at the counter while I scooped some out. If Ellis was returning to the couch to partake of the ice cream, Silas would run back shouting "Come on Eh-lis!"
Pictures coming tomorrow.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Still the most wonderful day of the year
This is my second opening day at home in Germany rather than going to the north country. For those of you not from Michigan, I guess I have to explain that "opening day" refers to deer season, specifically, firearm deer season. Somehow in Michigan this day has extra special significance to those of us carrying at least one copy of the gene on chromosome 19 which conveys a strong desire to sit in a swaying tree with a loaded firearm on what is often the coldest day of fall. And then, if a bit of warmth does enter our day, it is only through old thermos coffee and the unnumbing of the hands found as you field dress a deer. Incidentally, the human genome project has identified this particular gene on chromosome 19 to be a member of the "hillbilly cluster" (Nature, 2007), a group of as many as 250 genes including others with colorful names such as "coffee does taste better from a thermos", "I feel better burning more gas", "farting is still funny" and the rare genetic marker for "I love to shoot the windows out of old cars". This large group of genes, and the fact that they are spread across all of the chromosomes, explains why so many of us revel in a few particular redneck behaviors but still prefer Scotch to Blueberry schnapps.
So, to all of you that got out there today, I wish a safe and successful hunt. If you need the meat for the freezer, then I hope especially, that if it was a deer and therefore brown, it ended up down, even if it was a little on the small side. I also hope you all caught a nasty cold with a bad cough, to give you a fair excuse to have a lot of cough medicine (wink wink) standing around the buck pole tonight once all the dangerous business with firearms is over.
So, to all of you that got out there today, I wish a safe and successful hunt. If you need the meat for the freezer, then I hope especially, that if it was a deer and therefore brown, it ended up down, even if it was a little on the small side. I also hope you all caught a nasty cold with a bad cough, to give you a fair excuse to have a lot of cough medicine (wink wink) standing around the buck pole tonight once all the dangerous business with firearms is over.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
strange bedfellows
I guess they're a causality of central heating and (relative to Europe) low energy costs, because hot water bottles barely seem to exist in America. It's a shame, though, since they are incredibly cozy. I never would have even thought to buy one and only did so when my midwife recommend I get a couple to ease labor pains (moderately helpful, with that, by the way). By October of last year, Trey and I each
had to have one to keep our feet warm at night, even under a down comforter.
However, the sweetest type we've seen are the little ones that tuck inside stuffed animals for kids. I got one for Ellis hoping to reinforce a bed time routine. Little did I know how quickly it would work. After his PJs are on and his teeth are brushed, he immediately starts looking for his "cozy cow" and mooing. It's easy to see why these are so popular here in damp, cool southwestern Germany- they are pretty much like any other security item, but with the added bonus of helping keep the kid warm (good for trips in the stroller too). While it doesn't look like Ellis's cow model is available in America, you can see a few on offer by Amazon (I am particularly smitten with the moose and devil).
had to have one to keep our feet warm at night, even under a down comforter.However, the sweetest type we've seen are the little ones that tuck inside stuffed animals for kids. I got one for Ellis hoping to reinforce a bed time routine. Little did I know how quickly it would work. After his PJs are on and his teeth are brushed, he immediately starts looking for his "cozy cow" and mooing. It's easy to see why these are so popular here in damp, cool southwestern Germany- they are pretty much like any other security item, but with the added bonus of helping keep the kid warm (good for trips in the stroller too). While it doesn't look like Ellis's cow model is available in America, you can see a few on offer by Amazon (I am particularly smitten with the moose and devil).
Monday, November 12, 2007
St. Martin's Day Part II: The Lanterns! The Parade!
In our region St. Martin's Day is often actually called Lantern Day. And even though it has religious roots, it's largely a secular holiday now and an important fall holiday in the seasonal calender here. So it was a typical annual activity to make paper lanterns at krabble gruppe a few weeks ago. The other mothers were amazed that we didn't celebrate it in America and repeatedly asked me, "What? Really, no lantern day?"
Like a lot of other key non-grocery items, the Lantern Day essentials are all sold by the stationary store in our town. They include: beeswax crayons, cardboard tops and bottoms for the lanterns, waxed tracing paper, and special electric lights to put inside the lanterns instead of candles. This last item was particularly difficult to purchase since I had no name for it in German (i.e., I had to describe it's use). Side note about how freaking patient the Germans are about standing in line: I was juggling several items plus Ellis just trying to get out of the shop and 3 people were standing behind me and the proprietor said, "Oh, I just better test this for you" and proceeded to open my light and a package of batteries, position the batteries,
show me that they lit up, take the batteries back out, and wrap up by package. And through this whole time, no one behind me appeared remotely annoyed. Crazy.
So the lantern was made by coloring the paper with the crayon, folding it over, and ironing it. Then we glued it to the cardboard top and bottom. I did most of the coloring, but let's pretend Ellis did it, so there's a reason it looks the way it does. This photo shows its complex inner workings.
Sunday was a wet and cold day, but the rain let up just before dark so we bundled up and headed to
the town hall, where the parade would reach its midway point and stop for the performance of a pageant of St. Martin's life. Trey said the pageant was a pretty straight-forward account of the splitting of the cloak (velcro cloak + wooden sword). I missed the pageant to return home and get replacements for the dead batteries in our camera. It turned out to be a bit of a fool's errand though, as you can see from the quality of the photos I took.
As predicted by Wikipedia, our parade was fronted by a rider on horseback and several enormous lanterns. As the parade headed
through town, it was cool seeing all the candles in the windows and the night illuminated with so many tiny lights. The best part of the parade, though, was seeing all the other lanterns that people had bought and made. Some were very intricate, some silly, and the two major motifs were, strangely, celestial and animal. Trey and I were especially shocked to see how many safety-conscious German parents allowed their small children to have real candles inside their lanterns.
Ellis rode in the baby-
backpack on Trey's back for most of the evening and really dug the little light that went inside the lantern, but was annoyed by the actual paper lantern and swung it around violently in an apparent attempt to destroy it. Ellis did like the music supplied by the marching brand and in this picture he's requesting Trey move faster so he can hear "more" of it. Trey was about as annoyed as this picture suggests. Luckily, the parade terminated almost exactly in front of our apartment, so after collecting a complimentary baked "Martin Man" we returned to the warmth of home.
Like a lot of other key non-grocery items, the Lantern Day essentials are all sold by the stationary store in our town. They include: beeswax crayons, cardboard tops and bottoms for the lanterns, waxed tracing paper, and special electric lights to put inside the lanterns instead of candles. This last item was particularly difficult to purchase since I had no name for it in German (i.e., I had to describe it's use). Side note about how freaking patient the Germans are about standing in line: I was juggling several items plus Ellis just trying to get out of the shop and 3 people were standing behind me and the proprietor said, "Oh, I just better test this for you" and proceeded to open my light and a package of batteries, position the batteries,
show me that they lit up, take the batteries back out, and wrap up by package. And through this whole time, no one behind me appeared remotely annoyed. Crazy.So the lantern was made by coloring the paper with the crayon, folding it over, and ironing it. Then we glued it to the cardboard top and bottom. I did most of the coloring, but let's pretend Ellis did it, so there's a reason it looks the way it does. This photo shows its complex inner workings.
Sunday was a wet and cold day, but the rain let up just before dark so we bundled up and headed to
the town hall, where the parade would reach its midway point and stop for the performance of a pageant of St. Martin's life. Trey said the pageant was a pretty straight-forward account of the splitting of the cloak (velcro cloak + wooden sword). I missed the pageant to return home and get replacements for the dead batteries in our camera. It turned out to be a bit of a fool's errand though, as you can see from the quality of the photos I took.As predicted by Wikipedia, our parade was fronted by a rider on horseback and several enormous lanterns. As the parade headed
through town, it was cool seeing all the candles in the windows and the night illuminated with so many tiny lights. The best part of the parade, though, was seeing all the other lanterns that people had bought and made. Some were very intricate, some silly, and the two major motifs were, strangely, celestial and animal. Trey and I were especially shocked to see how many safety-conscious German parents allowed their small children to have real candles inside their lanterns.Ellis rode in the baby-
backpack on Trey's back for most of the evening and really dug the little light that went inside the lantern, but was annoyed by the actual paper lantern and swung it around violently in an apparent attempt to destroy it. Ellis did like the music supplied by the marching brand and in this picture he's requesting Trey move faster so he can hear "more" of it. Trey was about as annoyed as this picture suggests. Luckily, the parade terminated almost exactly in front of our apartment, so after collecting a complimentary baked "Martin Man" we returned to the warmth of home.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
freakin' cottage cheese and fruit?
Since Trey will be losing the convenience of an on-site cafeteria when we return to the US, I thought he might like one of those bento-style lunch boxes. Little did I know this would be an investigation of gender politics.
Zojirushi Mr. Bento:
Zojirushi Ms. Bento:
Does this seem fishy to anyone else? Would it have been so wrong to just call them "lunch size" and "snack size"?
Zojirushi Mr. Bento:
Zojirushi Ms. Bento:
Does this seem fishy to anyone else? Would it have been so wrong to just call them "lunch size" and "snack size"?
Friday, November 09, 2007
St. Martin's Day Part I: Eaten in Effigy
Several folks asked if we dressed Ellis up for Halloween. We didn't and not just because I didn't think I could top this. The main reason was that people here don't do trick or treating or really much for Halloween at all. Luckily, there is a holiday that affords kids the opportunity to rove the streets on a cold, dark autumn night, searching for sugar- St. Martin's Day.
The Feast of Saint Martin is November 11th and seems to be widely celebrated in the Slavic and German-speaking world (note that other European countries are busy honoring the fact that they aren't German- speaking on November 11th). It commemorates Martin of Tours, most famously remembered for splitting his cloak with a beggar. Another bit of folklore holds that Martin was reluctant to become bishop and hid in a stable full of geese but was betrayed by their honking. Thus, the traditional meal for St. Martin's Day here is goose.
In our region, St. Martin's Day means a kids parade with lanterns and singing, some type of pageant, and eating, in addition to a goose, a "Martin Day Man." Ellis sampled one today, but wasn't incredible taken with it, despite it's raisin-y facial features. I'm not surprised, it tasted like very dry challah with a vanilla-sugar glaze.
The lantern parade and other celebratory activities are Sunday, so we'll delivery Part II afterwards.
The Feast of Saint Martin is November 11th and seems to be widely celebrated in the Slavic and German-speaking world (note that other European countries are busy honoring the fact that they aren't German- speaking on November 11th). It commemorates Martin of Tours, most famously remembered for splitting his cloak with a beggar. Another bit of folklore holds that Martin was reluctant to become bishop and hid in a stable full of geese but was betrayed by their honking. Thus, the traditional meal for St. Martin's Day here is goose.
In our region, St. Martin's Day means a kids parade with lanterns and singing, some type of pageant, and eating, in addition to a goose, a "Martin Day Man." Ellis sampled one today, but wasn't incredible taken with it, despite it's raisin-y facial features. I'm not surprised, it tasted like very dry challah with a vanilla-sugar glaze.
The lantern parade and other celebratory activities are Sunday, so we'll delivery Part II afterwards.
and we're packing
After a couple days of hand-wringing, I've finally started actual packing. A few days ago I was bemoaning how I couldn't do any moving related activities with Ellis around: I would put stuff in boxes, he would take it out; I would clean, he would make messes faster; I would try to make phone calls, he would scream to crawl up on my lap. Happily, I've discovered it is actually possible to get some of these things done with Ellis awake. Nap-time, though, still represents a daily spike in productivity for me. But there is one thing I absolutely cannot do with Ellis around and that is use the tape gun. He demands exclusive use of it as apparently "tapegunning things" has been designated a union only job by the IUBB.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Why wait in line when you can take care of it online?
We nearly had our first casualty of repatriation. On hold with Travelocity, I was driven near to an aneurysm while changing our tickets around that should have been for a lovely Christmas holiday but will instead launch us on two months of nomadic apartment shopping and moving. You might think that all those rules about non-refundable this and that and the expense of changing tickets had put me on edge, but this is not the case. Instead, it was the recording played for me while I sat on hold.
In these recordings, a pair of acquaintances who we will call Jay and Tina, explain to each other in alternation the rules and regs of travel. Tina tells Jay about what the airline means when they say "non-refundable". Then Jay tells Tina that it is ok to go for coffee because she doesn't have to sit right by the computer until she receives her e-ticket. Then Tina tells Jay about the differences between an airline ticket and rental car reservation, which results in the line that titles this post. First of all, how is it that someone who doesn't understand how an e-ticket works can be an expert on the refundability of airline tickets. This is totally implausible. As soon as I heard her stupidly waiting for her e-ticket to show up in her inbox, not to mention that she didn't know she had her spam filter on, I totally set the bozo bit on her and couldn't take her seriously for the rest of this instructional series. Does Travelocity really expect me to listen to these idiots, discover the answer to the question I am trying to ask and hang up with a hearty "phew, got lucky on that one"? Do they think I am such a numbskull that I will finally get it on 11th time through the recording?
So, if you are feeling a little weird next week and you think you might be about to have a stroke or some other serious circulatory event, rather than waiting in line at the doctor, I recommend you take care of it online by getting on Skype and calling these bastards. If the thing cycles nine times and you aren't dead, you pass and can go on with your day. If you smell burnt toast, use your cell phone to call 911.
In these recordings, a pair of acquaintances who we will call Jay and Tina, explain to each other in alternation the rules and regs of travel. Tina tells Jay about what the airline means when they say "non-refundable". Then Jay tells Tina that it is ok to go for coffee because she doesn't have to sit right by the computer until she receives her e-ticket. Then Tina tells Jay about the differences between an airline ticket and rental car reservation, which results in the line that titles this post. First of all, how is it that someone who doesn't understand how an e-ticket works can be an expert on the refundability of airline tickets. This is totally implausible. As soon as I heard her stupidly waiting for her e-ticket to show up in her inbox, not to mention that she didn't know she had her spam filter on, I totally set the bozo bit on her and couldn't take her seriously for the rest of this instructional series. Does Travelocity really expect me to listen to these idiots, discover the answer to the question I am trying to ask and hang up with a hearty "phew, got lucky on that one"? Do they think I am such a numbskull that I will finally get it on 11th time through the recording?
So, if you are feeling a little weird next week and you think you might be about to have a stroke or some other serious circulatory event, rather than waiting in line at the doctor, I recommend you take care of it online by getting on Skype and calling these bastards. If the thing cycles nine times and you aren't dead, you pass and can go on with your day. If you smell burnt toast, use your cell phone to call 911.
Monday, November 05, 2007
So let it be written
Just wanted to add a few things to Rachel's post about us moving.
As many of you have probably noticed, the blogging has been a little slow around here lately. That has mainly been because of the traveling to look for a job and all of the hand wringing about which job to take and if I should take any of them. I suspect that we will continue blogging, but with a few changes. I won't talk about work anymore at all and won't ever mention the name of the company, so those of you who know it, do me a favor and keep it out of the comments. I suspect that we will pull down the old blog and store it away for Ellis and us years down the road when we are hungry for a wurst and spaetzle and then we will launch a new one for the new adventure in Boston. Until then, we will continue to update here.
Request one: When we launch the new blog, we will announce it to family, non-blog friends and bloggy buddies who comment. If you are a lurker here and like reading the blog but don't comment, please comment on this post and you will get included in the announcement of the new blog. If you have the time, say why you visit us.
Request two: Suggest names for the new blog. The suggester of the chosen name will get to see their idea at the top of our blog during their hourly visits on company time. I mean, you are using it as a homepage anyway, right, so why not take a shot at personalizing it a little bit.
And beyond that I will say that I am really excited about this job and connections I am likely to make. It will be a big departure from academics, but I think that I am bored/overly comfortable in the open-ended academic format and at the same time very frustrated with the failings of the academic ideals. It was a tough call to decide to live in a city, but for a little while, I think this is what my career needs and once you are out of downtown Boston it starts to feel more like a bunch of towns anyway, some of them a little like Ann Arbor.
As many of you have probably noticed, the blogging has been a little slow around here lately. That has mainly been because of the traveling to look for a job and all of the hand wringing about which job to take and if I should take any of them. I suspect that we will continue blogging, but with a few changes. I won't talk about work anymore at all and won't ever mention the name of the company, so those of you who know it, do me a favor and keep it out of the comments. I suspect that we will pull down the old blog and store it away for Ellis and us years down the road when we are hungry for a wurst and spaetzle and then we will launch a new one for the new adventure in Boston. Until then, we will continue to update here.
Request one: When we launch the new blog, we will announce it to family, non-blog friends and bloggy buddies who comment. If you are a lurker here and like reading the blog but don't comment, please comment on this post and you will get included in the announcement of the new blog. If you have the time, say why you visit us.
Request two: Suggest names for the new blog. The suggester of the chosen name will get to see their idea at the top of our blog during their hourly visits on company time. I mean, you are using it as a homepage anyway, right, so why not take a shot at personalizing it a little bit.
And beyond that I will say that I am really excited about this job and connections I am likely to make. It will be a big departure from academics, but I think that I am bored/overly comfortable in the open-ended academic format and at the same time very frustrated with the failings of the academic ideals. It was a tough call to decide to live in a city, but for a little while, I think this is what my career needs and once you are out of downtown Boston it starts to feel more like a bunch of towns anyway, some of them a little like Ann Arbor.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
repatriation station
It's mostly family and friends that read this blog, so some of you already know that Trey has accepted a job in Boston and we will be moving in December. If you didn't know- now you do. We are going back to America! We are feeling both happy and sad about leaving Germany, but more on that later.Now we just have to figure out how to do this international move in the other direction. That means finding a shipping company, packing, and finding someone to take over lease, and selling our furniture and car. Then we have to rearrange flights now that our Christmas vacation has become "permanent." Though this picture may lead you to believe Ellis is fully on board with the move, he's actually slowing us down at every turn. Anyone want to come over and babysit while we pack? Last chance to visit us in Germany, people! Christmas Markets start in late November!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
listen to the jingle, the rumble, and the roar
On our recent trip to Switzerland, Ellis and I did really well on the train by ourselves. This was helped, of course, by traveling with only one backpack (since our hosts graciously borrowed a stroller from a friend for our visit). However, part of it is just that, in our experience, 
Die Bahn makes it easy to travel with your kid. First, kids ride free so the trip to Switzerland and back cost us less than 100 Euros. Second, most long distance trains have these glass enclosed compartments for small children. Ellis and I had the six seats to ourselves for most of the primary (3 hour) leg of our trip home. He could walk around without getting in any one's way and I could sing him to sleep without embarrassing myself disturbing or being disturbed by other 
passengers. Eventually we were joined by another mom and her 4 year old and two kids pretty much entertained each other. Oh, and guess what? The porters are actually friendly (well, by German standards anyway, and certainly friendlier than the average flight attendant). Here you see Ellis perusing the schedule.So, if my train trip was about as fast as flying and less expensive than driving why don't we have this in America? I've heard that train travel doesn't work in the US because it's so big and spread out, but Canada has a similar scale and a functional rail system. Meanwhile airline travel seems to become less comfortable, more expensive, and less convenient by the minute. But I guess Americans just love their cars too much. But when I think about taking a 5 or 6 hour road trip with even 1 or 2 children...a train just seems like such a better option: babies don't have to be in car seats, older kids can walk around, stopping is not required for potty breaks or snack procurement, parents can drink beer.
Trey can attest that I am not even much of a fan of train travel. But it's really going to be something I miss when we come home.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Lausanne trip
With Trey out of town, Ellis and I decided to finally go visit my friends Brooke and Noemie in Switzerland.Ellis and I arrived Friday afternoon in Lausanne and Brooke met us at the train station. We were treated to duck confit and pasta for dinner. Amazingly, confit 1) comes in a can there and 2) is still delicious.
Saturday morning, we headed out for some grocery shopping and a walk around the town. Lausanne is hilly, seriously hilly, San Francisco hilly. Fortunately for me, Noemie was good enough to do more than her share of stroller duty.We stopped to see some of their friends who were selling "girl scout cookies" on the main street. Here's what girl scout cookies look like in French Switzerland:
Ellis sampled a mini croissant with ham and it must've been good because I didn't get a bite. In addition to be excellent cooks, the girl scouts are savvy business people; they charge "donation pain" instead of a set price for their baked goods, virtually guaranteeing that people overpay.Lausanne is located on Lake Geneva and Brooke repeatedly told me that gorgeous views of the lake and the mountains were available from their apartment. However, it was simultaneously sunny and foggy (how?) the entire weekend and so when I looked towards the lake, this is what I saw:
So I think perhaps Lausanne is actually located on the edge of the known world. Next we went up the hill to to Sauvabelin Lake and tower. The tower is the main attraction, but it didn't seem worth the 
climb on account of the fog. Fortunately, its helical design is interesting from the ground as well. We devoted more time to visiting the animals which included traditional Swiss breeds of cows, goats, and pigs. Most amazing were the "woolly pigs," which were truly woolly from snout to tail.On our way home, we walked around the cathedral, which was unfortunately not open. The outside was quite lovely, though, with obvious differences between the portions completed in different time periods.
On Sunday, Noemie took Ellis to the park so Brooke and I could explore the Collection de l'Art Brut (this link will let you see photos of the entire collection). Art Brut is art made by those without professional training and typically on the fringes of society. To my shame, I couldn't stop thinking about The Probot. I still have kind of mixed feelings about it and maybe didn't appreciate some of the pieces. Many, though were very interesting and the museum itself was housed in a small building with a steep roof, so the floor space got smaller and smaller as we climbed, giving it an intimate feel. Predictably, my favorite was of the sillier sort: the shell based art of Paul Amar. I especially liked how his biographical note explained that he "eats a lot of shellfish" to keep himself supplied with his
medium of choice. The photos don't really do justice to these 3-D pieces which poke out of the plane of their frames and are intricately lighted to make the shells glisten. Brooke preferred something more heartbreaking: this wedding dress woven from the threads of a bed sheet by an elderly psychiatric patient.Sunday night we had tasty dinner of take-out Indian, which is a rarity for us in Germany and was quite delicious. Monday morning we headed back to Germany and from the train, finally glimpsed the elusive mountains. This photo, though, seems rather like one that "proves" the existence of the Loch Ness monster. Can you spot the mountains?
Thanks to Brooke and Noemie for being such great cooks and great hostesses. Yah!
back home
Ellis and I have returned from our visit to Switzerland, where we had excellent hosts who were very good natured about Ellis trying to destroy their apartment (full travel report coming soon). And tomorrow, Trey comes home! Yeah!
We are having extremely early mornings around here because despite my repeatedly explaining it, Ellis refuses to recognize that daylight savings time is over. This morning's wake up time: 5:45. Thanks a lot William Willett.
We are having extremely early mornings around here because despite my repeatedly explaining it, Ellis refuses to recognize that daylight savings time is over. This morning's wake up time: 5:45. Thanks a lot William Willett.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
bon voyage, papa
Trey is flying across the Atlantic Ocean as I type. He expressed a strong intention to (among other, more important tasks) "eat as many big fat American sandwiches as possible."
Ellis tried to carry his suitcase downstairs this morning, but ultimately required an assist from Dad.
Ellis and I are in for a long couple of days. Luckily, our Halloween package from Grandma Lisé arrived today. Hooray! Since, unlike last year, we are the first ones to get ours, I won't say what was in it (except that it is awesome). But, Ellis was very emphatic that we open it.
Ellis tried to carry his suitcase downstairs this morning, but ultimately required an assist from Dad.
Ellis and I are in for a long couple of days. Luckily, our Halloween package from Grandma Lisé arrived today. Hooray! Since, unlike last year, we are the first ones to get ours, I won't say what was in it (except that it is awesome). But, Ellis was very emphatic that we open it.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Fresh Air, with Daniel Hughes
Dan at allthatcomeswithit offered up this meme and then took a while getting me his questions. I guess these are punishment for finding a way to ridicule him via the last meme he tagged me with. Maybe Rachel will answer later.
What three things about Ellis' babyhood do you miss?
1) Staying put. When he was little you could put him somewhere and it was as good as planting something in the garden: he would be in the same place you left him 2 days later, but the wind might have blown him over. 2) Simpler needs. I don't know why he suddenly needs all three of my guitar picks at once or else throws a tantrum. Never needed them before and doesn't have the words to explain it now. 3) Probably using the Asian style baby carrier which he is too big for now. This thing is much more convenient than a stroller and having him snuggled down inside my jacket was quite nice.
What three things about Ellis' babyhood do you miss?
1) Staying put. When he was little you could put him somewhere and it was as good as planting something in the garden: he would be in the same place you left him 2 days later, but the wind might have blown him over. 2) Simpler needs. I don't know why he suddenly needs all three of my guitar picks at once or else throws a tantrum. Never needed them before and doesn't have the words to explain it now. 3) Probably using the Asian style baby carrier which he is too big for now. This thing is much more convenient than a stroller and having him snuggled down inside my jacket was quite nice.
Are you ever tempted to do comedy Hitler impressions while talking to your neighbors?
There are so many things to make fun of the Germans about that there is no need to be so uncreative and take a cheap shot at their greatest national shame. My favorite thing to make fun of them about is the fact that they think BMWs break down less than Toyotas.
There are so many things to make fun of the Germans about that there is no need to be so uncreative and take a cheap shot at their greatest national shame. My favorite thing to make fun of them about is the fact that they think BMWs break down less than Toyotas.
The house is on fire but you’ve managed to get all of your possessions out in time. Which of your spouses belongings do you dislike enough to slyly toss back in.
I probably would be more likely to spend the time making sure I had checked all of my hiding places to make sure nothing was forgotten.
I probably would be more likely to spend the time making sure I had checked all of my hiding places to make sure nothing was forgotten.
What job could you never do?
Anything requiring a round, shapely ass. Seriously though: I could never be an executioner.
America could learn that it is possible for the government to help stabilize a large middle class. Germany could learn that not every possible job, like gas station attendant and roadside vegetable stand proprietor, should require a two year certificate and apprenticeship. America could learn how to control urban sprawl. The Germans could learn that the social fabric will not be torn asunder if a grocery store is open on Sunday. More to the point, the Germans could learn that a few more civil rights is a good thing and won't lead to general mayhem. Americans could find more compromise in their government. Americans could learn to appreciate more varieties of ham. Germans could learn how to raise beef with the idea that it might be edible without being boiled for half a day. Americans could learn that chocolate is for breakfast. The Germans could learn that Cheddar can be very, very good cheese.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Screen Capture Meme
Well, Dan at "All That Comes With It" tagged me this meme that required that I stop what I was doing and do a screen capture. In the interest of fairness and as an example of "living 'art'", I didn't close anything and just did the capture, despite the slightly embarrassing thing I was working on at the time.
Aside from the embarrassing email in progress, you can notice several things here that tell you about me. First the desk top is cluttered, but less than half full. When the icons reach the fisherman's butt, it is time to clean up. The picture is of something I used to do a whole lot, but recent life choices have taken me away from there. A picture of someone doing esoteric single molecule imaging of cytoskeletal proteins while daydreaming about more time with his family would be a better choice. Notice that my task bar is at the right, the only sensible location since you can put many more running apps in there and still read the what they are.
Aside from the embarrassing email in progress, you can notice several things here that tell you about me. First the desk top is cluttered, but less than half full. When the icons reach the fisherman's butt, it is time to clean up. The picture is of something I used to do a whole lot, but recent life choices have taken me away from there. A picture of someone doing esoteric single molecule imaging of cytoskeletal proteins while daydreaming about more time with his family would be a better choice. Notice that my task bar is at the right, the only sensible location since you can put many more running apps in there and still read the what they are.
Wash your hands in dreams in lightening; cut off your hair and do whatever is frightening
I notice Ellis is wearing the same flannel shirt today that he wore in the previous pictures. That is because 1) It is cold here now and 2 layers are necessary every day and 2) he loves being just like Dad. In that vein, Ellis thought if Dad was getting a haircut, then he better have one too.
Rachel was not exactly keen to do this, but with father and son of one mind on the issue, what choice did she have?
And , after two brief puppet shows and a lot of funny stuff going on around his head, our little savage is ready for his job interview next week. Oh wait, I am the one with the interview.*
*This is Ellis's favorite t-shirt.
Rachel was not exactly keen to do this, but with father and son of one mind on the issue, what choice did she have?
And , after two brief puppet shows and a lot of funny stuff going on around his head, our little savage is ready for his job interview next week. Oh wait, I am the one with the interview.*
*This is Ellis's favorite t-shirt.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
cordon ellis
"Put down that camera and pay attention to what I'm saying. Your last white sauce was CRAP!"
"Now, Alton says that we make the roux to coat each flour particle with fat so that it happily blends with the milk. BUT, we also must make the roux to cook the flour and avoid a pasty sauce. On the other hand, if you overcook the roux, it won't be white sauce anymore."
"Since the sauce brings a lot of flavor to the party, proper seasoning is essential."Wednesday, October 10, 2007
making fun of a language i will never master makes me feel better
Last Sunday we went to an "Ecumenical Service for Children" in our village. This is not necessarily the type of event we usually frequent, but it was organized by the leader of the krabbel gruppe I sometimes attend and she invited me. I figured I have to make some effort to make friends or I will forfeit my right to complain about not having any friends. And complaining is a pretty important right.
Anyway, the service wasn't anything too interesting. They have a few per year and they are seasonally themed so this on was a "Harvest Thanks." This rhythm with the seasons-type stuff is probably something I would really dig if this were a more permanent home for us or I could understand more than 50% (up from 5% when we moved here- that is a whole order of magnitude! never mind that this is probably a plateau) of it. For this service, they did a small puppet drama and had the kids make necklaces out of chestnuts.
One thing I could translate, with the help of our preferred online translator, was the announcement for the event. It confirmed our previous observation that the motto for creating new German nouns is "smashy-smashy." The following types of people, along with their parents and grandparents, were invited to participate:
Knirpse im Kindergartalter = tots of kindergarten age
Windelträger = diaper wearers
and our favorite....
Dreikäsehochs = those that are three cheeses high
Anyway, the service wasn't anything too interesting. They have a few per year and they are seasonally themed so this on was a "Harvest Thanks." This rhythm with the seasons-type stuff is probably something I would really dig if this were a more permanent home for us or I could understand more than 50% (up from 5% when we moved here- that is a whole order of magnitude! never mind that this is probably a plateau) of it. For this service, they did a small puppet drama and had the kids make necklaces out of chestnuts.
One thing I could translate, with the help of our preferred online translator, was the announcement for the event. It confirmed our previous observation that the motto for creating new German nouns is "smashy-smashy." The following types of people, along with their parents and grandparents, were invited to participate:
Knirpse im Kindergartalter = tots of kindergarten age
Windelträger = diaper wearers
and our favorite....
Dreikäsehochs = those that are three cheeses high
Sunday, October 07, 2007
New Releases: October 2007
This week DJ Krabmaster E. Merle B.B. Loot issued his latest single, "Ape-sh*t in the Monkey House". Among his influences B.B. Loot lists American folk and country and German hip-hop. This instrumental was written and recorded shortly after the death of Kurt Vonnegut. The title was selected as an homage to Vonnegut's work "Welcome to the Monkey House". B.B. Loot has indicated that the rhythmic and harmonic dissonances of the track and the juxtaposed images of the helpless infant, frustrated toddler and cuddly little boy were selected to parallel the comic dissonance of Vonnegut's work and symbolize the struggles of the very young in this innocence-challenging modern world.
The video was filmed on a single camera and directed by B.B. Loot's mother. Keeping with the family affair, his father edited the video and mixed the final cut. B.B. Loot is in talks now to cut an album with Rick Rubin, famed for his work with Johnny Cash on Cash's American recordings. He has also indicated some interest in producing a dance remix of "Monkey House". With so much going on, it is hard to believe that B.B. Loot has time to study four new musical instruments. Even harder to believe is the fact that a baby (or should we say young man) with so much talent has taken an interest in such marginal instruments as the maracas and the ukulele. Other future projects include hip-hop versions of several old Carter family songs and several "back to basics" projects with his vocalist mother, whom B.B. Loot names as one of the top five unrecognized talents in the business.
The video was filmed on a single camera and directed by B.B. Loot's mother. Keeping with the family affair, his father edited the video and mixed the final cut. B.B. Loot is in talks now to cut an album with Rick Rubin, famed for his work with Johnny Cash on Cash's American recordings. He has also indicated some interest in producing a dance remix of "Monkey House". With so much going on, it is hard to believe that B.B. Loot has time to study four new musical instruments. Even harder to believe is the fact that a baby (or should we say young man) with so much talent has taken an interest in such marginal instruments as the maracas and the ukulele. Other future projects include hip-hop versions of several old Carter family songs and several "back to basics" projects with his vocalist mother, whom B.B. Loot names as one of the top five unrecognized talents in the business.
Friday, October 05, 2007
how's about cookin' something up with me?
Sorry for the lack of posts. When all else fails...rely on baby pictures. Here's Ellis lending a hand in the kitchen. 
"Ok, Mom. Let's get baking. I'm not sure which pan you need, so I'll just lay them all out on the floor and let you take your pick." 
"Oh, crap, I forgot to load the bread pan into my harness before I started climbing." 
"Better wash my hands first. After all, who knows where I've been." 
"Mom, whoa, whoa, we don't want to overwork the dough. An autolyse of 2-3 hours is necessary to improve extensibility; only after it's complete should we further knead the dough to realign the gluten strands. Don't feel bad, you didn't know any better." 
"Wait, what? Dad told me all you have to do is pass the dishes under the running water and they're totally clean."
"Ok, Mom. Let's get baking. I'm not sure which pan you need, so I'll just lay them all out on the floor and let you take your pick." 
"Oh, crap, I forgot to load the bread pan into my harness before I started climbing." 
"Better wash my hands first. After all, who knows where I've been." 
"Mom, whoa, whoa, we don't want to overwork the dough. An autolyse of 2-3 hours is necessary to improve extensibility; only after it's complete should we further knead the dough to realign the gluten strands. Don't feel bad, you didn't know any better." 
"Wait, what? Dad told me all you have to do is pass the dishes under the running water and they're totally clean."Friday, September 28, 2007
beautiful Prague
We had a great trip with excellent travel companions- even the under 3 set was well behaved. Honestly, I probably whined more than they did. Because Prague is so lovely (and because I am so lazy), I'll be doing another picture based travel log. Maybe Bridget will come up with something better. Here's the pictures.
Monday, September 24, 2007
i got rhythm
We are back from Prague, not too much the worse from a second night train voyage. While I prepare a more the in depth travel summary you're no doubt all awaiting, here's some video of Czech dancers followed by a more liberal interpretation:
Saturday, September 22, 2007
More stuff on Prague
Since Trey is writing this post, guess what you get to hear about first? Beer. I have had a bunch, some good, some bad. There seems to be a bit of a microbrew tradition here and I have even had a very passable English Ale. It was called "bitter" but was closer to "Pale Ale". The most interesting beer though was Primator Rytirsky. It is about 10% ABV, golden/amber, not too heavily hopped and very malty. The only thing I can think to compare it too is Scotch. It just has that taste that is essential in Scotch, the unifying taste that makes Scotch Scotch, Plato's ideal of Scotch would have this flavor, if you know what I mean. Very strange to taste that flavor in something that didn't spend 15 years in a barrel!
Ok, I promised Rachel only one paragraph about beer before getting on to other things, so...This might be the most beautiful city I have ever visited. After a bit, you get kind of numb and almost fail to notice how beautiful the city is. Our first day here, before the arrival of Bridget and Orrin, we were a little lazy. We saw some of the city and mostly enjoyed a family nap in our apartment with a cool view:
That evening, we had a small supper of Ukranian Perogies and Czech pancakes in a nice little place. Altogether it cost about 11 Euros. We took E to a nice little park called Wallenstein Garden:
Then I picked up Bridget and Orrin. Here the boys are enjoying a book with B:
Now, I am getting tired and I am having another Primator, so I will summarize with the intent of a longer post to come. We have had nice lunches out and some good dinners at our apartment. The first day with all of us here we just roamed the city and we hit a cool little restaurant.
Rachel had a skewer of meat which included slices of lard, which were good with some onions. I had half a duck with two kinds of cabbage and two kinds of dumplings for less than 12 Euro. Today, we had another nice lunch. Miraculously, the boys slept like angels through both:
Still to come: Prague Castle, more intense baby cuteness and another overnight train trip. Stay tuned and I will tell you more about the stuff we didn't eat!
Ok, I promised Rachel only one paragraph about beer before getting on to other things, so...This might be the most beautiful city I have ever visited. After a bit, you get kind of numb and almost fail to notice how beautiful the city is. Our first day here, before the arrival of Bridget and Orrin, we were a little lazy. We saw some of the city and mostly enjoyed a family nap in our apartment with a cool view:
That evening, we had a small supper of Ukranian Perogies and Czech pancakes in a nice little place. Altogether it cost about 11 Euros. We took E to a nice little park called Wallenstein Garden:
Then I picked up Bridget and Orrin. Here the boys are enjoying a book with B:
Now, I am getting tired and I am having another Primator, so I will summarize with the intent of a longer post to come. We have had nice lunches out and some good dinners at our apartment. The first day with all of us here we just roamed the city and we hit a cool little restaurant.
Rachel had a skewer of meat which included slices of lard, which were good with some onions. I had half a duck with two kinds of cabbage and two kinds of dumplings for less than 12 Euro. Today, we had another nice lunch. Miraculously, the boys slept like angels through both:
Still to come: Prague Castle, more intense baby cuteness and another overnight train trip. Stay tuned and I will tell you more about the stuff we didn't eat!
Friday, September 21, 2007
Kissin' Cousins
Prague is indeed a very romantic city. This picture was taken by randomly holding the camera up in the air after having had my eyes closed for twenty minutes. The romantic vibe of the city seems to have infected the little cousins:
"Come 'ere beautiful."
"Closer."
"Turn your head more, don't you know anything?"
"Whoa, I am sorry Ellis, I don't know what came over me. Let's just stick to hugs."Thursday, September 20, 2007
midnight express
Okay, it wasn't really an express, but we did take an overnight train from Frankfurt to Prague last night. It was Czech operated car running on a German line. We had our own tiny compartment which contained two bunked beds, a small sink, and a couple luggage racks. It also included the following mind-bending baby puzzle: 
The beds were fairly comfortable, but only about as wide as a baby crib. This would've been fine, except I had to share mine with Ellis. We had the bottom bunk and he was initially very confused about where Daddy was. But after a reassuring trip up to the top bunk he settled down and slept pretty well.
We were awoken for German passport control at 6:30 in the morning and almost got back to sleep, only the be woken for Czech passport control at 6:37. Then we were up for good and Ellis explored the train a bit and we had complimentary breakfast including surprisingly decent coffee. 
So, overall we rate the night train:
Rachel- One thumb up
Trey- Two thumbs up
Enough blogging for now, must stock kitchen and begin exploring Prague.
The beds were fairly comfortable, but only about as wide as a baby crib. This would've been fine, except I had to share mine with Ellis. We had the bottom bunk and he was initially very confused about where Daddy was. But after a reassuring trip up to the top bunk he settled down and slept pretty well.
We were awoken for German passport control at 6:30 in the morning and almost got back to sleep, only the be woken for Czech passport control at 6:37. Then we were up for good and Ellis explored the train a bit and we had complimentary breakfast including surprisingly decent coffee. 
So, overall we rate the night train:Rachel- One thumb up
Trey- Two thumbs up
Enough blogging for now, must stock kitchen and begin exploring Prague.
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