Thursday, August 30, 2007

"I Think, therefore I am Crazy."

When did it become weird to stop and think to oneself? I mean, many times in the course of a day, I will be walking down the road and suddenly realize that I have to make a crucial decision. For example, where do I want to go for lunch? I can go either to A or to B, but they are in opposite directions. A dilemma arises....

I feel like an idiot when I have to stop and think. I can feel the stares of the judging public piercing my sides. "Susie! Look at that guy over there. What the hell is he doing? He just stopped, rather abruptly, in the middle of his walk down the road and is now just staring at the ground! Is he going to puke? Is he planning mischief? A heart attack? No, he must be insane, drunk, or homeless."

It is not possible today for somebody to stop dead in their tracks, put on their best thinking-pose, and just.... think.

Standing in the middle of the pavement, staring into space and lightly stroking my facial hair a la Confucius fingering his beard or the evil top-hatted villain of yore with a fair maiden tied to the train tracks twisting his handlebar mustache (I prefer to tug rather gently on the small bit of hair underneath most men's [and some elderly Italian women's] lower lip: known in the trendy world as "the soul patch." Nothing says, "that man is a genuine Hemingway-reading intellectual!" like twiddling a fine piece of well-groomed facial hair), makes me look like a complete psycho to the majority of people. I might as well be drooling (although, very often, people are not caught in the act of drooling. Residual drool is much more common).

Again, I ask, why do you look crazy if you stop and think? Whenever this unfortunate event arises, I find that I actually try to cover up the fact that I am thinking to myself. A preferred cover is for me to whip out my cellphone and blankly stare at the empty screen. "Oh, that guy is just checking the time" or "Oh, that fine, upstanding young gentleman is simply checking a missed call."
That's what they think. But in reality, I am thinking "Am I in the mood for sushi or Thai?" The decision I make dictates the direction that I must walk: therefore, I must stop where I am, lest I continue drifting in the completely wrong direction. There is no way around it! I must stop... think... and scatter the frightened children around me.

Oh, another favorite is the "I'm obviously waiting for somebody" pose. Fumbling hands, investigatory and exploratory glances, impatient clock checking. Works every time.

Then again, maybe there are loads of people out there thinking to themselves. Waiting at bus stops and such. They are fooling me!
Or maybe that's wrong. Maybe people don't have to think anymore. Wherever they walk, they shall continue in that direction until they come upon something that catches their fancy.

Send help immediately,

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Dance Like You Got No Pants

Last night I snapped. I want to wear my lederhosen in public, dammit, and I want to wear them now. So, I called Philipp and suggested we go to the Hofbrauhaus for a round of beers (which, incidentally, contain a full liter of beer), under one condition: We both wear our lederhosen.

I donned my costly investment, and might I say, looked damn good. While travelling from my place to the HBH, I did not get one awkward or questioning stare from a single person. I love that. I was one of them. I had become a true Bavarian. I can feel the malty brew coursing through my veins right now. Suddenly, I am struck by an urge to leap up, bang my fists on the table, and triumphantly announce, "Ihn Munchen steht ein Hofbrauhaus, ein, zwei, g'suffa!!" (Translation: In Munich, there is a Hofbrauhaus, one, two, drunk.)

I restrain myself. Thankfully.

Anyway, we go and have a great time. Then, Philipp tells me where we are going next.

This is one of those moments where I am positive that my life is being filmed, and that I am the joke of a meta-world that giggles with delight at my every mis-adventure. This is the kind of stuff you can't write about, because it is too much of a coincidence.
A local club was having a Lederhosen and dirndl party. I am not kidding. Preferred entry for those who are dressed in the traditional costume of Bavaria. Let's go!

Philipp and I roll up and party the night away, listening to German music I can't understand, talking to German people I can't understand, drinking German beer that I completely understand. It was awesome. I am satisfied; for the moment. Who knows when the urge shall strike me to don my leather once again.

Besides that, things are rather slow here in Munich. Tourist season starts again during Oktoberfest, so right now it is eerily quiet here. A welcome change of pace, I say.

What else? Today I had a conversation about whether it was the right idea to drop the Atomic Bomb in World War II. Thrilling.

That's its. But, most importantly: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM (and Michael Jackson)!

Much love,

Saturday, August 25, 2007

Tight Leather Pants

After careful consideration, I have decided that it woud be in poor taste to write every detail of my love life here. Therefore, I will not get into any detail about the Book Shop Girl (sort of like the Pet Shop Boys). Just know, Her name is Maja (like Mya or Mia), I had a great time, and we'll see what happens.

Much more interesting story:

Yesterday I finally went shopping for my first pair of Lederhosen. Lederhosen, as previously mentioned, is the traditional garb of Bavarian men. It consists of a pair of short leather shorts and suspenders. Actually, there is a character in the Simpsons, a German exchange student, who wears Lederhosen (and, hysterically, in the German version of the Simpsons, they make him the Swiss exchange student).
So I go shopping, along with Natalie and Philipp. Philipp wears his pair of lederhosen to the store, just to get me in the mood (the best part about lederhosen is that you can wear a pair and walk down the road and nobody will even notice. I look like a freakin' shepard, and nobody blinks an eye).

We head inside, and working today is sort of the poster child for this store. He is on all of their advertisments, for a number of reasons: 1. He is kind of fat. 2. He always wears lederhosen. 3. He has a handlebar mustouche and goatee. 4. He is one of the gayest men I have ever met.

This guy was freakin' hysterical. He saw me, and kind of took a liking to me (It is worth noting that gay men love me. This is not an ego thing, but a cold hard fact. Apparently this is true for many Reed family men. I am not entirely sure why, but hell, I love it. There is nothing more flattering than a straight dude like myself to be hit on by gay men, as, stereotypically, they are the pickiest people on the planet. It's a compliment! ).

I try on the first pair.
"No, no. Tighter."
The second pair.
"No. It needs to be tighter."
The third pair. It fits like a glove. Well, not quite like a glove. Maybe a glove that cuts off circulation. I BUY IT!

I own my first pair of lederhosen, and talked him down in price! (I will not reveal the price, as it is truly obscene. They are ridiculously expensive. Take your guess and triple it. Then add 100 euros. Squared.) I havn't taken a picture yet, but when I do I will be sure to post it.


Friday, August 24, 2007

Literary Love Life?

So, this requires a bit of back story:

After my mis-adventures with the Ice Cream Girl came to an abrupt and tragic close (please refer to previous blog post), Natalie set to finding me a new crush. She is very good at this. Natalie is my guiding light in Munich. When all goes wrong, I stop, breathe, and think "WWND?"

She calls me in a panic a few days ago to inform me that there is this really cute girl who works at the second hand English language bookstore (sounds good already! I love this place.) "You have to come here and see her!" gasps Natalie in an octave a bit higher than normal. I leap down the Matt-pole into the Matt-Cave and get ready for action. To The Matt Mobile! (which, incidentally, is my feet.)

We go there (a brisk fifteen minute walk north-west of my current location) and she is nowhere in sight. Damnit! Foiled again by the diabolical schemes of... life! Again! I hang my head in shame, a la Charlie Brown and prepare to exit the building.

This couldn't have been scripted better: as I am walking out, The Girl rides past the window on her bike. I JUST MISSED HER!

-Zoom ahead to just this morning... in fact, just about two hours ago (it's 1:00pm now).
I have off today and wanted to get some quality shopping (jeans and Lederhosen [the traditional garb for Bavarian men. You know the deal: short leather pants and suspenders. Sexy sexy. I can't wait to get my pair. It's a Halloween costume for life!]), along with some good cappoccino/book time.
But Hark! I remember that the Book Store Girl works in the mornings!
I walk to the book store. I step inside. I glance left. I glace right. I look right in front of my face. There she is. Right in front of me. Damn. She is cute. Doesn't dress like usual Germans. This chick... she's got attitude. (my land lord always like American girls because they have "spice" and attitude).

And now, for your reading pleasure, a near exact transcript of the next fifteen minutes:
How's it going
Good, do you need help with anything?
Yeah, I could use your number./ No thanks, just looking around.
(I go with the latter) I proceed to look about the store for the next fifteen minutes planning my next move. I grab a book on the crusades that looks mildly interesting, but more importantly, is the cheapest book I can find. This may turn into an expensive flirting adventure. We ain't in the Land of Ice Cream anymore...

I go to the register. Wait. She is on the computer. She doesn't notice me standing at the counter (or does she? That sly devil is playing the player's game..). After an awkward pause (and a fair amount of purposely audible money shuffling on my part), she turns around. "Just say something!" she says in a jestful manner. Damn she is cute. "Oh, you looked very engrossed in it (complete with "drawing in" emphasizing hand gestures)."
"You dont have an accent. Where are you from? (going according to plan)."
"Germany. Born, raised, and lived in Munich all my life."
"Oh, you speak English perfectly. Do you have an American parent?"
"No. I have an American boyfriend."


I pay and leave.
As I walk down the road, I call Natalie to tell her what happened.
Then I realize: She didn't say "I have an American boyfriend" but she actually said "I had an American boyfriend." Light at the end of the tunnel. Stepeth into the Light, Matt. Stepeth...

I stepeth-ed.

I turn around and start walking back to the book shop. (Are you on the edge of your seat?! I was nearly vomiting at this point as I had woken up and drank a cappoccino on an empty stomach. Bad idea.) I call Natalie. "Is this a good idea?", I say. It is a good idea. Do it.

I walk back. There she is! She is having a smoke on the stoop of the store (I am not one for smokers, but in Europe I make an exception. And for her, I'll make an exception).
She is talking on the phone. Oh. Shit. Is she talking to her boyfriend? Is she married? Is she divorced? Dammit! Turn around Matt! ABORT!

No. Stepeth.

I stepeth. I awkwardly wait next to a rack of books and pretend to be interested in them. She gets off the phone.
"Listen, I would be kicking myself if I didn't ask, but, would you like to get a drink with me tonight?"
"Sure. Do you know the place Garibaldi's?"
Holy crap. It's my favorite wine bar in Munich. This girl is good.
"How about 9:00?"
"Sounds great."

And at that moment, a dove emerged from its shell and an angel's trumpet reverberated throughout the heavens. Matt had actually, truly for the first time, hit on a complete stranger and gotten a date. Of course, I'll let you know how it goes, oh faithful reader.

Reporting from the front lines of Munich,

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Lessons Learned

I woke up with the song "I'm Walking on Sunshine" stuck in my head this morning. No excuse for that. Moving on...
Thanks for all the re-assuring comments guys. I don't feel like a terrible person anymore! But let's abandon that little "episode" and keep rockin'.

Today, I had another one of those experiences where it made me feel good to be a tour guide. Like I am actually making a difference. However, the tour started out pretty boring. One thing I notice is that groups either dig ya or don't.

And this group... uh....... don't.

They were boring as hell. Most times it is actually a matter of peer pressure (as many things are). If one person is feeling good and laughs at one of my (many) lame jokes, most of the others will see it is "all right" to laugh and do so... most joyously. This group did not find me amusing. I know that Matt's schtick, so to speak, is that I am overly enthusiastic and a bit theatrical, and then I make fun of myself for it. It's how I roll. They were not digging me. No laughs. No smiles. No souls? Maybe.

But at the end of the tour, I start talking about how Germany deals with its dark history. It's a serious matter and one that makes some people uncomfortable, but probably the most important part of the tour. Today, I saw this old woman who looked kind of like a Gypsy stumble into this part of the tour. I often attract the attention of locals on my tour, but I like that and try to draw them in. She didn't look amused. "Hey lady, you can't be any worse than this group" I think.
So I start getting into the part about how Munich doesn't have huge memorials (or even slightly bigger than small memorials) dedicated to the Second World War (a much more scholorly way of saying World War II). Some say this is because Munich is trying to hide its history, but I disagree. I started talking about how 90-95% of today's Germans have nothing to do with the crimes of the Third Reich (as they weren't even alive) and how there is only so much guilt that you can burden, especially the young generation, with. Munich is looking to have many small memorials, not as the absolute center of attention, to use for rememberance and education, and is also trying to show that there is a lot more to Germany and Munich than its Nazi past.

Then the woman (remember her?) said something like "Thank you" in broken English. She seemed completely elated at the words I had just said. That made me feel great.

It got me to thinking: Modern Germany is one of the finest examples of learning historical lessons. Truly, how could they conduct themselves with any more respect and sincerity than they do now? Berlin is filled with massive memorials dedicated to their Nazi past and the nearly incredible crimes of the Holocaust (I use "incredible" in its true meaning, as meaning "beyond the realm of possibility.") Young Germans are truthfully and honestly told about their nation's crimes and instructed in how wrong it was. Munich, while not having massive memorials as the center of attention in the city, has numerous small memorials spread throughout the city to serve as a reminder of its dark past. Rememberance, education, honesty: yet not getting bogged in self-hate. That's why I love this country and these people.

It reminds me of something else. In one of John Keegan's books (a prominent military historian) he says the world is getting better. WHAT! A military historian, who writes about how we all kill each other, says that the world is gettting better?
I am paraphrasing, but he basically said that the policy of nations used to be expansion of empires with the public goal of obtaining colonies and other territorial possessions. People wanted to conquer each other.
That is not the case anymore. No (sane) country has a stated policy of expansion. The war in Iraq, you may say? Look at the outrage over it! Prime example of how people are getting, truly, more peace loving. Who wants war? Honestly, find a (sane) person who truly wants to conquer the Maldives. That idea comforts me.
Ok, the thought that economic expansion is the same as political expansion just entered my mind, and I tend to think that capitalism has brought people so close together that we realize that we are all quite similar, but that's a can of worms that I am not ready to open. Perhaps later.
Until next time!


Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Wow... I'm stunned. Let's Examine:

I had a couple of really... um.. "biting" comments on one of my previous posts.

I think I was called "idiot" and "stupid" by two different people. Besides the name-calling, I am not really that affected by those kinds of comments. I imagine that these people who commented don't read my blog ever, and are not aware of my twisted type of humor, meant solely for entertainment. I apologize. No offense was meant to prostitutes or tour guides. The post has been deleted.

Most of my postings are just things that I think about randomly whilst meandering down the streets. And then, for your entertainment and mine, I write about it! They are meant purely to entertain or get people thinking, depending on the post. That one was obviously for entertainment only. I don't actually think tour guides are like prostitutes, nor the other way around, nor are prostitutes "bad" nor do I know much about the lifestyles and risks associated with prostitutism or anything like that.
However, the comments left got me to thinking: Am I "different" in the way I think? Or am I just an idiot for sharing them with everybody? The former is questionable, the latter is a definite. Let's see...

What are you thinking about most of the time while walking down the street? Thoughts are probably running through your head, so what are they? I tend to think about nonsense.

For example, I often think about how I would steal things. Weird huh? I plot ways that I would use a divertion or slyly slip undetected past a lone, generic security guard, take out the security cameras, only to quickly karate chop him in the neck so I could use his hand for the fingerprint scanner. What makes it worse is that there are never security guards and I don't even know karate.

I also think about food a lot. I plan what I will have for dinner or breakfast or an afternoon snack. One of my favorite pastimes in Munich is going to new restaurants as often as possible. I love exploring. Yesterday I had a pasta dish in a cream sauce with roasted pumpkin seeds and sunflower seeds, topped with a bed of arugula. Delicious! Mission accomplished.

I sing a lot while walking down the road. I am fascinated when random songs pop into my head in the morning, so I sing them. There must be a reason that James Taylor's "Mexico" is stuck in my head. I don't know anything but the chorus!

I try to "figure people out." While walking behind somebody, I try to discern as much as I can from just what I can see. Do they walk with a limp? Maybe they had a major accident. Do I hear change jingling in the pockets? Change usually means bills which usually means successful job. How are the shoes? Forrest Gumps was right, as you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes. Are they utilitarian, using the same pair of shoes for basically everything ( a suit paired with sneakers is a good example of this)? Stuff like that. Of course, I can expect a comment (or thought) saying "Matt, you are just stereo-typing these people! You don't know anything about them!" My response: Um, yeah. That's kind of the point. I am making up stories about them for my own entertainment and to pass the time as I walk down the road. No harm done!

In closing: I hate it when people mis-interpret my motives, or my saying/doings come across as harmful. It's not their fault at all. It just kind of sucks.


Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Reality Check


Get this.

Today, rather suddenly, I had a major reality check that told me that I am currently located in the middle part of Europe. Blew my mind.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Not Just a Tour Guide

I gave one of my most personally satisfying tours today. You know, I give basically the exact same tour every day. But today was especially great because I had a kid on the tour. He was probably about nine years old, and smart as a whip. I never hold things back when kids are on the tour, so as I am talking about the rise of the Nazis, he asks a wonderfully innocent and intelligent question:

"Were the children in Germany evacuated during the war?"

That's a brilliant question! And it made me even happier that he actually asked it to me. I told him that that was a very good question and then I repeated it to the group and said, no, the children were not evacuated, and proceeded to talk to them about the Hitler Youth.

But, upon reflection, I realized something. I am not just a tour guide. I guess doing the same thing every day makes me not really appreciate the value of some of the things I talk about. But here is this kid who will hopefully remember the things I told him. I actually might have influenced his life! That's a crazy and comforting thought.

When you think about it, I am really just a teacher/professor who gives the same lesson every day to different people. That's pretty cool.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Knock on Wood

A friend of mine (Paul) said something to me the other day which didn't really affect me at the time, but after later consideration, it scared the crap out of me. He said to me, "Matt, you have such a good life." (Or a derivation thereof).

Now, I have considered this before, yet the concept still bothers me. Allow me to explain:
I have never faced real hardship in my life. To tell you the truth, its been pretty smooth sailing for 22 years.

Deaths in the family? Sure. But that is bound to happen to everybody.
Illness? No, not really. Nothing serious. Never broken a bone. I had stitches in my chin once at Robin's birthday party at an ice skating rink in sixth grade. I was trying to show off and fell on my face.
Starvation? Quite the opposite.
Relationship problems? Hahaha, nothing big. I have been fortunate to have been "involved" with fantastic girls in my past (some of them read this blog!). No death threats yet.
Family life? Fantastic.
Social life? Wonderful. Always been surrounded by many kind, loyal friends.

I've always had high-tech gadgets (I am writing this on a laptop), plenty of money (I am eating a freakin over-prices salad in Munich right now!), no government suppression (at least overt), no religious persecution, etc.

It is for this reason I want to be a doctor, I think. To give back. I've had it pretty good. I need to do something in life that gives others that opportunity. Yeah, that sounds good to me.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Scary Quote, Part 2.

I realized another thing that I despise:

Mutant Puppies.

I freakin hate seeing mutant dogs. You know, those cross bred, designer dogs that look like something out of a Dali painting. Those things scare the crap out of me. Today I think I saw a Schnauser/Dachsund (hot-dog) cross. It probably has the self esteem of an adolescent Rupaul. Who/What the hell am I?

Let's do a thought experiment. Which people would I like to cross and what would be the probable results? Let's see here...

Mick Jagger + Angelina Jolie = Steven Tyler with a voracious sexual appetite

Marilyn Manson + Courntey Love = Marketing Genius

Karl Rove + Drew Carey = Elton John

Bob Ross + Mother Theresa = The Second Coming of Christ

Who would you like to cross? Let me know! I think this blog post set a personal record for random references.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Scary Quote

I happened to pick up a copy of a rather famous sci-fi book the other day: Dune. Now, I am not the sci-fi type, nor am I really much of a reader of fiction (reality is much more entertaining!).... but this is rather entertaining.

What's the point?
Well, there was this quote in the book that struck me and I want to share it with you. Now, I don't have it in front of me, so this is para-phrasing:

"Your inner self is revealed by what you despise."

WOW! That knocked my socks off because it is so true. Everybody likes fast internet, world peace, harmony, teddy bears and butterflies. But what do you despise? Me? Oh, ok, here we go:

1. I HATE it when people write in books. Underline, highlight, notes in margins. Doesn't matter. It is basically desecrating art. To me, that is like an art historian putting a big circle around Jesus in the painting of the Last Supper and drawing a big arrrow that says "Christ wuz here."

2. I despise bigotry. That sounds so "modern" and "trendy" but I really mean it. For just one example, I just hate it when there is a taboo against marrying outside of your "race." In all honesty, fuck that.
One thing you learn when traveling... we are all basically similar. Different foods, languages, and customs... of course. But that's what makes it spicy. Every person still feels loneliness, love, hunger, jealousy, elation, etc.

I can't think of anything else right now. I'll work on this one. What do you despise, and do you think that says more about you than what you love?

Friday, August 10, 2007

Let This Be a Day of Mourning

I did it.

I didn't think I could ever do it.

But I did.

I talked to Ice Cream Girl. "What happened!" you say with breathless anticipation. I can feel the collective heartbeat of my readers rising steadily......

Here is exactly what happened. First, I scouted out the area from across the street to see if she was working. That would be funny if I was lying. I really did it though. She's working. Perfect. Must build courage. Here we go. Let's roll. I walk up to the stand and wait in line for 3 minutes. I step up to the counter:
Me: Hello, how's it going
ICG: (giggle)
Me: (in a teasing way) Why do you always laugh when I say that? (I basically set up this situation after hours of planning. She always laughs when I say that. Damn, I am good. So far, this is running like clockwork.)
ICG: I am always laughing
Me (inner monologue): Hot damn she is cute.
Me (reality): Hahaha, OK.... I'll have ein milch und minze (my favorite, in half-German, half-English: My specialty).
ICG: Ein euro bitte.
I Pay with a 1 Euro coin
Me: What is your name?
ICG: Dharma (or Dharla, I am not sure. But my readers are well aware that I have difficulty hearing names here in Germany.)
Me: Where are you from?
ICG: Hungray.
Me (going for the kill): What brings you to Munich?

A seemingly harmless question. The answer, however, did more harm than an enthusiastic 12 year old with a sawed-off.

ICG: My boyfriend.

I don't remember what happened after that, as I believe I passed out into a puddle of my own urine. That oughta win her heart.

And thus ends the Saga of the Ice Cream Girl. It was fun while it lasted. But, I learned a very important lesson: Always give her an opportunity to talk of her boyfriend. That spared me looking like a fool, and we know how easy it is to do that.

Side note- I am now royalty at the salad place whose internet I use. I just got two pieces of multi-grain bread with my salad. The commoners only get one. Hey.... There's a cute girl across the table from me. Must build courage....

Thursday, August 9, 2007


I hate mis-communications! They happen so often, and usually a calm and collected assessment of a situation can correct these unfortunate circumstances. Today, there was a miscommunication at work that is far too complicated to get into in detail, but in the end, it makes me look like I was screwing some other guy out of money.

That is completely not the case, and a review of today's events and who said what to whom would show, clearly, that of course I was not at fault. Maybe a mistake was made, but not a deliberate one.

I feel like we, society, need an honorable agreement that if somebody shouts "schananigans!" everybody freezes in their place....
Time stops.
Then, the parties concerned calmly explain their situations to their eager and open-minded collegues.


There. I feel better already. Thanks reader. I feel like I just got off of the psychiatrist's couch.

Monday, August 6, 2007

need rest

This has been an insane past few days. I am so tired, I shall only list my adventures.

Friday: Morning tour. Done at 2:00. Proceeded to give my personally designed Beer Garden Tour for the next five hours to a group of 11. Passed out.
Saturday: Morning tour. Done at 2:00. Proceeded to give a private tour. I had no idea what to expect. I show up to pick up the group at their hotel:
They're Irish.
They're already drunk.
They're on a bachelor party.
They're cops from Dublin.

Oh my dear God, this is going to be a long night.

I proceed to get absolutely HAMMERED with these 15 Irish cops. I drink 4 liters of beer in 4 hours and give a sort of tour about the Nazis, but basically just chat with them and pretended like I understood all of their sentences. The best was the father of the bride's brother, whose accent was so thick and undecipherable that even the other Irish guys can't understand him. Great. He told me about 17 jokes about the parish priest or something. I just laughed as hard as I could whenever he stopped speaking. That seemed to keep him happy.
Then I went on a Pub Crawl to help out the new guy.
I'm not proud of this night. Way too drunk. Pass out.

Sunday: Wake up. OH dear Lord, I want to drill a hole into my head to relieve the pressure. Second worst hangover of my entire life (the adventure in NYC with Jerome was the worst, but that's another story). I have to give a tour. I do it. I nearly puke twice on my tour. When will the agony end!
Pub Crawl that night. I don't touch a drop of alcohol. It is karaoke night however. That raises my spirits.

Monday: I write my blog after my tour. I have to basically run the company while the boss is in Berlin. 7:33pm, I write a sentence about this exact moment. I just finished a large salad with chick peas, mixed greens, tuna, and feta in a lite honey mustard dressing. I am in the mood for tea. My local tea shop is closed. I think I will go see my ice-cream girl.


I went to get ice cream/see her the other day, and though she didn't serve me, the other woman did. HOWEVER! She looked at me and coyly smiled at me. My toes wiggled. She is so cute. Natalie agrees. I will.... oh yes.... I will get up the nerve to actually ask her for a drink or something. In time.

Until next time,

Thursday, August 2, 2007

First Munich.... then the World!

I guess you could say that I have been promoted. Actually, I kind of volunteered for it.

So, I am now officially the "Team Leader" at New Munich Tours.
Not the boss, but just underneath that. What does this mean?
I get to handle all the crappy stuff the boss hates. Awesome.

This consists of dealing with number crunching, figuring out payments, scheduling conflicts, "quality control", etc. The Quality Control is my favorite. It sounds so Dilbertian, but its pretty simple (as I imagine quality control usually is): I jump on the tours of my underlings (hereafter referred to as "piss-ants"... a rather clever word play on "peasants." [Have you noticed, faithful reader, that I tend to congratulate myself on successful witticisms? Weird.]) and make sure that they are giving good tours and not forcing their tour groups into contemplations of mass suicide. I also train the piss-ants, ensuring that they replicate the epitome of tour-guiding excellence, namely, ME (hereafter referred to as "El Guapo.")

El Guapo (who shall hereafter refer to himself in the third person) currently rules by decree, enforcing his will with a loosely clenched aluminum fist!

(they were all out of tight iron fists. Dammit.)

After succesfully raising himself on a healthy diet of fear and tears and first born children, El Guapo currently resides in his palace built from the broken dreams of others, and spends his time terrorizing the local population of piss-ants while sipping a fresh cappoccino (one shot of espresso. I HATE strong cappoccinos. If I wanted to drink axel grease, I would. If I wanted you to drink it, you would. I want a smooth, creamy cappoccino. Now.)

And they say power corrupts...
The Galactic Commander
El Guapo.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Mind Your Manners!

I love the manners that Germans have.

Well, maybe I phrased that incorrectly.

Germans (stereotyping to the max) are mannered people. They won't spit in the streets or belch (loudly) at the dinner table. They don't eat much with their hands and their elbow are always off the table.
What I love is the lack of formality in many exchanges, which is typical to an Englishman/American. Here are two of the exact same scenarios, one between Englishman, the other between Germans.

A: Oh, good day to you sir.
B: And a fine day to you as well, my good man. How are you today?
A: Oh just dandy. Beautiful weather outside.
B: Agreed. It is quite lovely. What can I help you with today?
A: Hmmm... I am not sure. I was thinking maybe vanilla, but that chocolate looks very good.
B: It is indeed. Here, have a taste.
A: That's wonderful! Oh.... (sneezes). Excuse me.
B: God bless you.
A: Thank you.
B: You're welcome.
A: I'm sold! May I please have two scoops of chocolate?
B: Coming right up.
A: Here you go (hands money)
B: Thank you very much. Enjoy the rest of your day.
A: Good day to you too. Good bye!
B: Bye!

A: Bitte.
B: Zwei schokolade.
A: Zwei euro
B: Danke.
A: Bitte.

Oh you crazy Germans!