Eurovision Part II-Results

It’s my favorite part! Douze Point! Twelve points! It is time for every country to call in with a scary representative who tries to be funny. NB: The male announcers are always 100 times creepier than the female ones. While watching this, I wonder who decided the two languages were going to be French and English for this competition.  Every country calls in and speaks English, except…you guessed it…France and surprisingly Belgium. Belgium sucks up to France by giving it 12 points. Yeah Belgium, that bad pop-opera really deserved that. Go eat a waffle, you Walloons!

Why do I love the scoring part so much? You can see what countries other countries really hate. You cannot vote for your own country, so you have to pick the neighboring country that is the least repulsive or at least didn’t attack you in the last fifty years. The German commentator/translator on the German channel has to explain why countries vote the way they do. “Ah Israel gave ten points to Russia. That is because there is a big Russian contingent in Israel.” What goes unsaid is why Israel doesn’t vote for Germany.

Also as I said before the people announcing the how the people of their country voted are really awkward. For example, the guy from Cyprus just said to the host in Germany, “Oh my god, you are so beautiful!”

Now as a country’s representative you can go a couple of ways:

1. Cute and bubbly in a pageant gown. (My personal favorite) Sorry you will have to turn the volume up.

2. Try to awkwardly reference the year’s theme and stall for time which makes the host hate you.

After the points are handed out by a country, the camera pans to the “green room” to see the team from the country that received the coveted 12 points. These pod things that they sit in makes me think of the senate in The Phantom Menace.

As more and more of the points are tallied, I begin to feel really sorry for the countries in last place. Poor Spain and Estonia 😦

And Germany is not even in the top five! Way to go Germany! It was a brilliant idea to send last year’s winner, because if I know one thing about the human race it is that they love anti climatic moments.

And the winner is Azerbaijan!!! Do you remember what they sang? I didn’t! But the guy says he is the happiest man in the world right now, which is kinda adorable.  Now they sing Running Scared again. It’s off key!!!

Here they are winning and you can see the senate pods they sit in. Also are they playing the Olympics Fanfare?! Are you allowed to use this for a non-Olympics event?

Recap of Eurovision Song Contest 2011 Part 1

So here I am waiting for it to begin. It is almost time for the Olympics of music competitions.  I can already predict that there will be a lot of sequins and fans. I wonder if there has ever been a horrible sequin-in-the-eye mishap. From the views of Dusseldorf they are showing, I can tell that I am not going to be impressed when I go to a conference there in June. In happier news I have discovered a Eurovision Song Contest drinking game on The Guardian’s website. Here are some of the places you take a drink:

– The hosts misguidedly attempt to flirt with each other

– A song rhymes ‘fire’ with ‘desire’

– While announcing their country’s voting scores, a presenter unsuccessfully tries to chat up the host

The last one I find the most awkward. This feeling is not helped since the presenter is usually clothed in beauty-pageant wear.

21:00 The main sponsor is the hair product brand Schwarzkopf (lit. blackhead). This always makes me laugh. They just welcomed those watching alone (me) or in parties (not me).

21:03 Since Lena, last year’s winner, is competing she can’t sing her song as is usual at the beginning, so the host are singing. It is truly horrific, but they are making fun of her strange pronunciation of English words so I approve.  The song is not improved by singing it in the style of Brian Setzer. And now a bunch of girls dressed up like Lena (black dress and long brown hair) are waving different flags around.

21:07 OMG Lena has taken the stage after all to help them butcher a song she has sung a trillion times! It must be weird to be surrounded people in a you-costume.

21:13 Paradise Oskar is singing a song he wrote for the Finns’ entry called “Da Da Dam” (which surprisingly is the mind-blowingly deep chorus). And with the opening lines, “Peter is smart, he knows his European country by heart” he is off to a fantastic start. It apparently is cute little song about a little Finnish boy trying to save the planet. Maybe the Finns are going for simplicity since it worked for Lena last year. From Wikipedia I find out Paradise’s real first name is Axel. WTF?! Why change a name that Eddie Murphy made famous?!

Look man, I ain't fallin' for no banana in my tailpipe

21:18 Bosnia & Herzegovina…Two words: Plaid Jacket. Maybe I am now biased towards Bosnia, but I kinda like the song and the bit of horn music.

21:21 A Friend in London sings their song “A New Tomorrow.” I might be biased towards Denmark now, but I hate this song. The positivity of the first three songs is making me ill. If only America could compete, we could offer up a song about shooting terrorists in the eye. The guitarist had to run to another part of the stage it was about a 500 meter run (it was kinda like when Denethor of Gondor ran on fire to jump to his death.) They must not be singing live or the Danes are in great shape, because he is not even winded.

21:26 Lithuania: ok my new drinking game is to take a drink when someone says tomorrow. Fog machine, white piano, and male pianist wearing a white tux. Only Tom Hanks in Big could pull that one off. (There you go, Kate).

21:29 They are showing pictures of the Viktualienmarkt in Munich! Go Munich!

21:30 Hungary has Kati Wolf singing “What about my Dreams?” She wants to be Celine, but it is not working out. Oh wait dance beat starts, she wins the future! She is very thin but her shiny blue dress is giving her stomach pouch. (Memo to self: avoid stomach pouch dresses). There are male dancers in the back wearing the Hungarian uniform for white guys trying to look cool: Fubu. Now the Fubunauts’ wrists and crotches are glowing. Finally! This is why I watch this show, glowing crotches.

21:34 The band Jedward from Ireland is wearing shiny red jackets that Bowie would drown a kitten for. Their video display in the background looks like a Target ad. I want to buy some throw pillows now.

These are toned down from what they wore

21:37 The Shhhvidish guy, named Eric (I kid not), has magic frames a la the “Take On Me” video but behind the frames they just look dumb and not like 80s drawings. He is trying to use a non-subliminal message to win by saying he will be popular. Nice try. Now I know what the frames are supposed to represent…they are mirrors into which our little Swedish Stuart Smalley can look into and convince himself that “people like me.”

21:42 Estonia: I am pretty sure Jack McBrayer is one of the dancers; he is decidedly chinless and does the wide-eyed thing.

Not Pictured: Kenneth the Page

21:45 The Greek guys (again only guys, Greece?!) are kind of scary looking. Their song is called “Watch my Dance.” Ok then, I will.  F-Bomb! Greek pop mixed with bad English rap, Aristotle would be so proud. Their backdrop is made up of ionic columns. Thanks for the reminder that once you guys produced good stuff. All I can think of is are we only on number nine?

21:49 Russia has a guy singing a song called “Get You.” I think he is singing in English, but I can’t concentrate because of the 90s boy band dance moves. Backflip, while lip-syncing. I am impressed.

21:53 The French guy is singing a song called “Sognu”, while Bolero plays in the background. His hair is a little like Opera Man’s. Wow, way too much of my brain is taken up remembering old SNL characters. This song sucks, and I am not saying this because my iPhone was stolen in Paris.

21:57 The Italians have a ‘jazz’ song called “Madness Of Love.” The singer has been enjoying too much of his mama’s cooking, and that lame joke is all I can make about this lackluster performance/song.

22:02 Switzerland! My least favorite European country! The girl’s song is called “In Love for Awhile.” A ukulele cannot save this. Her background is like a Jimmy Dean Sausage commercial.

22:06 The UK’s group Blue is singing a song “I Can.” Interwebs correct me if I am wrong, but wasn’t the UK in last place last year? They are dressed in blue suits with cummerbunds and their black shirts unbuttoned, making them look like drunk, douchey members of a wedding party. I have been an Anglophile my entire life. This is making me question my unconditional love.

When I looked up a picture of Blue, I got a horrible nude picture of one of the singers. My eyes, my eyes!

22:11 Moldova is up next. I had to look up where Moldova is, but that didn’t explain to me why they are wearing wizard hats. Now there is a girl in a white lacey dress on a unicycle with a white wizard hat. You think you would get someone good at unicycling for this.

You can see the fear in her face

22:15 Good luck and we are pressing our thumbs, for LENA!!! This year she has sprung for backup dancers in silver leotards and a jumpsuit (bad choice).  The dancers aren’t dancing, they are doing choreography and really do look like “ducks that are dying.” Lena is going for a slutty, drunk girl look to distract from this song that is going nowhere fast.

"I am so over Eurovision!"

22: 20 Romania is going to change the world, but not alone. The drummer apparently borrowed the Bosnian singer’s jacket.

22:24 Austria’s girl is starting a capella and is telling me that the secret is in me…it’s love! The music is a little like the build-up part of “Without You.” When it crescendos though to the chorus you realize that that song is amazing and this song blows.

22:27 Azerbaijan. I love saying Azerbaijan. Azerbaijan. Try it! Their song is called “Running Scared” and the girls are wearing white toga like dresses and dancing like the Hermoine Gingold and her pals in Music Man. “One Grecian Urn!”

22:31 Slovenia’s Maja Keuc sings “No One.” I already like the depressing feel and the leather fingerless gloves. She says she is going to stand on her own without you (shit boyfriend), while standing with a bunch of backup singers. Just remember the message of this song, no one will ever really love you. Take that other countries with your messages of hope and love.

22:38 Sjonni’s Friends from Iceland will sing a song called “Coming Home.” Have I ever mentioned I much I love the name of the Icelandic historian Snorri Sturluson? Well now I have. Holy crap! Why has Iceland sent their version of the Osmond brothers? And why are they using a Partridge Family background? I have seen praise bands cooler than these guys. Seriously the piano they are using looks like one in a church basement.

I think there is some emotional story behind this song, but I don't care

22:41 Oh thank god, we are on number 22! Spain! Take it away! They are singing Que Me Quiten Lo Bailao which Google translate tells me means “Remove me what Bailao.” Indeed! It is catchy and the lead singer girl is cute.

22:44 They are showing Ukrainian students in the English Garden here in Munich. See Germany won’t throw you East Europeans out right away. Now Ukraine presents a song called “Angel.” The blonde singer is wearing a dress with feather epaulets. I have seen classier outfits on your country’s figure skaters. Honey, you want to suggest an angel not be one. Remember what happened to the overly literal Belarussian with butterfly costumes last year?

22:49 Serbia has Nina singing Čaroban which means magical. Nina has Twiggy hair and British 60s dances moves to match. I kinda love it, but that is probably because my dad named me after a 60s British actress.

My namesake

22:53 Georgia wraps up the performances with “One More Day.” One more song is more like it! Screaming, flashing lights, men wearing eyeliner. Georgia hates you!

Alright the lines are open! Vote now. I think I am voting for Bosnia or maybe Ireland.

Favorite Things Thursday: Böcklin’s “Playing in the Waves”

Does it seem as if my favorite things more and more often are strange paintings in the Neue Pinakothek?  I can hardly be blamed for this. Most of these paintings are odd, funny, or just plain awful, unlike those in the Alte Pinakothek.  Also unlike the paintings in the AP, most of which I know about specifically or can fit into my general understanding of art history, those in the NP are by artists with whom I am completely unfamiliar or about whom I am rather apathetic. (That is when I don’t actively loath them. Gauguin, I am looking at you, punk!)  This is great, because I am forced to do some very extensive research and learn something new–but only once a week.

Perhaps one of the most disturbing paintings in the NP’s collection is the painting entitled “Im Spiel der Wellen” by the nineteenth-century Swiss Symbolist painter Arnold Böcklin.

Photo: http://www.pinakothek.de

What is it about this painting that I find so jarring? Is it the overly scaly merman-thing? No. Is it the distressed look on the blonde’s face, while all the others frolic? No. Is it her bangs? Yes!

Somehow I cannot wrap my brain around a pseudo-mythological creatures scene in which the central figure is sporting bangs (that is fringe to you Brits or der Pony to you Germans). [Aside: I have never before realized how stupid all these names are]. The fact that she looks like a Finnish friend of mine does not help.

According to the website of the museum,  a personal experience was the impetus for Böcklin’s rather odd fantasy painting.  Apparently, Böcklin was on vacation with the German marine biologist Anton Dohrn and they went for a dip off the coast of Naples. At one point Dohrn went for a long underwater swim and popped up amongst a group of women who were rather startled by his sudden appearance.

Still none of this really seems explain this painting, until you see a picture of Dohrn.

Now I get it!

Apparently Böcklin was quite  influential. According to a reliable source, he inspired Surrealists like Dali and de Chirico as well as composers, such as Rachmaninoff and Heinrich Schulz-Beuthen, who wrote symphonic poems based on his painting “The Isle of the Dead”.  The English language wiki site for Schulz did not include a picture, but I believe he looked something like this:

I see NOTHING...except an awesome painting I want create a composition about

Another composer, the German Max Reger, wrote four tone poems inspired by Böcklin’s work, including “Playing in the Waves.”  It is not a bad piece. You can listen to it here. Maybe I should reassess my feelings about this painting. But maybe not, after all Hitler loved Böcklin and owned 11 of his paintings.

Club Critic’s Corner: Heart (with diagrams)

Disclaimer: I am in no way qualified to be a critic of Munich’s clubs/bars. (I wonder if there are night courses or something you could take to get a certificate in club criticism). I can’t dance, am easily bored by a lot of music they play,  and hate getting elbowed repeatedly.  Also my personal motto, which I stole from Groucho is “whatever it is, I am against it.” Unlike Groucho, I do not sing this line.

The wonderful thing about Germany in general and Munich in particular, is that it doesn’t matter if you can’t dance. Many people here can’t dance, but that doesn’t stop them. It seems like at some point in the night–whether it is a small party or a huge club–someone shouts the following and the bouncing and wiggling starts.

(Also I watched this clip about ten times this morning)

That being said, I realized Tuesdays didn’t really have a theme, so naturally they should be devoted to thoughtful and insightful critiques of Munich’s night spots. So here goes:

Heart (on Lenbachplatz) kinda blows.

The Space:  It is not really set up to be what it is used for now. As a restaurant it is fine, but if you want to go out to drink and dance this is not really the place.  To help you visualize the space, I have created a diagram that unlike Doc’s models is completely to scale and painted.  I did however forget the “t” in support.

That is right, there is no space between the disgustingly bloated bar and the booths. My friends were dancing on the small step above the floor that is next to the booths. This only works if you wear a size 6 shoe (I am going to say size 36 European) or studied ballet. It wouldn’t be so bad, but like most places they want to pack it with as many people as possible. Thus, every square inch of the floor (white on the diagram) is packed with people.

The place is pretty enough as you can see from the photo…when no one is in there.

The People: I guess it is trying to be shi shi, so the people are rather dressed up (an anathema to me!) Generally the people seemed a little snobby (since I am unemployed, to me everyone with a good job looks like a jerk). On the Saturday I was there the median age would be about 42.3. That is the one good thing about Munich’s clubs/bars; it doesn’t matter how old you are you can still go out and drink and bounce.

The Music: Like many places here in Munich, the selection of songs would strike many Americans as odd. Yes, some places play the electric/dance stuff that is currently popular but you will often hear music from the 50s-90s (and not always the classic songs, it seems more often to be the B-sides).  Perhaps the DJ wasn’t very good that night but there seemed to be no order to what he was playing,  no interesting mixes, and he let the songs play to the end.

Why is that bad? Well, although I love Paul Simon, when I am out at night I don’t really want to hear all of “You Can Call Me Al” or the theme to “Beverly Hills Cop.” Great songs, yes. Songs for a club, ehhhh not so much.

But don’t worry, what the music lack in appropriateness it made up for in volume.

Sue’s Club Rule Number 1: If there is no space to dance, turn the music down so at least we can talk.  Otherwise you just get to stand there awkwardly and have your hearing damaged.

Alright, I am off now to watch Chevy Chase lip sync and tower over Paul Simon. (It really is a great song).

Manic Munich Monday: Excessive Honesty

The German stereotype of Americans I hear most often is that we are fake.  Some have rightly said that with many Americans you cannot tell where you stand with them.  I would agree that this, like many stereotypes, is somewhat accurate of many from my homeland. Nevertheless, sometimes I really miss polite, white lies.

Now you might say, Sue you are one of the most tactless individuals on the planet. You in fact relish in saying whatever is on your mind even when that makes you look like a crazy, heartless b*#&%.  And you would be right. This should give you a sense of just how brutally honest many people in Munich are, if I find it uncomfortable.

Perhaps the place where this excessive honesty is most often on display is at dinner parties.

Now if you are like me and raised in what the those crazy kids in congress today are calling “The Real America”, you were taught that when you are a guest in someone’s home you eat what they serve.  Just to be safe you should probably ask for seconds. It doesn’t matter if it tastes like dog food or, in fact, if it is dog food. You must be polite and eat it without comment, if you are not able to say something nice. The only way around this is to claim you have a food allergy. But you must carefully deploy this excuse. For example, the host has prepared a casserole (see I told you I was from “The Real America”) with  melted cheese, crushed up saltines, and broccoli in some sort of off-brand cream of mushroom soup that tastes slightly of gasoline.  If you say you are lactose intolerant, you better make damn sure that for the rest of the time you know this person you are never again seen with ice cream, cheese pizza, or other dairy products that make life worth living.

In Munich this, at least, is not a problem. Do you not like something? Well pick it out and shove it to the side. Don’t bother trying to hide it. If they ask you how you like something, say it is alright but you wouldn’t have used so much sugar. Pasta overcooked? Tell them to go back and make a new batch, you will wait.

What is most surprising to me is that German hosts don’t seem to mind. If you say something is good, be prepared to explain why otherwise they will be suspicious. I try to find one small thing I am not crazy about to comment on so they think I am being honest. Maybe the day I complain about the amount of salt in the soup, I will know I am a real Municher.

Pictured: No holds barred honesty. (Actually this is the first picture of a dinner party I found. Everyone agreed the food was amazing. Probably because so many of the guests were Canadian)

Manic Munich Monday: The Awful German Language

German is sneaky.  Sometimes I finally feel like I am getting a handle on it, and then I pick up a new book.  Although I feel like I am a Grade-A complainer, no one can beat Mr. Samuel Langhorne Clemens when it comes to humorous rants about the German language. (Aside: Mom and Dad, why didn’t you give me the middle name of Langhorne? Sue Langhorne Hasenclever could quite possibly be the best name of all time.)

Without further ado, take it away Mr. Twain…

I went often to look at the collection of curiosities in Heidelberg Castle, and one day I surprised the keeper of it with my German. I spoke entirely in that language. He was greatly interested; and after I had talked a while he said my German was very rare, possibly a “unique”; and wanted to add it to his museum.

If he had known what it had cost me to acquire my art, he would also have known that it would break any collector to buy it. Harris and I had been hard at work on our German during several weeks at that time, and although we had made good progress, it had been accomplished under great difficulty and annoyance, for three of our teachers had died in the mean time. A person who has not studied German can form no idea of what a perplexing language it is.

Surely there is not another language that is so slipshod and systemless, and so slippery and elusive to the grasp. One is washed about in it, hither and thither, in the most helpless way; and when at last he thinks he has captured a rule which offers firm ground to take a rest on amid the general rage and turmoil of the ten parts of speech, he turns over the page and reads, “Let the pupil make careful note of the followingexceptions.” He runs his eye down and finds that there are more exceptions to the rule than instances of it. So overboard he goes again, to hunt for another Ararat and find another quicksand. Such has been, and continues to be, my experience. Every time I think I have got one of these four confusing “cases” where I am master of it, a seemingly insignificant preposition intrudes itself into my sentence, clothed with an awful and unsuspected power, and crumbles the ground from under me. For instance, my book inquires after a certain bird — (it is always inquiring after things which are of no sort of consequence to anybody): “Where is the bird?” Now the answer to this question — according to the book — is that the bird is waiting in the blacksmith shop on account of the rain. Of course no bird would do that, but then you must stick to the book. Very well, I begin to cipher out the German for that answer. I begin at the wrong end, necessarily, for that is the German idea. I say to myself, “Regen (rain) is masculine — or maybe it is feminine — or possibly neuter — it is too much trouble to look now. Therefore, it is either der (the) Regen, or die (the) Regen, or das (the) Regen, according to which gender it may turn out to be when I look. In the interest of science, I will cipher it out on the hypothesis that it is masculine. Very well — then the rain is der Regen, if it is simply in the quiescent state of being mentioned, without enlargement or discussion — Nominative case; but if this rain is lying around, in a kind of a general way on the ground, it is then definitely located, it is doing something — that is, resting (which is one of the German grammar’s ideas of doing something), and this throws the rain into the Dative case, and makes it dem Regen. However, this rain is not resting, but is doing something actively, — it is falling — to interfere with the bird, likely — and this indicates movement, which has the effect of sliding it into the Accusative case and changing dem Regen into den Regen.” Having completed the grammatical horoscope of this matter, I answer up confidently and state in German that the bird is staying in the blacksmith shop “wegen (on account of) den Regen.” Then the teacher lets me softly down with the remark that whenever the word “wegen” drops into a sentence, it always throws that subject into the Genitive case, regardless of consequences — and that therefore this bird stayed in the blacksmith shop “wegen desRegens.”

N. B. — I was informed, later, by a higher authority, that there was an “exception” which permits one to say “wegen den Regen” in certain peculiar and complex circumstances, but that this exception is not extended to anything but rain.

There are ten parts of speech, and they are all troublesome. An average sentence, in a German newspaper, is a sublime and impressive curiosity; it occupies a quarter of a column; it contains all the ten parts of speech — not in regular order, but mixed; it is built mainly of compound words constructed by the writer on the spot, and not to be found in any dictionary — six or seven words compacted into one, without joint or seam — that is, without hyphens; it treats of fourteen or fifteen different subjects, each inclosed in a parenthesis of its own, with here and there extra parentheses which reinclose three or four of the minor parentheses, making pens within pens: finally, all the parentheses and reparentheses are massed together between a couple of king-parentheses, one of which is placed in the first line of the majestic sentence and the other in the middle of the last line of it — after which comes the VERB, and you find out for the first time what the man has been talking about; and after the verb — merely by way of ornament, as far as I can make out — the writer shovels in “haben sind gewesen gehabt haben geworden sein,” or words to that effect, and the monument is finished. I suppose that this closing hurrah is in the nature of the flourish to a man’s signature — not necessary, but pretty. German books are easy enough to read when you hold them before the looking-glass or stand on your head — so as to reverse the construction — but I think that to learn to read and understand a German newspaper is a thing which must always remain an impossibility to a foreigner.

Yet even the German books are not entirely free from attacks of the Parenthesis distemper — though they are usually so mild as to cover only a few lines, and therefore when you at last get down to the verb it carries some meaning to your mind because you are able to remember a good deal of what has gone before. Now here is a sentence from a popular and excellent German novel — which a slight parenthesis in it. I will make a perfectly literal translation, and throw in the parenthesis-marks and some hyphens for the assistance of the reader — though in the original there are no parenthesis-marks or hyphens, and the reader is left to flounder through to the remote verb the best way he can:

“But when he, upon the street, the (in-satin-and-silk-covered-now-very-unconstrained-after-the-newest-fashioned-dressed) government counselor’s wife met,” etc., etc. [1]

1. Wenn er aber auf der Strasse der in Sammt und Seide gehüllten jetzt sehr ungenirt nach der neusten Mode gekleideten Regierungsräthin begegnet.

That is from The Old Mamselle’s Secret, by Mrs. Marlitt. And that sentence is constructed upon the most approved German model. You observe how far that verb is from the reader’s base of operations; well, in a German newspaper they put their verb away over on the next page; and I have heard that sometimes after stringing along the exciting preliminaries and parentheses for a column or two, they get in a hurry and have to go to press without getting to the verb at all. Of course, then, the reader is left in a very exhausted and ignorant state.

We have the Parenthesis disease in our literature, too; and one may see cases of it every day in our books and newspapers: but with us it is the mark and sign of an unpracticed writer or a cloudy intellect, whereas with the Germans it is doubtless the mark and sign of a practiced pen and of the presence of that sort of luminous intellectual fog which stands for clearness among these people. For surely it is notclearness — it necessarily can’t be clearness. Even a jury would have penetration enough to discover that. A writer’s ideas must be a good deal confused, a good deal out of line and sequence, when he starts out to say that a man met a counselor’s wife in the street, and then right in the midst of this so simple undertaking halts these approaching people and makes them stand still until he jots down an inventory of the woman’s dress. That is manifestly absurd. It reminds a person of those dentists who secure your instant and breathless interest in a tooth by taking a grip on it with the forceps, and then stand there and drawl through a tedious anecdote before they give the dreaded jerk. Parentheses in literature and dentistry are in bad taste.

The Germans have another kind of parenthesis, which they make by splitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the beginning of an exciting chapter and the other half at the end of it. Can any one conceive of anything more confusing than that? These things are called “separable verbs.” The German grammar is blistered all over with separable verbs; and the wider the two portions of one of them are spread apart, the better the author of the crime is pleased with his performance. A favorite one is reiste ab — which means departed. Here is an example which I culled from a novel and reduced to English:

“The trunks being now ready, he DE- after kissing his mother and sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen, who, dressed in simple white muslin, with a single tuberose in the ample folds of her rich brown hair, had tottered feebly down the stairs, still pale from the terror and excitement of the past evening, but longing to lay her poor aching head yet once again upon the breast of him whom she loved more dearly than life itself, PARTED.”

However, it is not well to dwell too much on the separable verbs. One is sure to lose his temper early; and if he sticks to the subject, and will not be warned, it will at last either soften his brain or petrify it. Personal pronouns and adjectives are a fruitful nuisance in this language, and should have been left out. For instance, the same sound, sie, means you, and it means she, and it means her, and it means it, and it means they, and it means them. Think of the ragged poverty of a language which has to make one word do the work of six — and a poor little weak thing of only three letters at that. But mainly, think of the exasperation of never knowing which of these meanings the speaker is trying to convey. This explains why, whenever a person says sie to me, I generally try to kill him, if a stranger.

 

Drei Haselnüsse für Aschenbrödel

At a party this weekend I was introduced to the Czech/German (but mostly Czech) film from 1973 called Drei Haselnüsse für Aschenbrödel in German and Tři oříšky pro Popelku in Czech—and you thought German was a tough language. For the English title they try to avoid talking about nuts and call it Three Wishes for Cinderella. Like It’s a Wonderful Life, it is shown in Germany every year at Christmas time, so everyone knows the movie.  It is seventies-tastic and rather kitsch, but…

First wish: No more sheep shirts

I kinda love it.  Although I am ashamed to admit it, I love movies based on fairy tales and Cinderella is one of my favorites. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that I am somewhat of a Cinderella movie connoisseur. I secretly (although not so secretly anymore) watch the following:

1.  Rodgers and Hammerstein’s musical of Cinderella (the one with Julia Andrews not Leslie Ann Warren [yuck])

2. Disney’s animated version. Although it only lasts about 25 minutes because I skip all the annoying mice bits.

3. The 1976 musical “The Slipper and the Rose”, where Richard Chamberlain sings even though you wish he wouldn’t.

4. Jim Henson’s “Hey Cinderella” (probably my favorite)

5. Ever After (which is possibly the worst version) where Leonardo da Vinci is inexplicably  Drew Barrymore’s BFF.

6. And I am sure I am forgetting some…

Anyway I think the Czech version just beat them all. Why? Funny you should ask, because I have a list.

1. Cinderella is not such a goody two-shoes.  She talks back to the step-mother and purposefully covers her and the step-sister with ashes.  She also holds her own with the prince.

2. It is set in winter, my favorite season.

3. She actually interacts with the prince more than once and leaves the ball because he can’t figure out who she is even after she gives him a bunch of hints. [Note: The Prince is even more incredibly stupid than usual.]

4. The animals (and there are a lot of them) fortunately do not talk. Yay, no squeaky voices!

5. The step-mother’s hat:

 

Really, I don't know what could compete with this.

So now the plot, since it is a little different:

Part 1. Cinderella’s household is preparing for a visit from the royal family. Step-mother gets ticked off at Cinderella and forces her to separate grains as a punishment. Fortunately Cinderella is like this (I am crossing my fingers) with animals, so some doves/pigeons (it is the same word in German for both birds) help sort them out for her while C sneaks out on her horse (the last thing she has left from her deceased dad).  Strangely enough the Prince and his friends have wandered off into the woods to goof off and kill some animals.  C keeps the prince from shooting a deer by chucking a snowball at him. Prince and crew run after her, to discover it is just some girl.  She runs from them, steals the prince’s horse (which only he can ride) so she can get back to her horse.

Part 2. Another servant asks C what she wants from town when he goes to pick up cloth for step-mom and sis. She says whatever falls in front of your nose. Thank God, the prince [after escaping his parents who want him to marry and taking off a really terrifying gold hat] shoots a nest out of a tree which lands in the lap of the servant who is driving a sleigh below it. Ta-daa three hazelnuts were inside the nest and the servant takes it back for C. Later,  Cinderella, who is tired of her step-mom, wishes she could be like her friend the owl and leave the house/yard. Ta-daahh one hazelnut opens up to reveal the ugliest hunting outfit you have ever seen.

 

Magically her hair gets shorter too!

She goes off, meets the prince and his entourage again and wins a shooting contest. Her reward? A ring, obviously. [eyeroll].

Part 3. Time for the ball! Ta-daaa second hazelnut produces a ball gown. Meanwhile, at the ball the prince is bored with a bunch of ugly girls and is exhausted from dancing with “Little Rosie” (which apparently is everyone’s favorite part)

 

Because fat people are funny

C shows up. Prince is enamored and wants to know her name. She pretty much thinks, “You moron! You have met me twice already.” She gives him a hint in the form of a riddle. He continues to be stupid, so she leaves and loses her shoe as she runs to get her horse and high-tail it outta there.

Part 4. Prince rides off after her. He gets to her house, but can’t find her among the servants. Step mom and sis arrive home and step-mom figures out it was C that was at the ball. She ties up C and steals her dress. She then gives the dress and cape (how fortunate) to her daughter to wear in order to fool the prince. The prince, however, wants to try the shoe on the step-sister. That would never work with “ol’ beefy feet” sis, so the mom takes off with her in a sleigh and the prince rides after them.

Uh oh! What will happen next? What could be in the last hazelnut? You will never guess.

If you want to watch the end of the dubbed German version is it on youtube:

There is also a fabulously horrible version that the BBC produced, where they just took the Czech film and had a narrator tell you what they were saying.  He doesn’t even bother doing different voices! [Miffed sound!]

Or if you want to learn about how they made it and other silly facts, check out this fanpage.

Now if only I could have a hazelnut that contained a finished dissertation…

Manic Munich Monday: Sludge

I am not a geologist. (This may come as a surprise as a regularly discuss rock formations and volcanoes.)  Nevertheless, I took two geology courses in college and my mother majored in the subject, so I feel that I am entitled to discuss Munich’s gravel.

You will find this light-colored gravel covering paths in the Englischer Garten and all around Königsplatz, where I unfortunately work. Drawing on my vast knowledge of geology I am going to say that this gravel comes from the Isar’s banks and is therefore eroded junk from the Karwendel range of the Alps in Tyrol, which is the source of this river. (I am sure glaciers helped bring some of the sediment as well, because all geology seems revolve around glacial deposits or post-glacial rebound). According to a reliable source, the Karwendel is the largest range of the Northern Limestone Alps or what the Germans call the Nördliche Kalkalpen.

And here lies the reason for my hatred of this limestone gravel. When it rains or after snows start to melt, you are left with a sludgy mess to walk through on your way to work.  The calcite (ohhh fancy term) in the limestone means that your shoes and clothes will be covered with white splatters which resembles bird excrement.

Seriously, just look at this:

Ewwww

**Please note all of my geological conclusions are completely made up. Do not use this for a research paper, you lazy undergrads!

Food Friday: German Christmas Desserts, you have Stollen my Heart

Sorry it couldn’t be helped. Continuing the Christmas theme, on today’s menu is Stollen. (Although not really, since I ate the last slice I had last night).  Stollen is a bread-like cake with dried fruit, nuts, or marzipan that is topped with powdered sugar. It is traditionally sold around Christmas time. Supposedly the loaf shape was meant to look like the swaddled baby Jesus.

Ahhhhhh!!!! You hacked into the Baby Jesus!!!!!! He is not the bread yet; wait until he is in his 30s!!!

I sorta wish I had not read the part about looking like the baby Jesus, because now every time I see a nativity I will get hungry for some German fruit cake.  German, mind you! Not that horrible stuff we have in America with the candied fruit that is soaked in booze.

The most famous Stollen comes from Dresden and there is even a Stollenfest there.   The festival began in 1730 when Augustus II the Elector of Saxony order the creation of a Stollen big enough to feed all his subjects.

The red smoke must be coming from the kitchens as they try to make the huge Christmas cake. Also his sword is sheathed because there is no way that could cut through the Stollen

The bakers created a special oven and a humongous knife was fashioned.  Unfortunately, the crust was really hard and the insides were rather uncooked. Nevertheless it was for the subjects, so who cares!  The tradition of giant Stollen is still alive today. The biggest was made in Dresden in 2000 and weighed 4,200 kilos.

Since this is Germany, in recent years Dresden has elected a Stollenmädchen, whose “primary role is to fulfil prestigious tasks in connection with the preparation of the Dresden Stollen Festival, the representation of Dresden`s baker and pastry-chef trade and the marketing of the stollen. In this function, she travels across Germany, visits closely related towns, Christmas fairs and other events, and appears on TV and radio shows promoting the German “Christmas capital” Dresden.”

You can visit their website and see pictures of the “Stollen Girl.” The festival takes place tomorrow so you better start making your travel plans.

If you can’t manage that, you should at least know something of the history of the Stollen. Like all good stories, it includes a pope:

In the fifteenth century during Advent bakers were only allowed to use oil and not butter. In Saxony (northeast of Bavaria) oil was hard to come by so they had to use water or oil made from turnips (yuck). This meant that the Christmas cakes were hard and tasteless.  Electoral Prince Ernst and his brother, Duke Albrecht, decided to change all of this and wrote the pope asking him to allow bakers to use butter during the fasting time of Advent.  The pope gave in to their request and sent a letter, known as “butter-letter”, to Dresden. In that letter he had declared that richer ingredients were allowed. In return, the Dresden Stollen bakers had to pay a fine. The money was used, for example, for the construction of the Freiberg Cathedral.

So there you have it. If you don’t like something about the Catholic church, just get some prince to write a letter. While you are waiting–the pope did not give in right away–how about a slice of Stollen?

 

Things Departments Should Tell You Before You Research Abroad

I have been living and researching in Munich for over a year now. During this time I have realized that I was in no way prepared to deal with all this entails. Talking to other grad students who are on fellowship and researching at foreign institutions, I have discovered that my experiences are not unique. So here is a list of things I wish I had been told before I was sent off into the wide world to try to write a dissertation.

1. You are going to feel like a moron most of the time.  This is going to come as a shock. You have probably become accustomed to feeling pretty intelligent. After all, you are working on your PhD and you have just won a fairly prestigious grant.  It is going to be difficult to have your ego bruised nearly everyday as you try to understand a different culture and language. Just dealing with the hiccups of daily life (e.g. disputing phone bills, making photocopies, arguing with the person who just cut in front of you in the line, trying to return something to the store) is going to be tough at first. You will have check out clerks and children look at you like you are a drooling idiot.  Old women will wonder what you are doing in the country if you can’t speak the language well. Although you will learn and adapt over time, about once a week something new will be thrown at you and you will be back to feeling like an idiot. Solution: There is nothing much you can do, besides steeling yourself in anticipation of this.

2. Even if you studied the language of the country you are now in, it is going to be insufficient to speak about your project in an academic way.  Solution: Prepare in advance several sentences that describe what you are doing. (I should still do this).  [Also, practice smiling and nodding in the mirror. It will get you through receptions or field trips.)

3. Most people are friendly at the libraries or universities where you will be working. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Of course there is always going to be some ass hat who is going to make things difficult. He or she will invariably be in charge of the resource you need most. Solution: find out when it is his or her day off.

4. Everything is going to take longer than you planned. Period.  Just don’t be surprised when this happens.

5. An important archive, object, or building you need to see will be inaccessible until the day after you leave. Solution: There isn’t any. Fate is a bitch!

6. You are going to need some sort of document, permission, library card, or pass from Office A. To get this you need to go to Office B for Form 1, which is on the east side of the city. Office B will send you to Office C (in the same building but only open on Mondays from 9-12) to get Form 2 to request Form 1. When filling out the form you find that you are going to need passport photos and a letter from Office A.  After getting this, you will take all of the documents, forms, and photos to Office D (north side of the city), they will stamp the form so you can take it back to Office A to get the thing you originally needed. Solution: Be prepared to do a lot of walking and queuing and buy some comfortable shoes.

7. If you are being paid in Euros, the dollar will get stronger.  If you are being paid in dollars, one Euro will be worth about 2 bucks. Solution: Emergency Pizza will save you money and keep you from starving.

8. Grants will rarely be enough to support you, but they will insist that you do no other form of work or take no further grants. Solution: Emergency Pizza.

9. You will realize that your department has not prepared you to use archives. Solution: get names of students who have worked there in the past and they can tell you what pitfalls to avoid. Or don’t pick a project that requires lots of archival research (Now you are thinking!)

10. You will also discover that you have no idea how to write a dissertation. Your advisor is going to offer vague suggestions while making concrete deadlines. Solution: Just accept that you will figure it out as you go. I have also learned to stop expecting that it will be brilliant and groundbreaking. This is a learning experience and something that you have to get done. (My advisor only pointed that out this summer). It will help you not be afraid to start if you think of it thusly.

Also, fake and real illnesses are always handy when it comes to avoiding short-term deadlines. You can tell your dissertation is going badly, when you hope for a horrible flu that will mean you can just stay in bed and sleep. Mmmm, sllllleeeeeeepppppp.

If all else fails, procrastinate by writing blog entries.