Harry and the Potters

God bless Mimi Smartypants for turning me on to these guys. For the 5 minutes I was reading their Wikipedia entry I did not feel the death of a thousand cuts by Term Paper. (Which is my own stupid fault. Really.) Off to cut #1001.

Nee is a sack of pissed

Today has basically been a shitter of a day. I slept badly last night, going to bed late but waking up frequently between dreams of my sister’s Baroque underwater-resort wedding and Kermit the Frog overcharging me at the buffet and Antonio Banderas outwitting some spies on a sunken boat.

After my meeting with my Term Paper advisor this morning, I wanted a cup of coffee but only had 70 cents, so I chanced the coffee automat in the department. Fucking machine. Last time it only gave me half a cup of coffee, this time it gave me a cup with a hole in the bottom. I was so pissed I poured it down the sink (after dripping a large portion on the floor while I figured out where the leak was coming from). Can you imagine? Too mad to drink cheap, bad, leaky coffee? I’m officially through with that coffee machine.

I bumped something while making copies, and many more than I actually wanted started shooting out of the machine. I got that under control, turned in the book I was copying from, and only realized later that I had copied one page wrong. I can’t recheck the book until tomorrow. Then I couldn’t find some other info I was looking for in the library.

And to top it off, on the ride home, we were stuck for about 20 minutes because I think our bus driver witnessed an accident (I was in the back of a double-length bus) and had to stick around until the cops, the ambulance, and the emergency doctor on call showed up. By the time I got home, I was a sad sack. I turned off my brain and did the last of the dishes I started last night.

At least I managed to get through my meeting with my T.P. advisor without 1. embarrassing myself or 2. him berating me. He’s a really nice person—basically the Mr. Rogers of Linguistics (including the cute little sweater in the winter). Very encouraging and supportive and non-threatening. I also managed to turn in another translation homework without bursting into flames, but it was a close thing.

At least the workmen came out to do *something* on the roof again. We had a pretty big storm blow in last night, and water was pouring out of 2 spots in the ceiling. We haven’t seen the guy who was supposed to be finishing out the inside of the Winter Garden, but we would like to be able to use the room, if only to open the windows to catch some more breeze up here in no-air-conditioning land.

Sorry that I've shown up only to bitch and moan, but what else is this thing for? :-)

Here's to LilSis

LilSis had surgery yesterday, so I started my period in honor of her no longer having them (as of yesterday). Please brush off your mind-meld techniques and send her good wishes for a speedy recovery and a return to good health.

Bring out the Beach Boys--Summertime is here

My brain is still full of one of those spousal anger dreams (where your spouse does something horrifying and out of character, and you wake up breathing heavy and totally pissed), so I have nothing coherent to say, but here are some photos of summer for you to enjoy.

Barbies on Parade

Hannah has put up a Barbie fashion show over on her blog. Eighty percent of the text is verbatim per her dictation. I even managed to leave out all the snarky comments in my head.

Enjoy.

And this is the view from the other side of the room. (It's a church.) 

Sorry so dim, but this is the view from my 9 am class. (In case you can't tell, it's a castle, only partially ruined, and on the other side from here.) Darn early-morning sun. 

The Mailbox

Dear Lady with the pre-distressed jeans,

I’d ask for your money back if I were you, because they missed a spot. Or rather, two long, dark-blue stripes running down the inside of your legs. I don’t think wetting yourself is the look you should be going for.

Sincerely,
Nee

Dear Guy pushing the bike,

Yes, you look like Wolverine at 80, but that’s no excuse for running around town half-nekkid. Put your shirt back on.

Best,
Nee

Dear Nee,

How many times do we have to go over this? You are not allowed to touch sharp objects. Ever. Also, trying to thin out your mustache with a razor is a *bad idea* (see above re: sharp things). Just buy yourself some safety scissors, lay in a supply of Neet or hair bleach, and buy all your groceries pre-chopped and pre-shredded.

Love,
The gaping wound on your thumb and the shaved-off copiously bleeding pimple by your lip

I've heard of polyploidy strawberries, but this one makes me not want to drink the water in Bruchsal, if I should ever travel there. The rest of the strawberries in that batch were delicious. Is that a growth on my arm? 

Pimpin' Like It's 1999

No new content, but just wanted to point out that I have new stuff up at Flickr and my writing blog and Hannah's ad blog.

World Travelers

We had a 3-day weekend (Pentecost Monday), so we took Sunday off and went to Tübingen for the day. John took tons of photos of old buildings, but it takes a special sort of person to appreciate 120 building photos, so I sorted out about 30 with us in them for your enjoyment. And for those of you who are special...

Into the Mush-Pot

Rather than try to cram all the recent goings-on into some kind of cohesive narrative structure, I'm just going to throw them out there in no particular order.

After 9 years of fruitless paranoia, John and I were finally walked in on. Fortunately, Hannah's head was full of the incipient celebration of herself (i.e., her birthday party), so I don't think she caught on. But nothing kills a mood like feeling something thump down onto your pillow, only to find out it is your child and not your cat.

Speaking of Hannah’s bday, John and I went to Toys R Us the Friday before and bought everything for it in one go—gifts, party bags, candy, balloons. And toilet paper. John could not resist the lure of the winter-scented Charmin that for some reason was piled high in the center of TRU, and on sale, to boot. *One-tenth* of our birthday-shopping bill was toilet paper. He’s obsessed, I tell you.

I think that German weather is blighting my soul. It has certainly taken a toll on the plants on our balcony. An arctic front came through recently, so the temps for the last week have been firmly in the 50s. Today we broke 65F for the first time in ages. And last night we saw on the news that there was an overnight frost warning for Southern Germany. On June 1. Some foolish sorts have already put out geraniums. Hope springs eternal, eh? We're not bothering this year; we've pretty much given up on summer here.

What is with the connection between rodents and weather forecasting? In the States we have Groundhog Day: if the groundhog sees his shadowed, 6 more weeks of winter. In Germany, they have Dormouse Day: if it is raining on that day (June 27), bad weather for the rest of the summer.

I look in the shop windows, and they are full of sandals and sun dresses, and I wonder where the coats are. These shops are probably taking a beating right now (I got out my winter coat a couple of days ago), although you will still see teen-aged lemmings flocking to them. I don't know when they'll have the chance to wear skimpy tees, etc.; maybe when they go on vacation to Spain or Italy.

The thing I like about the shop windows is the mannequins. Most of them are your typical zombie super-model types. Some have wigs; others are bald; yet others come with their heads molded to look like hair. Some shops use dress-maker style mannequins (no heads or arms). One disturbing place has mannequins with their heads cut off *at the nose*. Why? Most of them are anatomically correct: the female ones have cleavage and nipples, and I saw a male one with nipples today. Equality among the mannequin-sexes! But my favorite is the trashy clothes shop with female mannequins sporting quite a busty, nipply style, but their hands are *flippers*. Whoever made them couldn't be bothered with making individual fingers after perfectly sculpting their chests.

Speaking of trashy, I saw a chic wearing these high-heeled sneakers the other day. Once again, Why? Sneakers should not go click clack as you walk.

We saw a segment on our favorite Mr. Rogers-for-adults show where they compared hot-pants and mini-skirts. Scientifically, of course. John says we need to hear more about such important scientific research.

Speaking of clothing, I saw a guy in an excellent t-shirt on the bus. The guy himself totally had “mis-placed Austinite” written all over him: shaved head, long bushy goatee, cool black t-shirt. On the front: „Punk Rock Catering.“ On the back: a skull of the Hannah-esque variety wearing a chef hat over a crossed knife and ladle. And the caption: “ACAB—All Cooks Are Bastards.” Hee! Reminded me of a certain chili-cook I used to know in Austin, as a matter of fact.

At a bus stop, I was almost driven mad by the virtuoso whistler. He was whistling classical music for 15 minutes straight while we waited for the bus. In a sheltered area to get out of the rain. There was no escape!

The psychology of the bus is endlessly fascinating to me. There are two tall-ish seats at the very front of the bus, and they are highly coveted by the older types, especially the women. It is funny to watch them out-decrepit one another to show that they are more deserving of those spaces, but you can spot them hobbling a little faster and more nimbly when they are getting on the bus and notice those spots open. Fascinating!

Mental Note: End Academic Career with M.A.

Yes, I enjoy learning, but I hate feeling like that is *all* I do. And when I'm not, I feel like I should be.

I have actually managed to finish the inch-high stack of articles for my paper, but tomorrow I will be hitting the library for a fresh stack. I feel pretty encouraged by the fact that I have finally managed to understand all of them, including the ones in German and the one that was a grueling exercise in logic.

Actually, before burying myself in new material, though, I should probably nail down exactly what it is I intend to write about and figure out what gaps I need to fill. Damn.

Hannah the Inventor

Hannah and her friends are very creative when it comes to inventing items that no household should do without. They have moved way beyond the de rigeur lemonade stand of childhood. The first item (with friend Sinya) was paper towels. But not any old paper towels! These were soaked in a mixture of dish soap and food color, making them both attractive and messy. They were pretty sure they could get 2 bucks a pop for them, but I talked them out of trying to sell them door-to-door.

Now Hannah and Katharina have jumped on the wagon with their party hats. These are hats in a variety of shapes and sizes that Hannah excavated from her dress-up box, tied some twine to, and added a balloon to the end of the twine. You can kick the balloon, hit it with a ping-pong paddle, whatever. And they talked me into starting a blog that is basically advertising space for their hat. I finally got around to trying out YouTube, so they even have video ads! I put in a link on the right under "Friends". Enjoy.

A Little Old School Bitchin’ and Moanin’

My dear friend, WesTexGirl, was just bemoaning the fact that she didn’t accomplish enough (in her opinion) during her semester break. I think that if you have to deal with giving and grading final exams, and then turn around and start teaching again in 14 days, you are entitled to a little down time. There’s nothing worse than going back to work after a vacation and feeling like you never stopped working.

I can see the mountain of work ahead of me for this semester and often feel overwhelmed by it. The worst offender is my term paper, because I know that it will take a lot of time and effort—both of which I will also need for my regular classwork, my exams (not including finals), and the translation job that is hanging around our (mine and John’s) necks like a millstone. So I am trying to get the paper out of the way as soon as possible, which means I have spent every extra minute during the last week reading the pile of articles I copied last semester. There’s a certain momentum I’ve gained, and I feel like I’ll be right back at square 1 if I don’t grab onto it now and keep forging ahead. Besides, my advisor is *still* waiting for something from me.

Part of the delay is that I haven’t quite sorted out what it is I’m going to write about. A paper is supposed to be an answer to a question, and I think my question is “How does suppletion arise?” Different authors have given different reasons, some of them overlapping, but one mentioned a particular reason, but then said she couldn’t go into it further in her article. I had thought I was done with the research phase, but now it seems like I have to hit the library again.

Yesterday it was my turn to do the grocery shopping, but we also needed some stuff from the electronics store, so I hauled myself across town to the big all-in-one shopping center. I hate going there, because I always spend a painful-to-me amount of money. Somehow I feel like I’ve gotten ripped off, and by the time I’ve run my small errands but haven’t even set foot in the grocery store, I feel barfy. Seriously. Low-level nausea the whole trip. I swear, I could go in for bread and milk, and still spend 100 bucks.

So I’ve spent most of the weekend nauseated at the thought of the grocery shopping, and the term paper. Not so much the presentation I’m giving tomorrow, but I will definitely have to organize my info a little more this evening.

Hannah is out of school for 2 weeks, but John and I aren’t, so the next 2 weeks are going to be stressful, just because we have to tote her back and forth to the university with us, which is also no fun for her; at least she can entertain herself pretty well with a book or drawing. I hope it dries up a bit, then she can spend some of her down time on the playground, but otherwise we will try to squeeze in trips to the library and maybe the museum. And a lunch or 2 out. Fortunately, June 5 is a holiday, and John doesn’t teach on Fridays, so that’s a bit more free time for at home. *sigh*

The weather hasn’t been helping my frantic mood. It has been raining off and on for over a week (it was “on” for about 3 days straight), and today is the first time we’ve seen the sun in ages. It still isn’t warm (our ranges have been in the 50s and 60s), but I’ll take “not raining” for now, particularly since the ceiling was leaking again in the dining room under the construction site.

I keep swinging back and forth between not wanting to eat anything and only wanting to eat chocolate and Pringles; seeing how I can’t afford to be sick, I have to pay attention and make sure I wash down the Pringles with real food (a peach at the moment). Luckily, the only sweets left in the house are a few mini-packs of mini-gummi bears, but the fruit dish is full.

Ok, next time less bitching and moaning. Maybe.

Eurovision a la Nee

Last Saturday night, we engaged in the lovely little ritual of squatting around the tv to watch musical groups from 24 European (and the term seems pretty loosely used in this case) countries compete against each other to win the Eurovision Song Contest. The German commentator alone was worth staying up until midnight for. He totally killed us with his snark-itude. Hannah managed to stay up until 11, but she reached that stage like when the batteries are dying down in a toy, and it starts to play loudly and at a high pitch and NON-STOP until it just conks out, which is quite unusual for her.

Anyhow, it was a learning experience for us, seeing how the Europeans conduct their musical popularity contest. A good friend in Austin lived in Britain for a while, and she is still fascinated by the whole thing, so this entry is dedicated to her.

Here are my notes on each country’s representative, including the type of music and any interesting tidbits we noticed during the show. And the occasional links to photos of some groups.

1. Switzerland—anthem?
A group of 6—3 men and 3 women—none of whom are Swiss. Huh? Their song was picked up to be the anthem by some non-profit group, if that gives you some idea of the „We Are the World“-ness of it.

2. Molova—pop/dance
The female singer kept going through costume changes behind the sail and kept coming out wearing fewer and fewer clothes. The male singer never did this. hmmm...

3. Israel—R & B
A black R & B singer from Israel—I don’t think anyone could have foreseen that. He even sang bits in Hebrew. Unfortunately, France was the only country that gave him any points, so he ended up in 23rd place.

4. Latvia—a capella
A group of 6 men. Nothing special, except for the PUPPETRY. Aack! My brain!

5. Norway—Enya-esque
In Norwegian. John liked it, but only lukewarm-ly.

6. Spain—pop
Las Ketchup (hee! Best. Band. Name. Ev-ah! It’s right up there with BananaFishBones.)
I particularly enjoyed some spectacular gender-bending among the dancers. Spain was an early favorite of mine.

7. Malta—dance
Hannah: That guy looks like he wants to eat our brains. I think he’s a vampire. (I couldn’t find any good brain-craving photos.)

8. Germany—country
No shit. Germany has a country band (fronted by an Australian, actually) that is already pro here, and I really like their music. They were John’s favorites throughout. They were not so popular with the rest of Europe, though.

9. Denmark—remake of beach music
Commentator: We’ve heard this thousands of times before.

10. Russia— “pop ballad”
A male singer who looked disturbingly similar to a member of the awful kid-targeted German pop band Banaroo. In addition to a couple of back-up singers, he had ballerinas. Plus an all-white ballerina who popped out of a hole in a grand piano covered with red petals. I didn’t get it.

11. Macedonia—dance music
Hannah commented that the main attraction was big boobs. She’s becoming a critical viewer—I can die a happy mother.

12. Romania—dance music
We found it to be pretty good up until the moment he threw in a little falsetto. *falsetto*

13. Bosnia & Herzegovina—ballad
Very pretty, Balkan-esque.

14. Lithuania
I don’t know what to call this song, because it was kind of unusual. Reminded me of The Pogues somehow. There was a row of male singers, and each was gesturing as he sang, except this stoic, Drew Carey look-alike, who finally broke down and performed a hyper-kinetic dance. And their song? “We are the winners of Eurovision.” Cheeky!

15. UK—rap
And a pretty bland rap. About school.

16. Greece—pop ballad (think Celine Dion)
Commentator: She’s 49—a few times.
A popular Greek singer, but getting up there with Cher and Madonna. Not that you could tell.

17. Finland—“heavy” metal
The infamous monster band, Lordi. No crap. They looked like rejects from Tales from the Crypt, or like they’d been digging through the trash in New Zealand after Lord of the Rings was done shooting. So basically they looked like Gwar, but they sounded like Spinal Tap. Hee! Needless to say, they spanked the other bands like red-headed stepchildren. They were so far ahead that it wasn’t strictly necessary to tally in the points from the last 5 countries.

The commentator warned viewers in advance that they might not want to let their children watch this part. Hannah said she had been more scared of slugs than those guys.

18. Ukraine—pop/dance
Commentator: That was Shakira, I mean...
I think she was wearing too many clothes for that designation.

19. France—chanson
This was a real French chanson (song), in French (duh!), and accompanied by a cello. It was my absolute favorite, so of course it only got 1 more point than Israel.
At this point, John said: The French think everyone will like them, just for being French, but the Germans just gave up and became Texans.
There’s a reason I keep him around.

20. Croatia—dance
John mentioned that it was a reflection of the “colorful local culture.” Just because the singer formerly acted in “adult” films.

21. Ireland—ballad
Sadly, bland. “Every Song is a Cry for Love”? Try “This Song is a Cry for Help”.

22. Sweden—dance/disco
Very Abba-esque (if it worked once, right?), but if they had been infiltrated by Dusty Springfield.

23. Turkey—disco
This lady was pretty cool. She was a single mom (and a hairdresser?), and she’s more tatooed than you normally see your Turkish women. And she wrote her song herself.

24. Armenia—pop/dance, with a Middle Eastern flavor
I almost forgot—MORE PUPPETRY! (But with people acting like marionettes, which still doesn’t excuse it.) What were these bands thinking?!

These are just the countries that made it through the various semi-final rounds. Every country gets to vote on the winners, which is done by call-in vote. The votes are divided up by percentages, and each country gives out 1-7 points, and then 8, 10, and 12 points. No country can vote for its own representative, so lots of countries end up voting for their neighbors. It’s interesting to see who votes for whom.

Drive-By

I probably should just number these drive-by posts, because I have the feeling they may have that flavor for a while.

Still crazy busy, and not likely to dig myself out very soon. But Thursday is a holiday (Christ Ascension), so I plan to use a little of the time to update here.

Hannah just turned 9, so I put some new photos up at Flickr. I had been hoarding my space over there until after her party, but I might put up a few other things on Thursday.

'Til then!

Our House, Is a Very Very Very Odd House

John the smooth-talker, watching me eat breakfast:
"Oh, Nee! You're so cute and little and petite and mostly hair-free and self-sufficient, getting your own breakfast and all!"
It must be true love.

Hannah's not much better. On the walk to school, she had to comment several times on my smallness (and the dryness of my hands for some reason). She even asked how old I was when I stopped growing. 13. "You don't look as big as a 13-year-old." Your pygmie mother thanks you, child.

Hannah can't wait to get taller than me, and my mother is probably dancing with glee over this turn of events, seeing as its the source of the Mother's Curse in my family. I have told Hannah a million times that if she wants to get bigger than me, she'll have to eat better, because with her eating habits, I don't see 'basketball player' in her future--I see rickets.

I usually tickle Hannah awake, and being the floppy child that she is, she usually manages to whack me with one or more of her limbs. But she also tries to get away with kicking me through the rails on her playbed when in one of her grumpy moods. I got onto her about it the other morning, pointing out that kicking is never nice, including when she does it to the boys at school. "Are you trying to melt my brain?" Yes, my diabolical plan has worked. *bwa ha ha*

[Do you sense a theme here? Mornings are not our forte at Chez Nee.]

I hope we have finished cycling through our various illnesses, because I have a very busy semester ahead of me and can't afford to lose more time. To recap: John was afflicted with back troubles; Hannah participated in the Spring Barf-a-thon; and I just had a bladder infection earlier this week. I managed to take care of it at home with gallons of water and juice (including chugging a liter of tomato juice--acidic!); those bacteria didn't stand a chance in there. (BTW, I highly recommend any of the editions of Take Care of Yourself; one of John's stepsisters gave us a copy when I was preggers, and it has been so useful.)

Hannah turns *9* on Monday. We just arranged to throw a party for her on Sunday; we're taking her and 5 friends to see Ice Age 2, and then to Pizza Hut. Better than a dozen kids running around our apartment, which we have tried in the past. We haven't bought her a single gift yet. Aren't we the worst parents ever? If you were one of the "lucky" few she sent her Barbie wish-list to, I apologize. "Moderation" is not a word in her vocabulary. And she doesn't need a Barbie drum set.

I have been very productive recently, if you define that as running around getting minor tasks and chores done. I still have the book translation, a term paper, a class presentation in 2 Mondays, and extra exams at the end of the semester looming over my head. And not just clouding my brain, but like gargoyles staring and staring and STARING down at me with their accusing stares, accusing me of not accomplishing anything purposeful. So. I'm going to try to whittle these items down. When I need a break, I'll be back.

I don't know why John took this photo, since he is morally opposed to cat pictures, but it is obvious that we have the least dignified cat in the world. 

TV, My Love

John’s grandmother-ish person digs this German tv series, Kommissar Rex (Police Commissioner Rex), so John has been taping episodes for her. This is the perfect show for Mystery-Science-Theater-fication. Oh my god—sometimes the comments John and I come up with are entertaining enough to justify having to watch “Lassie Meets NYPD Blues” every Saturday night until the tape is full.

Basically, this German shepherd is the brains behind the entire police force. The most basic procedural work falls under their radar (like searching a suspect’s apartment, especially his computer, and NOT OPENING THE SCANNER), and Rex has to pick up the slack. I think he may also double as the force accountant.

He’s also the master of diversionary tactics. While the other cop is trying to make her getaway, he pushes the bad guy down the stairs. Then he rolls a chair down after him.

He’s so well trained that he keeps attacking the perp, even when the guy’s waving a chainsaw at him. Of course, the other cops are so incompetent that when the bad guy with the chainsaw falls off the roof, they don’t bother to check if he’s dead or slowly crawling away out of sight of the screen. They just sigh and smile and shake their heads when Rex peeks over the roof, completely unharmed.

And Rex turns his head away discreetly when his owner is kissing someone. An officer *and* a gentleman.

After hours, he likes to fetch birthday cakes (episode “Happy Birthday”). Who puts the dog in charge of bringing the cake?!

In other tv-watching news, we are still trying to come to terms with a couple of German shows that we just can’t seem to wrap our brains around. One is called “Wetten, dass...?” (“Bet that...?”). Here’s how someone on the Internet Movie Database described it:

“Each show has several celebrities invited who have to bet on different contestant(s) achieving his/her/their goal of performing a stunt. If the celebrities fail to anticipate whether their stunt will succeed or not, they have to meet their stake. Usually one stunt takes place outside the studio. At the end of the show, the best stunt is being voted for by the audience. There is also an audience bet, a stunt which the audience does choose from a preselection, which is not prepared and must be organized by the host city within the time the show is running. If the stunt succeeds, the show's host has to meet his stake.”

This show has been on for *25* years people, and the celebrities? Tom Cruise. I shit you not. Just a couple of weeks before Katie Holmes popped. His stunt (heh) to bet on was whether two 8th or 9th-grade girls could guess the identities of their classmates (male and female) by their *lipstick prints*. Depeche Mode was the musical guest once. And the host, Thomas Gottschalk, is a German icon. He also pimps the Haribo gummi treats. mmm... gummi bears.

But the concept of celebrity in Germany seems a little broad. Ok, ok, I know we have Paris Hilton et al., so maybe my impression is a bit pot/kettle-ish, but they still have nobility that are famous for doing nothing but having the right parents (and now we’re back to Paris Hilton). And some entertainers don’t ever seem to have regular jobs, they just bounce from one celebrity special to the next (and they seem to be on every week). The one I just saw advertised is for a putt-putt golf special. With celebrity guests. Mind-blowing. We’ve also seen this format on the “ABCs of the Smurfs” and “The Best Dance Songs” (whose “Time Warp” made me gnash my teeth in horror). But on the other hand, the dance show had a crazy-ass-looking band called Rednex from Sweden that played their version of the “Cotton-Eyed Joe”, which I promise you will never, ever hear in any Austin country-western bar. But I liked it.