What I accomplished today

It rained today. And I had my umbrella with me. I didn't forget it at home, for once.

How's about that?

(Sorry, I'm under pressure from home to update my blog and am feeling kind of uninspired. But the umbrella thing is still pretty big for me).

Return of the Classicist

I was surfing aimlessly on the internet, and I came across this link, http://hpana.com/news.19531.html, from an interview with J.K. Rowling several months ago. You should stop reading now if you haven't read the sixth HP book and are planning to.

Anyone who has read the books probably knows about the whole Dumbledore controversy - is he really dead, did Snape really intend to kill him, is Snape really evil, etc. The question of Dumbledore's death comes up in the interview, and Rowling says that her fans may be in for a disappointment: Dumbledore, she says, is "definitely dead."

As far as this plot detail goes, this assertion makes me happy - I feel like bringing D. back to life would be a silly thing to do. But does Rowling's wording remind anyone else (and I'm aware of what a silly question this is) of the scene in I, Claudius when Caligula comes out of Tiberius' room and announces to the people waiting that the emperor is "definitely dead"? (and he should know).

Maybe it's just a coincidence - a nice spot of alliteration. Or maybe Harry has been only a metaphor for Claudius all along. The world holds its breath.

A lose-lose situation

Because both the classes I usually go to on Mondays were cancelled yesterday, today was my first day back at school for the week. I don't normally buy a paper over the weekend, and so I was surprised to hear the teachers talking about the school being in the paper and what bad publicity it was. Seeing that there was a letter on official school stationary posted on the message board, I went over and read it.

As far as I can tell, here's what happened: Last Friday evening, there was a party for the students in the main hall. According to the letter and the newspaper reports I've been able to find on the internet, a group of Arab and Turkish students who go to a school nearby, a school less prestigious in the GBO (in the weird German education system that I don't even think the Germans understand, this other school is more of a vocational training place) had been hanging around the door. They wanted to come in and join the party, but the acting principal had told the security around the door to keep them out, as this was a GBO-student party only. When the group at the door refused to leave and started to get rough, one of the student's parents, a police officer (not on duty) stepped in and tried to help. Apparently, they attacked him as a group and injured him very severely. Seven of them were arrested, although four have since been released. Here's an article from one of the newspapers, if anyone wants to read about it: http://www.tagesspiegel.de/berlin/archiv/22.01.2007/3035300.asp.

I can see, obviously, why the teachers are worried about bad publicity. It doesn't look good when the school's name is connected with violence. And it's such a dismal story, too. During my reading on the internet, I came across a right-wing website calling for the heads of the teenagers who did it and arguing that incidents like this will keep on happening unless good citizens support the expulsion of the Turks from Germany. So it's really just another depressing chapter in a long story about racism, hatred, violence, and so forth. When I was talking to a teaching assistant in Paris a few weeks ago, I'd asked her about her school in the suburbs, and whether she felt safe after all the riots in the Parisian suburs last year. And now I wake up to find the violence on my back step.

When the rain comes, they run and hide their heads

Considering that people who've lived in Berlin had warned me that winters here tend to be cold, rainy and dismal, we've been having pretty good weather here. That is, up until last Thursday, when we woke up to warnings on the radio of a dire rain and wind storm coming our way - "Kyrill," they called it; I don't think I've ever been in a storm that had a name before. When I got to school at a little before eight that morning, all the teachers were talking about it, and the secretary was getting calls from parents asking whether the school was going to be open. The administration eventually decided to send the kids home after the fourth period, an announcement that was greeted with some enthusiasm on the part of the students.

Becuase I'm only there for the first two periods on Thursday morning anyway, I ducked out at my usual time and decided that this would be a good day to replace my umbrella, which had given up the ghost sometime last October. I found a reasonably priced version that fits into my purse and ran a few more errands before heading back to hole up in the apartment. The rain didn't actually start until about 5 o'clock, and even though it was pretty blowsy when I fell asleep some hours later, I still felt like it was a bit of an anticlimax - no worse than some of the thunderstorms I've seen at home.

I had some reason to question my judgement in storms when I woke up on Friday and heard, as I was brushing my teeth, that the winds had knocked down a girder on the band-new main train station, which only opened last May. Luckily, no one was hurt, and they were able to repair the station and make it ready for transport again later that same day, but it was quite unsettling nevertheless. And now there are stories saying that the planners knew that the building might not stand up to heavy weather, but were under so much pressure to get the station finished for the World Cup that they went ahead anyway. So, bit of a scandal brewing there.

The rest of the weekend has continued to be rainy, windy and just as dismal as promised, so I've spent more time than usual indoors. When I have gone out, though, I've managed to forget my umbrella every time. You'd think that one episode of being rained on would cure this particular kind of forgetfulness. Let me assure you that this is not so.

This was not in my job description . . .

On Tuesdays, I spend two periods helping out with a 13th grade English class. They're a nice group, if overstressed - this is their last year at the school, so they're gearing up for their university qualifying exams.

This semester, they're looking at different ways love is portrayed in English literature, and particularly in poetry, which I gather they haven't done much of. They spent the first period yesterday going over a poem by Walter Raleigh (sort of a review of Ren Lit for me). Then, during the second period, the students worked in groups on analying a more modern poem, Adrian Henri's "Love Is . . ." (not a favorite of mine, since it takes the form of a "poem as list," which can get annoying, but I'm not the one who has to work with it, so there).

Anyway, I was doing my thing and circulating among the groups, helping out with questions of vocabulary, etc., when one of the groups called me over. One of the guys in the group cleared his throat and asked me, "What is your interpretation of this first line, 'Love is feeling cold in the back of vans'? We don't understand it."

I checked for signs that they were putting me on, but they all looked serious enough. Doing the teacherly thing, I told them that I didn't have an interpretation; I was waiting for them to tell me what the line meant. They groaned and said, "But we don't understand."

"Well," I said, "all of the words in the line are clear, right? You know what a van is?"

They did.

"Can you think of any reason why someone might be cold in a van?"

They thought. "Because he doesn't have the heating on? He's sitting alone in his cold van?"

"Ah," I said. "What if he's not alone?"

They considered. "He is with his girlfriend in the van? But why would you sit with someone in a cold van? This is not romantic."

"Well, what if you're cold because you're . . ." I looked for an appropriate expression, painfully aware that the teacher was only about two yards away, "rather underdressed?"

A few seconds, then comprehension dawned. "You mean, they are having sex in the van?" They made faces. "Really? We had thought that might be it, but we didn't think someone would put that in a poem."

Welcome to the world of poetry, kids.

The Jest Ed-you-cational

Most of the English teachers at my school learned English from British teachers. If they spent time abroad, it was probably in England, and they speak with British accents. As the local American, part of my job is to help distinguish American from British English. Usually, a teacher will say something, then turn to me and ask, "Do you say that in America"? or ask me how I would spell words like "color," etc.

(Incidentally, the variety in how English is spoken in various countries is a source of some comfort to the language assistants. If a teacher says something that sounds somehow weird or non-native speakerish and asks me in front of the class if it's correct, I can truthfully say, "Well, I've never heard it like that, but maybe that's the way that say it in England." We can worm out of the tricky position of correcting the teacher without telling an outright lie. And who knows what they do say in England? Bunch of limeys.)

Anyway, one of the teachers today told me a joke meant to illustrate the difference between the two varieties of English, and it goes like this:

An American asks a British person, "Do you have children"?

And the Brit says, "Occasionally."

Week in Review

This week at school pretty much picked up where things left off before Christmas break - that is, with me working even fewer hours than normal. The tenth graders in my supervisor's class are off doing their month-long work experiences at various local firms. Since he has to circulate and see how they're doing, all his classes are cancelled, including two I usually teach. And a few other teachers told me early on that I didn't need to come this week, as they would be doing organizational things with their classes in preparation for the end of the semester (the semester ends the first week of February). All in all, my re-entry was pretty smooth.

In order to spend time doing something other than twiddling my thumbs, I:

- Cleaned my room, which had collected a lot of debris during my sister's visit, and went through various piles of paper and re-piled them (but some of the piles are in folders now, equaling progress).

- Re-read the awful chick-lit books my sister had brought with her and left with me, including two books by the author of the Shopaholic series and two "culinary thrillers," in which a caterer solves mysteries and works through what is probably the least realistic portrayal of battered wife trauma ever while concocting new recipes.

- Visited the English used bookstore where I'm working on becoming a regular and, after hearing the owner's opinions on literary theory and science fiction, somehow left with two books that are apparently classifiable as "feminist science fiction."

- Went to see The Queen, making that the third movie I've seen in theaters within two months - for me, a binge (the second, after the James Bond movie, was Little Miss Sunshine, which Annie and I saw when she was here, and which I liked a lot, despite some sappy moments). I thought there were some weak moments in this movie as well - I don't want to talk about it too much if people haven't seem it yet (although - spoiler alert - Diana dies). In general, the writing sometimes fell into stiff historical fiction mode, where a character has to deliver awkward expository material that the people he's talking to would know, but the audience doesn't. What makes such dialog doubly awkward here is that even youngsters like me remember at least a vague outline of the major events in the movie. At any rate, though, the acting was really good, and Helen Mirren was brilliant, as usual.

Groovy. I like being subtle.

The Subtle Neurotic
You scored 60 anxiety, 78 awkwardness, and 48 neuroticism!

You have all the makings of neuroticism without any of the amusing trappings--you are The Subtle Neurotic! Plagued by doubt, fears, and worries, you are much more likely to have a quiet existential crisis off on your own than to bite your fingernails. You worry a lot over social situations, but take heart--chances are, you're not nearly as awkward as you feel you are. The best advice I can give you? Confide your worries in someone--no matter how irrational they seem. You're far too likely to keep everything bottled up.


Your high anxiety score implies that you are unable to relax, worry about the future often, and probably are plagued by irrational fears and self-doubt.

Your high awkwardness score implies that you are socially nervous, probably have difficulty with conversation, and perhaps feel uncomfortable in large groups of people, such as at parties.

Your low neuroticism score implies that you don't exhibit subtle neurotic behaviors--your nails are probably an acceptable length, your pencils aren't covered with bite marks, and your bookcase isn't arranged alphabetically by genre. Congrats!

The Neurotic Test written by littlelostsnail on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

You won't get too far from me believing everything you read: a totally irresponsible and ill-thought out comparison of Paris and Amsterdam

1. Why We Went; or, What Annie Said

Paris: My mother and Annie had come to visit me during the semester break of my junior year abroad. Paris was the first city we went, and the only city Annie really liked (as I've said before, she's not really into Europe all that much). When it was decided that she would be coming to visit me over this Christmas break, going back to Paris was a no-brainer. We spent Christmas itself in Berlin, doing a traditional German dinner and presents bit on the evening of the 24th, and flew to Paris a few days later.

Amsterdam: I'd heard from several people that Amsterdam was really nice, and suggested to Annie that we might consider going there between Berlin and Paris. That phone conversation went a little like this:

Me (inquiringly): Well, what would you think about going to Amsterdam?

Annie (scornfully): We're not potheads. We're not going to hire prostitutes. Why would we go to Amsterdam?

Me (mildly): Well, there are other things in Amsterdam. I think they have a few museums and things.

Annie: Hmph! (It might not have been a "Hmph!" per se. It may have been a "Pfft!". But you get the point).

So, since Annie was flying home on the Tuesday of this past week, I decided to take a train to Amsterdam myself and spent the remainder of the week there.

2. What we ate

Paris: Sandwiches, mostly. They were cheap. I drank coffee and Annie drank hot chocolate at just about every meal.

Amsterdam: Falafel, mostly. It was cheap, and I found a place near my hostel where you could put your own vegetable toppings on your falafel, something I really appreciated after so much bread and coffee.

3. Where we stayed

Paris: A budget hotel where the owner's idea of a well-fitted bathroom included a heated towel rack, but no shower curtain.

Amsterdam: A youth hostel with a remarkably high percentage of snorers per room.

4. Language

Paris: I really don't know any French. Assuming that I would attract the usual requests for directions/money/my hand in marriage, I practiced saying the phrase, "Je suis desolee, je ne parle pas Francais" (I apologize to people who actually do know French that I don't know how to do the accents). On the day we arrived, I took a walk over by the Louvre and, sure enough, got stopped and asked (I think) for directions. I smiled and said, "Tut mir Leid, je ne parle pas Francais." It took me a few seconds to realize that I'd said the first part in German instead of French, during which the woman who asked me had said "Oh la la" and presumably moved on to find a non-tourist.

The worst thing was that I repeated this German-French hybrid a few times before getting it right.

Amsterdam: I got by on English just fine; it's amazing how bilingual the city is. But I had a lot of fun looking at the Dutch signs. I couldn't understand the spoken language, but a lot of the words are close to German. A German shop advertising that it has sanwiches, for example, says that it sells "belegte brötchen." A Dutch shop says "belegde broodjes." Well, I thought it was cool.

5. Amount of marajuana smoke in the air

Paris: None that I noticed.

Amsterdam: Everywhere. I would probably fail a drug test right now from the amount of second-hand THC in my system.

6. Highlights

Paris: Something I really like is when I've seen a piece of art in a book or slide and then come upon it, unexpectedly, in a museum. In this case, I was in the Louvre, and suddenly found myself looking at the portrait of Angelique Arnoud by Philippe de Champaigne that Father Worcester had shown my Papacy in the Modern World class during our discussion of Jansenism.

In an otherwise frustrating visit (see next item), it was a kick to find a familiar face, even if she was kind of a heretic.

Also fun was a visit to the Cluny Museum, walking along the Seine, and spending the evening of January first with two other HC alums who I probably should have gotten to know better when I was actually at school with them.


Amsterdam: As I've said before, I love cities with rivers, and Amsterdam is basically canal central, so I really liked it. I also visited several museums, and even rented a bike one morning, although I was spending more time trying not to die than enjoying Amsterdam on wheels. The Dutch bike really fast, so I constantly had tall, blond riders whooshing by on my left, almost taking me down in the process.

7. Disappointments

Paris: The Louvre. In general, I think it's really silly for tourists to complain about other tourists; if you can't speak the local language, have to consult a map every three minutes, and wear a camera around your neck, you should probably check a mirror before pointing a finger at anyone else. Luckily, though, I don't have any problem with complaining about people who are stupid and obnoxious, and they were at the museum in droves, choking entire hallways in tour groups, yelling to one another over the din, and waiting until the guards had their backs turned to take flash photography. The tone of the visit was set when I first got in; I was in the Ancient Art gallery when I saw one girl, about my age, posing next to a philosopher's head so her friend could take a picture of her. As I looked on, the poser put one hand on top of the head, cupped the other around the chin, and smiled.

Amsterdam: Okay, this one is a little embarassing. Heineken started in Amsterdam, and when their main brewery closed there not long ago, they turned it into what they call "The Heineken Experience." I'd gotten recommendations both from my guide book and from people I know, so I went, thinking that the exhibit would be an interesting way to learn about how beer is made and sold. There were a few rooms that detailed the brewing process, and one interesting display of beer advertising through the ages, but the "Experience" (I probably should have been more suspicious of anything with that word in the title) was basically one long ad for Heineken beer; the admission price included three beers and (another tell-tale phrase) a "free gift."

Here's the picture I took to "send back to my friends to tell them what a great time I was having!"



Ain't we got fun?







´
8. Some final thoughts

Anyway, though, I had a really good break. It was fantastic seeing Annie, as always, and great to go back to one city I'd liked a lot and to visit a new one. Now I need to prepare for school tomorrow, and try to get back into work mode (sighs).

A day late and a euro short

Hello all, and a happy new year!

Contrary to some reports, I am not dead. In fact, I'm in Amsterdam, after about ten days of hanging out in various European capitals with my visiting sister. I just got to the city today, and have popped into an internet cafe here to clear out my in-box and to communicate the aforesaid good wishes, and to say thank you for all the really nice birthday greetings. I don't feel a day older than 22, honestly.

I promise to post more about the adventures that Annie and I had in Berlin and Paris, as well as all the exciting museums and stoned, giggly Americans I'm going to see here in Amsterdam, when I get back to Berlin this weekend. For now, I hope everyone's enjoying their time off.