10 Things I miss about living in America

1) Eating real bacon. 'Nuff said. Speck is by no means bacon.

2) Mexican food. Germany doesn't have so much of that, by and large. The one Mexican restaurant I found in Basel seemed like a few Francs too many to shell out for Mexican food, when I'm used to paying about five bucks.

3) Whole Foods. Seriously, Germany, you haven't even come close with any biomarkt I've seen. I love the food here, and I appreciate the great quality dairy and eggs...but what if I wanted some organic, free-trade cocoa powder? What then, Germany?!

4) Flat-rate cellular telephone plans. Yeah they exist. I'm just not eligible for one because I'm not here long enough. .09€/text, .09€/min, 9.00€/MB of data. FML. So much for bringing my unlocked Blackberry.

5) Really "free" toll-free calls. It's nice to know that Kimberly-Clark is there for me, free of charge, if I have questions about using their bathroom tissue to wipe my bottom. If I need to call Nivea Deutschland with questions about their antiperspirant, it'll cost me Eurocents a minute.

6) Gargantuan coffee beverages. I shell out about 3€ for maybe two shots of espresso. I'm looking for a good three to four shots for that price. Yeah, Starbucks is here, but I thought somehow it would be easier to replace my blood with espresso in the European continent.

7) A basic understanding that things probably should be open on holidays and weekends. No, Germans aren't lazy. Germans are just under some interesting impression that the entire state or country is observing a Catholic holiday and that no one anywhere would need to purchase groceries on such a day. I think if stores stayed open, they'd actually experience quite an influx of business on holidays. Whatever. I rest my case. Until that day, I'll have to schlepp on over to the gas station for milk and bread and eggs on the Himmelfahrt.

8) Grocery baggers. Seriously, grocery clerks have it so easy in Germany. They get to sit down, scan groceries, and do practically nothing else. You're expected to bag your own damned groceries, and bring your own damned bags. (Unless, of course, you'd like to shell out a damned .20€ for one of their store's Tüten)

9) The standard system of measurement. I know, it's a backwards system. But right now it's 20° outside and I've got 6 liters of milk in my fridge and my chorizo costs 3.50€/100-g and I haven't been this confused since I saw the movie Vanilla Sky.

10) Not having to pay to be hydrated. At restaurants, it's kinda gauche to order tap or Leitungswasser without ordering another beverage. And ordering water by itself results in a 2.50€ bottle of Gerolsteiner showing up at your table, usually with carbonation. Lucky for me, I appreciate the carbonated goodness. This is not the case with some other Americans I live with here, though. And as for those Americans who disregard the gaucheness of ordering Leitungswasser and do so anyways? Well just imagine a little four ounce glass filled with water brought to you, with no refills in its forseeable future.

"10 Things I love about living in Germany" list is forthcoming.

Katzisms, or What the German Language Taught Me About Life

The following were recorded jottings of some of the most brilliant phrases to ever depart a human mouth.

"German is a very scatological culture. They're obsessed with dirt, and messes, and feces."

"You're like George Washington and the cherry tree! I would have lied."

(On "hearing" money, horen das Geld)
"That's kind of weird, like Joan of Arc."

(Context forgotten)
"They muddle through life like that."

"You know Germans actually believe in beauty. Like a cult. But more about that when you read Nietzsche."

"The French believe in prettiness, but the English just believe in the Pound."

"9/10 of life is bullshitting with confidence."

(On the creativity of our colleague, Logan)
"That's very rich in fantasy."

"The power is actually in the hands of the functionaries and bureaucrats."

"A great musical orgasm."

(On, Mir geht is heute schlecht)
"We have to carry sunshine in our hearts today."

"That's a very adult thing. You have to learn to eat around the apple, even if it's covered in worms."

(On, pinkeln)
"It's a light urination."

"Self-doubt is the beginning of enlightenment."

A "sideways" getaway

It seems to me that Fall Break always smacks of something significant for me, be it spiritually meaningful or poignantly processed. This time, I'm not really sure what to make it, suffice it to say I have a new sense of independence.

Turning the big two-one felt like a big deal, that's for certain. I couldn't wait to get to BevMo for some savings on some...well...let's just say less than "savory" fluids. It was such an experience, just knowing that I wasn't limited to anything, nor was I not "permitted" on the premises. It simply felt more adult, replete with commensurate responsibility down the road, of course.

At any rate, Fall Break fell soon after this momentous birthday, and I decided to hit up Santa Barbara Wine Country for a few days of R&R, á la Sideways. No I wasn't about to get married, and no I wasn't about to hatch a verbose novel erstwhile stuck on some ex-lover. I just wanted to "get away" and enjoy some nice food and wine for a day or two, with some pals to help it go down easier.

Boy was it a trip. We stayed in a hotel sans grownups, had our own fake fireplace, and watched tons of trashy tv. We popped some bubbly and non-bubbly and just thoroughly enjoyed our own company. Throw in The Game of Life, aebelskivers, and antiquing and you have our vacation! Staying in a Danish village in California's Central Coast does wonders, let me just say.

I think that the getaway in general serves not as a means to escape one's problems, but to give perspective. Where am I? Where am I going? What do I need to be thinking about? All of these are questions on my mind as I near my departure. So with this fresh perspective, I hope to return to academic pursuits with a more focused vigor and a dash of newly-found enthusiasm.

A letter to the last fruit fly in my kitchen,

Your death is imminent. The fact that you came in here to eat my fruit and make it spoil, is disgusting. I don't care that scientists are blessed to have fruit flies as subject. You are the scum of the earth and I hate you. Don't even think of touching my coconut. That was a two dollar Whole Foods coconut. No I don't know why I bought it, either, but it definitely doesn't mean you can lay your eggs in it. You bastard. Why are you so hard to kill?

Sincerely,
David

"The One"

So I'm not going to lie. I've met a lot of guys on the internet, and some of those even in person. Is there anything wrong with that? I'm inclined to say no, seeing as you can do just about anything on the internet in the first place. I can watch movies, order socks, and even make dinner reservations through the internet, so why not meet guys too? And to all you naysayers, let me prove to you why it's totally worth it, if just for amusement's sake, to do so.

I was talking to a guy I had "friended" yesterday just now. We were going through the typical questions that you'd ask to get to know one another. One of my favorites is, "So why did you join x-dating/x-social networking site?" Guys that want to play it cool typically reply, "Oh well just to meet people, y'know." Maybe they don't have many gay friends. But I encountered a brand new species of internet boy: one that replies, "To find the One."

It's always nice to have someone muss up your preconceived notions about stuff. This guy was one of those "someones." He wasn't just any "someone", either. He was a "someone" looking for the "One." I had to ask, in a manner I now regret as negligently crass, "What does that even mean?"

"The one I want to spend the rest of my life with," he replied.

"What makes you think you're in a position to decide that, at this age?" I replied.

To which he replied, "What makes you think you're in a position to ask?"

Ouch. Ba-zing. Face. These sorts of one-liners would all suffice to describe the amount of attitude I commensurately received in response to my rude question. At this point I tried to backpedal as quickly as possible, to keep the conversation civil.

But it never did stay civil, for at the second I questioned his rationale, everything soured quicker than a cream pie smashed on a clown's face. He kept insisting that he had experience with men, but hell so did I. He insisted he was almost 21, but hell I'm not too far away myself. None of these reasons would be convincing enough for me. I just can't see how someone so youthful would want to bag themselves a husband, a partner if you will.

Now I'm thinking about how much I've considered this nonsense. It's interesting now that I'm remembering how I've thought about my wedding, what kind of ring I want, and where I want to register. Was I just as silly as this fool?

Even if I am thinking about these silly things at a young age, I'm only doing so in a fanciful, "mayhaps" kind of way. This dude is looking to settle down, combine the little assets he has, and close the doors and windows to more experience with relationships. It's almost like he's decided he knows all there is to know about relationships, and that there were no more men out there to teach him anything about love, partnership, or unity.

Now I know, I'm giving myself a high-five here. But listen when I say it's for a solid reason: I don't know all there is to know about relationships. I haven't even had a relationship that's lasted more than two weeks, if that. I don't usually get past the third date. It's abundantly clear to me that I have more to learn about lots of things. Someone once told me some quote by a Chinese philosopher about acknowledging what we do not know as a powerful thing. So it is with great pride and pleasure that I self-high-five myself.

I'm feeling generous today. I'll give this guy the benefit of the doubt, seeing as I don't know his circumstances. Maybe he has all the preparation he needs to go ahead with finding the One. But if there's just the One, if there's just one great love in our lives, our lengthy lives, doesn't it sound a tad boring? Morose even?

So what's the lesson of the story today kids? Let's always remember to keep the pluralization on that infamous noun phrase "great loves."

Keep loving yourself and others, folks, and have a pleasant day!

Of Social Constructions and Heartache

Tomorrow marks the fourth Valentine's Day since I came out of the closet. (I choose notation only because I refuse to count Valentine's Days before I fully actualized my sexual orientation) Tomorrow will also mark the 20th Valentine's Day I've had in my lifetime. And alas, I have never known what it means to have a Valentine on this day.

So what does it even mean to have a "Valentine"? What do I think of when I hear the word "Valentine"? Is anyone else envisioning a greasy, come-hither-lipped Italian man atop a Vespa in a leather jacket carrying a dozen red roses? I suppose the point here is that it's different for everyone everywhere, and it's different from what our parents and their forefathers perceived it to be.

Anyone with a sociological imagination is now giddy in their seat: "I know! I know! I have something to contribute to better articulate your thoughts! Call on me!" Simmer down, young Durkheim, simmer down. Valentine's Day is merely another social construction of reality: one of those inorganic things humanity construes to commemorate some conflated notion of love.

Now I've done some research (read: did a Wikipedia search) and what I discovered was astonishing. This whole Valentine thing has been around since the middle ages and Chaucer, when English was still "Middle" English. Additionally, over the past hundred years or so, Valentine's Day became increasingly commercialized, hand-written letters giving way to mass-manufactured greeting cards.

In other words, this holiday has taken the most sacred thing our humanity has the capacity for, love, and mass-manufactured it into preconceived notions that somehow describe the inextricable way we express our want to be in the presence of another. A box of chocolates or bank account permitting, some bling, suffice when it comes to communicating our feelings.

Valentine's Day: socially-constructed, mass-manufactured, materialistic, and sickey-sweet. So here's the kicker: I'm pissed off that I'm not a part of it. I can't help but feel like I'd kill to go out for dinner and eat chocolate and get presents and have amazing sex on Valentine's Day. What's a heartachy single gay man to do on a holiday that celebrates couples and young lovebirds?

Well folks, the answer may not be so simple. I could take the easy way out, buy myself a bottle of Fat Bastard Chardonnay, and tell everyone my Valentine happens to be of the genus vinus and comes from the Rhone River in France. But putting my heartache into hyperdrive with intoxication isn't so appealing.

I could put a bandaid on the problem and go out to party and find someone just as desperate and damaged as myself and make out. I could also pretend Valentine's Day doesn't exist, or better yet curse Valentine's Day as if it somehow would feel guilty for everything its done to me. But at the end of the day, I'm always looking for the self-actualized thing to do, and none of these seem to fit into that category.

Well if Valentine's Day is about who you love and how you express it, why shouldn't I spend it with people I love? My friends have been here for me all along and I've just put myself in this romantic deadlock. Why not show some appreciation for the people who will carry me through my bitchy heartache?

So put down the personal ads, single people. Let's get together and bring back some love to Valentine's Day. Call up your single friends, and whip out the cheese and crackers: it will be a long night, but at least it won't be lonely. Love is all around us, so stop looking for it. Stick to the love you don't have to find, the love you don't have to fight for.

The Triumvirate in El Paso

This last weekend, known to the Claremont College students as “Fall Break”, I decided to switch it up a little bit and journey to El Paso, Texas. Nearly throwing up at the thought of returning “home” to my respective hometown, I thought El Paso would be a wonderful way to bond with Alyssa, an actual native El Pasoan. And with similar sentiments as myself, Leah made three. Thus, the Triumvirate convened in El Paso.

We arrived late Friday evening at the Goldman home, to a dinner meticulously prepared by Susie Goldman. From the minute I arrived, I felt immediately as if I had stepped into a home I’ve had all my life. Everything was literally perfect, from the pillow-top bed I slept on (thanks Shauna) to Juanita, a housekeeper who took my dirty clothes and made them clean again. I felt comfortable enough to feel at home, but pampered enough to feel on vacation.

Every day we met one of Alyssa’s friends, each one more fabulous than the last. Oh and did we go shopping! I won’t go into details here, suffice it to say my purchases involved animal slaughter. We ate out at fabulous restaurants, and I feel like all Mexican food before El Paso was merely preparation for the real deal. Also, who woulda thunk Margarita salt on fries would be so delicious? And then there was that 80s party we went to in Las Cruces, New Mexico. We had to cross a slough to get there. Let me just also note that the party was so 80s that I ended up with black eyeliner smudged on my check by the end of the night.

We didn’t Fall Break so much as we Fall BROKE. It’s a different lifestyle out there in the EP, this much is for sure. It’s slower, less complicated, and friendlier. That’s not to say that El Paso doesn’t have its faults, but I think it’s an amazing place to be. All I’ve known my whole life has been moving around from place to place, house to house, without ever knowing what home really means. I feel like most people in El Paso know what home means, and for that I envy them. At this point, if El Paso and I hang out more, I’m pretty sure we’ll develop a friendship to last a lifetime.