The View From My Other Window

Oktoberfest!

 

Two weeks ago, I had the pleasure of being visited by two friends from the US. Having studied German for four years and having lived in Germany for another three, I decided it was finally time for the three of us to tackle the most famous of all German tourist events–Oktoberfest.

 

In truth, all the signs that welcome you to the festivities should be given a subtitle, “Oktoberfest: The embodiment  of all German stereotypes.” Dirndels, Lederhosen, Pretzels, White Sausage, (and obviously Beer) reign supreme at this event. I was shocked to see that even young men and woman pulled out their traditional costumes, and they looked good!

This is Michael. He tried to tempt Melissa into marriage by mentioning his 150 cows. She was sadly not impressed.

Oktoberfest originally began as the wedding celebration of King Ludwig of Bavaria(As in crazy King Ludwig, who also commissioned the construction of the real Cinderella Castle in southern Germany)  and Princess Therese of Saxony. The original party drew around 40,000 locals, and the event was complete with horse races, and of course, free-flowing beer. 

 

Today, the landscape of the two-week celebration is marked by its enormous “Beir Zelte” or beer tents from the local Munich breweries. Each tent can hold around 94,000 guest. (That’s the Spaten tent behind Melissa and I. The second picture is taken from inside). Each year, anywhere from 6 to 8 million people arrive in Munich for Oktoberfest and together consume around 5.5 million liters of beer and 45,000 liters of wine. 

Pure ridiculousness. 

Local Celebrities

This article was actually published last winter, but I just got my hands on it. It is one more in a long line of interviews by people who continue to be simply baffled as to why an American, let alone two Americans (another student in my program in from Utah) would choose to come to Germany to study themselves. By this point, I must have done a dozen or so of these interviews. As per usual, I have been misquoted and left sounding arrogant and somewhat tool-like. Alas…

The translation into English is by the original author of the article, Julia Woehrle.

 

Far Away From Home to Discover Your Own Country: How two Americans are studying American Studies in Leipzig

To go to a strange country to get to know your own country better? May sound funny, but that’s exactly what Heather Carmody (23) and Michelle Glauser (22) have done. Since October both Americans have been studying at the University of Leipzig in the new Master’s American Studies program. “The critical distance of the professors here allows me to look at my own culture from another view,” finds Heather.

That is exactly how it goes with the new program–around varied perspectives. The Master’s degree is interdisciplinary and combines politics, culture, literature, and sociology. Anne Koenen, professor for American Literature and the leader of the institute, explains: “It was planned from the beginning, that the program would be international. That’s how a totally different discussion is accomplished.” In this respect is the program different for the Americans than if it were discussed in their home culture, explains Koenen. Heather noticed already after a short time, that it is not always completely easy, but she learned to deal with it. “If I always wanted to stand up for the “honor” of the USA, I would constantly feel attacked.” And Michelle adds: “I often think: if some of my fellow students had lived in the USA, they wouldn’t think what they do.”

Anyhow, Leipzig is fast becoming a second home for both, also because they are not in Germany for the first time. Last year, Heather worked as a teacher in Mittweida. She randomly found out about the new Master’s program through a speech given by the Leipzig American Studies professor Crister Garrett. “I thought, that was a big chance for me, although I actually wanted to do a Master’s in German Studies.” Michelle also sought a new challenge after working for two years. A program in another country seems to be like the right choice for her.

The group of Master’s students is very small right now. Besides the two Americans are two Germans who make the quartet complete. Lars Weise is one of them and is excited by the combination: “It gives me another perspective, because every day I get to hear how Germany functions, for example the bureaucracy.” Michelle finds the bureaucracy particularly horrible.

 

Lighter Notes From Canada

 

 

Just arrived after a 9 hour drive. Do we look like we’re faking?

 

Hovey Manor from our balcony

We had the lake all to ourselves

Safety first!

This was right before Frank tried to tip me. Not funny.

Ready for cocktails. Mom had a head start.

Enjoying his first bloody boar

Hovey Manor by night

A Resting Place

On the first weekend of September, 2008, my Father was given his proper burial. He had always made it clear–very clear–that he wanted to be cremated. Sentences like “I’m not gonna sit a box for eternity. That’d be ridiculous,” were his favorites whenever the subject would come up. But in all the years of his bantering on about the silliness of traditional burials, he forgot to tell us what step 2 should be. Step 1–no problem–cremation, but then what? This was the predicament facing my family in the aftermath of his death. It was important to us that his ashes be buried in a place that meant something to him–somewhere special. We thought about scattering his ashes throughout the UVA campus, but the idea of drunk coeds tromping over them (even if Dad would have found that amussing) took away the appeal. We also thought about burrying the ashes is Haddonfield, but what if we moved? After much discussion back and forth, we finally picked Hovey Manor, an Inn where we had vacationed often as a family over the years.

Hovey Manor sits on beautiful Lake Massawippi. It’s a place that my Father loved coming to–a chance to relax, eat well, have a few good drinks, and enjoy a bit of nature. For me too, it’s a place filled with so many happy memories. It was on that lake that my Dad first taught me how to use a canoe–something that ended in wet clothes and lost glasses, but a crucial stage in my development nevertheless.  It was also in the lounge of Hovey Manor that my Dad first taught me to play chess, and it quickly became a special bond between us. The game that so intensely bored my Mom and Brother could entertain Dad and I for hours.

So it was here, in a place that meant so much to us all, that we decided to lay Dad’s ashes to rest. We woke up early on Saturday morning and gathered at the docks. Drew and I snapped our life jackets shut, climbed into our kayaks and paddled out to the middle of the lake. There between our canoes, we said a prayer and let my Father go.

Puppies: The Best Grief Counselors

Well, it’s been three months since my last post, and I’m lost for a good starting point. So much has happened, and most of it unfortunately, has been bad.

As most of you know, my Dad passed away in mid May. My Dad was truly like a bestfriend to me, and his death has left an empty space in my life that I’ll never fill. But somehow, things have to move forward. In a card he wrote, a college friend reminded me of this beautiful Kahlil Gibron quote:

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight”

That’s the attitude I’m trying to take towards my Dad’s death–thinking about the good memories and letting them help me through this process as much as possible.

On a much lighter note, there was one excellent thing to come out of the whole mess, and his name is Winston. Named after Winston Churchill–one of my Dad’s favorite authors–Winston came into our lives on Sunday, June the 8th. I took one look at him a knew that he was going to be good for the fam.

 

Winston–a bit tuckered.

As I hoped, Winston has been wonderful. We’re not 100% percent sure about his lineage, but the vet’s best guess is a cross between some kind of Lab-Pointer mix and an Australian Shepard.

 

He’s been Carmody-ized!

The Carmody’s have a tradition. It’s silly and perhaps even a bit childish, but it’s ours, and we love it. Every year, when we were still living at home, my brother and I would wake up on our birthdays to a bedroom door that had been ballooned and cray-papered. And of course, waiting gleefully on the other side, were Ma and Pa Carmody with the cameras ready. It’s hard to describe the excitement that would rush through me each year when I saw that door. When I was little, I’d throw off the covers and bust through the decorations as fast I could. When I got older, I became progressively aware of the camera and did my best to at least tame my hair, and in later years I’d even put on different clothes–efforts to lessen the inevitable embarrassment when the family later gathered to look at the photos.

My mom was always the one to do the decorating. Even though Drew and I knew that it would happen—it happened every year—it always still felt like a surprise. She would wait until we were asleep—even if that meant waiting until the early morning hours. Breaking through the door was meant to symbolize our start in the new year, but I never really thought about that. Much more important to me was the love that I felt from my family.

This year, Frank turned 30, and I decided it was the perfect occasion to include him in the tradition that had been so important to me over the years. The results are below. The boy’s been Carmody-ized!

With a big-dumb grin

Very recently, there was an article published about my teaching in Frohburg in the Leipziger Volkszeitung- a regional newspaper. Since living abroad, I’ve been interviewed several times for local papers, but this one was the most fun yet. My interviewer was undoubtedly the happiest man I’ve ever met. He even giggled–constantly in fact. Bellow is the result.

You can enlarge the image by clicking on it.

A Tropical Oasis in Germany?

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Last weekend, Frank and I took a little trip—a bizzare little trip, to the tropical section of Germany. Didn’t know such a place existed? Well neither did I, but sure enough, nestled in the depths of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, lie the German tropics—a small oasis that has actually been built inside an old airplane hanger, the measurements of which reached 738 feet wide, 350 feet high, and 1200 feet long—fairly impressive.

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The hanger in mid-winter (Image from Wikipedia)

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The hall was originally built to house the world’s largest cargo-lifter—a machine so big, that it could lift up to 160 tons. The problem was, after constructing the massive hanger for around 42 million Euros (presently almost 65 million dollars) the company responsible ran out of money, the investors spooked, and the actual cargo-lifter was never built. So the question became, what does one do with an over-sized hanger in the middle of nowhere? (Literally nowhere—before the Berlin wall fell in 1989, the field was used as a semi-secret Russian landing strip)

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Tropical Island has its own campground

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After the company went bankrupt, several new investors gave the space a go. However, the only one to be successful was an entrepreneur from Thailand who envisioned a space that would bring a piece of the Caribbean to Germany. I have to say that the end result is fairly impressive. In addition to having a front row seat to countless beer bellies parading about in speedos, Tropical Island gave me a much-appreciated temporary escape from this ugly German winter.

The Atlantic Monthly

I’ve got some big news to share! A short (very short) essay that I wrote is going to be published in The Atlantic Monthly! The cfp asked submitters to write, in 300 words, their interpretation of the American Idea.

Originally, I received this as an assignment for class. The professor called it a “live experiment” in professional writing. Interestingly, knowing that my classmates would be reading my essay, caused me to struggle a bit when I sat down to write. They would certainly all choose to write from a critical perspective, and knowing that made me go back and forth as to whether I should therefore choose a more positive view point. In the end, I decided simply to write what came to me naturally. If you’d like, you can read it below or on the Atlantic website by clicking here.

A Twenty-Four-Seven Society’s “To-do” List:
Number 35: Buy Lawn Chair

It’s 11:39 pm but it is urgent, critical even, that I buy a lawn chair this instant! Thankfully, the American interpretation of time, the child of Puritan punctuality and Fordism efficiency, has now twisted itself into an obsession with twenty-four-hour shopping. Within a ten-mile radius of my home, I can find three Wal-marts, a Wegmans grocers, and two CVS drugstores with doors still open, lights still burning, and cheery cashiers with open registers.

I need to be awake by 6:00 am, and yet here I stand, brain-fried at 11:51 pm staring at my local Wal-mart’s selection of lawn chairs. Watching the customers to my left and right, I conclude that midnight must also be the appropriate hour for buying prom dresses, new chainsaws, and bakery items.

What has happened in America to make this acceptable? Why am I not in bed? Why is this store full? Because at the core of the American Idea is time, and a rather sick interpretation thereof. The same idea that keeps me reading my e-mails at 1:00 am keeps America’s parking lots packed after midnight; our obsession to beat the clock – to cross items off our never-ending “to-do” lists.