Thursday, October 1, 2009

Leaving on a Jet Plane: Germany, Day 0

Every adventure has a beginning. Every story has a page 1. I am leaving for Germany bright and early tomorrow, and I decided, "What better way to start a blog of a trip with some complete gibberish?"

"Gibberish?" you ask. Yes, complete gibberish, total nonsense. I tried to write one of my roommates a heartfelt goodbye, I'll miss you note, and it makes no sense. The words get all crammed up together in some spots and are completely missing from others. So much for notes to the rest of the house. The babble is because it is 4 in the morning, Alaska standard time, and my brain is no longer functioning. Why am I up so late? Here's my take on fighting jetlag: If Germany is 10 hours ahead of Alaska , it will take far too long (and too much willpower) to adjust 3 hours per day until I catch up to those industrious Germans who work in "tomorrow" while we drink beer "tonight." My flight is at 8:30 in the morning, so I have partied, and am now staying up all night long tonight in order to get on the plane, pass out completely, sleep all the way to Minnesota, and declare myself, "a changed woman." Who knows if it will work that way, all I know is that I am beginning a 6 week journey to a far and distant land sleep deprived, squinty eyed, and bored. Please let me get on that plane tomorrow morning, I might not make any sense sober either.

So, let's get some interesting philosophical ramblings out of my brain before it wakes up to make pancakes.

What do I want out of this trip?
Oh... I suppose I want to come to know and love the origin of my nose, learn the diet and fashion tricks of the svelte Europeans (cigarettes, I hear), see the origins of much of American culture as we know it, and most of all, celebrate the end of college. Do I want to find love? No, a whirlwind romance with a Franz or Jan or Rolf would just be too emotionally messy. How about "love?" Nothing like more men to clean the slate left behind by others. The idea is tempting, but I've been watching too many FBI serial killer TV episodes (Criminal Minds) and know that our "unsub" will be an attractive and confident male in his late 20's or early 30's who can lure women where he wants to brutally murder them as some sort of voodoo magic to make up for a strange relationship with his mother. Then there's STD's, pregancy, rape, roofies, mugging, and heartbreak to contend with.

I would like to learn German, and maybe, finally, go against the American trend of knowing only one language: grammatically incorrect English. I took Spanish in high school, knowing that it would be a useful language in America, and knowing what my mother thought of the German teacher at Chugiak she substituted for. If it weren't for family, I would probably be going to Italy or Spain or South America or southeast Asia. My family speaks English quite well, so I don't need German to get along with them, but still, my pride compels me to learn how to gargle these marbles. It hasn't compelled me, thus far, to actually learn much German. Here's what I have to work with:

Numbers: 1-whatever, or at least a few million
Please, thank you, sorry, good morning, good day, good night, goodbye
I love you. Please pass the salad dressing.
I love salad dressing. Please pass the love.
What is your name? His/her name? My name is....
How old are you/somebody else?
Where do you/he/she/me come from?
Silent night (the song)
a warning song about coffee that warns children not to be like the Muslim, he can't leave it alone.
A dutch sounding tongue twister about the clover-mowing habits of monks.
My way of telling people I'm lactarded: "Milch mach mich nicht mechtig" = "Milk makes me not powerful"
And... that's about it. I'm screwed.

Well, enough ramblings for the night. This should be a large enough sample of writing for you, dear reader, to conclude that indeed, I am no longer coherent (or interesting), and crossing my fingers will be just about as effective in making sure I bring underwear, socks, and passport as a third check. Take care, unintended fan, and take hope: this may be the worst blog to come.

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