Judgment Eve

Fingers crossed everyone. . .

Some Thoughts on a Gute Reise

After school was over I had the opportunity to travel around (mostly) Northern Europe for a little while to meet new people and see new stuff. On the itinerary: Riga, Copenhagen, Stockholm, and Munich. Here’s a quick recap of the trip.

Riga

Riga is ice cold. If you travel there in December at three in the morning after attending a huge, free-alcohol, school-sponsored party, and then you walk around the city with wet feet gazing at the Baltic-gothic churches and architecture, you’re sure to get sick as a dog.

And so it was with me, wasting away much of my time in the fetal position in my bed in the hostel. Luckily, I was only guest staying in the hostel for the three days I was there, so others were spared my hacking, shivering, and whining. Plus, it was a fairly good environment in which to involuntarily spend time. The kitchen, all shiny and clean and advertised on HostelWorld as “the best kitchen in Riga,” was not a disappointment. Nor was the staff, who offered me biscuits and insider tips on the best pharmacies to visit in Riga.

Since I was the only one in the hostel, I took turns watching movies and television series with the complete rotation of workers. One pleasantly sarcastic Latvian girl --when the movie was paused, she would always say “hurry up, you’re missing it”-- and I watched about 8 hours straight of Dr. House. I told her through my sniffles and coughs that a medical drama/comedy was a good program for me to watch because at the end of the night I would have assimilated enough med-talk to be able to diagnose myself.

The one major thing that I DID have time to see in Riga was the Occupation Museum, which I found to be both sobering and inspirational. I also thought a more appropriate name for this museum would have been the Latvian National “Please Leave Us the Fuck Alone!” Museum.

Its purpose was basically to highlight the many downsides of hosting an occupying force in your country. For instance, I learned that the occupying guests almost always overstay their welcome: brutally suppressing any nationalist spirit or sign of criticism, sending dissenters to Gulag-esque labor camps, and almost never taking their shoes off at the border before coming into the country. Some guests.

In particular, the museum chronicled Latvia’s occupation first by the USSR around 1920, then by the Germans during WWII, and then again by the USSR until relatively recent times.

The highlight was looking at all the cool knick knacks and objects of art that the political prisoners made while imprisoned. Not just shivs and that sort of fare, but beautiful chessboards, furniture, and clothing.

Copenhagen

In Copenhagen I used Couchsurfing.com to find a couch to sleep on. It was kind of short notice, but luckily a woman named Linda was nice enough to take me into her house for a couple nights.

It was my first time using Couchsurfing, and I found it to be the height of cultural exchange.

The first night she made me a very traditional Danish Christmas meal (smeared black bread), played me some Danish pop music (Supine?) and laughed at my Danish pronunciation. And the next night I made American “Macaroni and Cheese,” played some blues on her piano, and marveled at her accent-free English. She was also kind enough to take some time out of her day and give me a walking tour of Copenhagen. That’s the big benefit of a site like couchsurfing, the personal connection with someone who knows the city and is willing to teach you about it. That’s tough to find at a hostel.

Plus, you might even meet other couch surfers in addition to your host. For instance, the second night a doctor from Tanzania named Wilson stayed with Linda and took the two of us out to a birthday party one of his Danish friends was having. Another great Danish experience.
A party, some new friends, a walking tour, and traditional food. Who could ask for more?

Stockholm

After Copenhagen it was on to Stockholm, where a friend of mine named Catia was staying for a couple of nights. This was great for a couple of reasons: 1) Catia is a good-souled and interesting human being and 2) when we hang out we speak exclusively in German.

Since I only had about week left to completely master ever single facet of the German language, and was currently still struggling with the difference between 17 and 70, a bit of practice was welcome.

Since neither of us are actual German masters (Catia is a native French speaker and I an English one) the results are somewhat hilarious. I’m sure for native German speakers it’s like listening to six-year olds blabber on. And that’s exactly what it’s like for us too. But that’s also the fun of it, the challenge of communicating. And armed only with smiles, a limited vocabulary, and childlike declarative sentences, we persevered and faced that challenge.

As far as sights and activities in Stockholm, we decided to go to the Nobel Prize museum. The national art museum might have been fun too, but we’d both seen Van Gogh sunflowers or Gauguin Polynesians before; the Nobel Museum, on the other hand, was something unique to Stockholm.

I still haven’t quite made up my mind about it. The museum was not only incredibly small, but it was also home to surprisingly few historical objects. A handful really. Some slippers from physicist X, a beaker from chemist Y, that sort of thing.

Luckily, there was a pretty cool temporary exhibit that took up about half the floor space of the museum. It dealt with how Ingmar Bergman (non-Nobel Laureate, but Swede, and one of Woody Allen’s idols) staged the productions of 5 Nobel prize-winning playwrights: Eugene O’Neil, Albert Camus, Luigi Pirandello, Harry Martinson, and a Swedish feller' named Par Lagerkvist. The exhibit was composed of, among other things, a bunch of great photos of Bergman in action by photographers who I’m sure are of great importance to people who know about that sort of thing.

Another highlight was the “Listening” section, where guests are invited to listen to acceptance or other speeches from past laureates. This was very cool.

There was a great little American section are where one could listen to post WWII American Nobel Laureates Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, and Toni Morrison. I had never heard Hemingway or Faulkner speak before. I was a bit surprised to hear Hemingway speaking almost exactly as he writes: in short, clear sentences (e.g.-- “My next book is about X. I hope it is good.”). I also very much enjoyed being exposed to Faulkner’s Southern twang and surprising modesty.

In contrast, I had heard Toni Morrison speak before. As always, I found her to be a very talented speaker with the odd gift that, as soon as she begins to speak ,the audience finds itself with the strange urge to begin weeping immediately for the pain and beauty of the human condition. It’s almost like a superpower. Admittedly, it’s not as cool a superpower as what Professor Xavier has, but probably cooler than whatever Jubilee does.

Munich

In Munich I stayed with another Couch Surfer named Florian who saved me from a hostel at the last moment. Florian gave me a little walking tour around the gates, churches, and squares of Munich and then I spent the rest of the day at the Pinakothek der Moderne (tons of Max Beckman and a great design and jewelry section). Later that night the two of us had a great dinner with 4 other couchsurfers (above) at a guy named Christian’s place.

That’s another one of the beauties of couchsurfing, the spontaneous hospitality. I wasn’t staying with Christian, but had met him at a couchsurfing meeting the previous night in Munich. After about two minutes of chatting he immediately invited me over for dinner the next night.

After dinner we drank Becks and red wine until well into the morning and eventually agreed on how to solve at least 30% of the world’s problems.

It was another great couchsurfing experience.

Amsterdam

Right now I am in Amsterdam for two days before heading home to the United States. My hostel is a bit dirty and the staff isn’t particularly friendly, but there’s wireless in my room and some interesting old hippies are here so I guess it’s a wash.

I’ll let you know how it goes. Then it’s back to Iowa. Hope to see you soon!

Save the Date: Arguments for Justice

Friendly reminder that the oral arguments for Iowa's gay marriage case are tomorrow, December 9th.

It should be a really tough case to decide. On the one hand you have the kind of justice and equality that are consistent with the principles laid out in our state's constitution, and on the other you have arbitrary discrimination and backwardness driven (it would appear) only by contempt for our fellow man.

Oh wait. I guess it isn't that tough.

I haven't cheered this hard for Iowa since the Penn State game. Go Justice.

And for some further reading: here's the Chicago Tribune's write-up, and here's Iowa Independent's recap of how we got to where we are.

Iowa City Keeps on Winning

In case you missed it, UNESCO just designated Iowa City as an official "City of Literature." Here's the U of I press release. As of now, there are only two other cities in the world that have received a similar designation: Edinburgh, Scotland and Melbourne, Australia.

And if that doesn't impress or inspire you, check this out:





Go Hawks.

U.S.A! U.S.A! -- A Great Party and a Great Speech

What an amazing night. The first results here in Germany came in at about midnight, but the festivities kicked off much earlier at the law school.

In collaboration with the U.S. Consulate in Hamburg, Bucerius Law School hosted a massive election party that Vanity Fair listed as one of the best places in Germany to watch the election.

Starting at about 7:00 p.m. there were videos, lectures on American politics, bands, and several television stations broadcasting various panel discussions live. Attendees were offered a selection of fine American cuisine: hot dogs, hamburgers, freedom fries, and Jack Daniels. American flags were EVERYWHERE.

It was kind of a big deal.

The crowd of around 2000 even had to pass through metal detectors to get in. (You know, because whenever you get to many Americans together, guns can’t be too far behind. . .).

The Germans loved Obama. I had heard recently that about 80% of Germans supported Obama. After last night I feel that number may be closer to 98%. Signs, t-shirts, buttons-- everyone was completely outfitted with the latest Obama fashion. It was almost creepily uniform for what was ostensibly a bipartisan event.

Earlier that evening, one of the news reporters bouncing around the halls of the school had asked me (in considerately slow German) if I had spoken to anyone who was voting for McCain.

“Nein,” I replied. She moved down the line with the same question and the others replied that they hadn’t either.

“No McCain supporters?” I thought. That was a bit much. I actually began to feel a bit sorry for him.

So I ended up wearing both an Obama button and a McCain button (Obama button slightly higher) in an attempt to be diplomatic and inclusive.

When people asked me what the hell I was doing, which happened incredibly frequently, I responded that I was an Obama supporter, but that I was practicing a “new kind” of politics.

Ha!

This was half joke and half real. Half joke because I’d love a filibuster proof Senate as much as anyone, and half real because I really was trying to give a polite nod to bipartisanship and cooperation.

We were getting dangerously close to becoming hundreds of group-thinkers, congratulating ourselves endlessly on our superior judgment and gloating about the utter domination that was about to take place. That tends to be a little alienating.

That’s why I loved the tone of Obama’s victory speech.

Howard Dean “Yee Haw!” it was not.

I thought about the worst thing that Obama could have done was to frame this election as the climactic end of a long struggle. Thankfully, he did the exact opposite.

Though his supporters were ecstatic and crying and drinking, he was sober (both meanings I think) and restrained and purposeful. While we were off giving high fives to this awesomely magical future paradise, he was reminding us that this kick-ass future we are imagining has yet to be created. George Bush might talk a lot about resolve, but last night Obama seemed to be the personification of it.

Plus he gave his daughters a puppy, which I thought that was a pretty cool and touching moment.

So here’s to a great speech that reminded us of the work that lies ahead. And here’s to a great night of American Democracy in action. And Here’s to gift-puppies, and to Obama, and most importantly, here’s to us—the engaged and committed electorate that will INSIST upon a better future. What the hell, why don't we just go ahead and start with health care?

As a wise man once said really, really recently:

"This victory alone is not the change we seek -- it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you."

--Barack Obama, 44th President of the United States of America

Good TV

If anyone out there is looking for some good, edgy British comedy, I highly recommend a little number called Peep Show that I just watched obsessively for about a month.

My friend Stu (illustrations to right) brought a bunch of episodes while he was visiting in September and quickly got me hooked.

In fact, I’m tempted to say that Peep Show is the best incarnation of the “odd couple” premise that I’ve ever seen. Jez is the crazy, hedonistic slacker while his roommate Mark is the play-by-the-rules, socially awkward type. It’s got solid acting, unforgettable characters, and creative scripts.

It’s also kind of technically innovative. The camera gives a first person point of view, and whenever the audience is looking from Mark or Jez’s perspective we are allowed to hear their internal monologues. (Think Mel Gibson’s “What Women Want,” only raw, funny and less anti-Semitic).

Anyway, if you want to laugh your arse off, go buy or rent as many episodes as you have time for. You Tube also has a pretty good selection if you're interested in more clips. Until then, here’s a bit from the first episode of the first season to give you a taste.

And a warning: though Peep Show is not nearly as adult as the title suggests, it can at times be somewhat crass and profane.

Enjoy.

Language Acquisition 101: Or, Becoming Germanick

So last week I completed my first wave of finals here in Germany. WTO, Venture Capital, EU Law, Comparative Intellectual Property. Check, check, check, and check.

Now, after a feverish week of studying and test-taking (4 days straight of early-morning exams), I have an entire week off. Many in the exchange group are traveling and enjoying themselves. I have decided, somewhat masochistically it turns out, to remain here in Hamburg and take intensive German classes for 4 hours a day.

The class itself is one of the more diverse collections of people you’ll find outside of a meeting of the General Assembly of the UN. In our group of 10 we have representatives from: Albania, Poland, China, Croatia, Mexico, Brazil, Britain, Kenya, and the US of A.

The people are friendly and the peer environment supportive and non-judgmental.

The teacher/student dynamic, however, is a bit different.

It’s not so much that he points out our plentiful errors, which, fair enough, is kind of what we pay him to do. No, it’s that he sees every mistake as a reason to mock us mercilessly with some sort of long stand-up routine.

Mercilessly.

To give an example of what I mean, imagine you are a non-native, limited-ability English speaker. You are trying to say that the boy “was running” around town, but you make an error and say “the boy was runny” around town.

That's mildly funny right? Sure.

Now imagine that the teacher, even though he is perfectly aware of what you mean, looks at you incredulously.

“Runny? The boy was runny?” he says, a faux-confused look on his face. “Like, he was a liquid? What, was he melting? Was he some sort of alien or mutant or something that had special powers and could turn his body into liquid?”

You quickly correct your error, but the class has begun to laugh at his outlandish examples, encouraging him.

“Was he like some sort of snail-man who oozes snail goo all over the place?” He continues, pointing at you and gathering steam and doing his best impression of what a snail-man would move and speak like. “Hey, everybody, look at me, I'm half snail, half man! Does this creature even exist? Who knows? Apparently Nick thinks he does. Nick literally thinks that there is a creature out there that is half snail, half man. Don't you Nick?"

He pauses and looks at you, as if he expects a real answer, and you nod wordlessly and hope he begins to start mocking someone else soon.

This, as far as I can tell, is his method. I have mixed feelings about it.

On the one hand, it’s cheap and mean and dehumanizing.

On the other hand though, I’m starting to think it might be kind of brilliant. It might even be the best way possible to learn a language: one humiliating mistake after another.

Take law school, for example. The only way I can ever guarantee that I will remember something from class is if I screw it up. Or I suppose if someone else screws it up. I still remember a kid in 5th grade running out of class crying because he couldn’t remember the answer to a question about the human body (answer: tibia).

And that’s the point. You know all those memories that make you catch your breath in shame or embarrassment when you think about them? These tend to be instructive memories. And there’s this place in your brain where those memories are all indelibly recorded in high-definition to be replayed for the rest of your life. I think ideally, you need to get all your language mistakes into that part of your brain to succeed.

This is the Bob Knight school of language acquisition. And though the Bob Knight philosophy never really worked for me in basketball (it caused me to freeze-up and become erratic), I’m hoping it will be more effective in this field.

So, Mr. Professor Man, I’m going to put my faith in you. I’m going to trust that you know what you’re doing and that you are, like Bob Knight, a professional. Go wild. Next time I misuse the dative, pick up a chair and throw it against the wall. Next time I misconjugate a routine verb, call me an asshole, punch me in the gut and storm out of the classroom. Seriously, do it. You’ve got my blessing. The more outlandish and memorable the better.

It’s the only way I’ll learn.