In America I have seen crazed shoppers with Mastercard eyes tear clothing from each other’s hands like rabid animals. Over-weight, over-paid women fighting each other for the privilege of buying $200 pants for $20. You’d think that killing someone over a price difference like that would be legal in America, but apparently the law hasn’t yet been passed. Working at the outlet sales, I’d always hoped I’d see a fist fight or someone pull a shotgun out of an over-sized designer handbag, but I never got to see so much as a bitch slap. Afraid of [...]
Monthly archives: January 2008
Even Cowgirls Get the Blues is a cartwheel. It’s a firecracker. It’s a chortle that sends soda bubbles popping out your nose. It’s a frozen strawberry smoothie slurped loud through a pink straw on a ranch in South Dakota during Indian summer. It’s a piano and a bottle of champagne. It’s a whooping crane. And an orgasm.
It’s plot that propels you through the pages of most books. You enjoy the suspense, but really you’re just waiting for it to end so you can find out whodunit and how and where and with what. [...]
German Christmas markets: The best thing to happen to heart specialists’ incomes since the county fair.
(For any Germans traveling to America, I highly recommend that you visit a county fair so that you can continue to fine tune your loathing for Americans and their culture. What’s that? You mean there’ll be a hog tie, deep-fried Oreoes, AND a competition where two grown men in plaid shirts and overalls attempt to wrestle each other off a floating log? Oh boy! Ma, put the gun rack in the pick up truck, we’re going to the fair.)
And at the Striezelmarkt, Germany’s oldest [...]
We didn’t like each other before we’d even met.
It was nothing unusual. This was, after all Germany, and we were, in fact, in a restaurant. The hungry passerby and the German waiter are natural enemies.
“Can I get you started with some drinks?” the waiter wanted to know. He’d eagerly watched us from the bar, waiting for us to take off our coats before pouncing with the menus. I had high hopes. Maybe here, in a tiny, old-school German restaurant that proudly proclaimed “Futtern wie bei Muttern!” (Chow down like you do at Mom’s) on the [...]