A series of unrelated thoughts on a Sunday afternoon...

It must be a reflection of the student culture in general, or else some kind of peculiar condition particular to this town like a rare disease, but I find it fascinating that, on a Thursday night, one can go to a punk rock bar, pay a 3€ cover charge, try to find a place to squeeze in among the multitudes where you can still see the stage and, hopefully, order something to drink as well...and listen to poetry. It's a poetry slam, where courageous--or indifferent--individuals stand up before the packed house and recite texts they have written themselves with a 7-minute time limit. Some of the acts were straight out of Duo-Interp from my forensics days; others were existential, some about love, others abstract almost to the absurd. One poem, written and performed by a middle-aged gentleman in a boater's hat, cargo shorts, and sandals with socks, used the word ,,Schnee" (Snow) about 4,372 times in all manner of variations which eventually elicited laughter. I can't tell if that was his intent. One guy got up and read a story about a guy, a girl, a dance, and.... we didn't hear the end because he ran out of time. One woman, claiming to be Liza Minelli, eventually got kicked off the stage because her rambling turned to raving and became, for all intents and purposes, incoherant.

As I was waiting for my friends on said evening, leaning on a railing across from said bar, an interesting-looking guy on a bike pulled up and, after much effort and some cursing, managed to turn around. He looks at me, grins (is he missing teeth or does he just not brush them?) and asks, "how are you?" Uhhh, fine, I guess... I'm being pretty distant, because I don't feel like talking to him and he's kinda strange. "Do you have a man/husband?" he asks (in German, the word Mann can refer to either males or spouses). Yes, I reply, because it's none of his business and maybe he will leave me alone.



As complement--or counterpoint?--to this, I will be marrying a Freiburger. For those of you who have visited this fine city, you may be aware of the multitude of little canals (called Bächle) running through most streets in the center of town. As legend goes, they were installed to bring fresh air to the alleys, were rumored to be open sewers and now are the playplaces of small children and amused tourists. As custom goes, anyone who steps into one of these Bächle will a) have good luck and b) marry a Freiburger. I, late for an appointment, blistering along the cobblestone streets in the rain, am confronted with an oblivious line of pedestrians who refuse to get out of my way. In avoiding them I manage to get my wheel stuck in the tram track, and in braking I fall over---into the Bächle. So, my fate is sealed and my dress is wet, but no matter and no major harm done.

Tortillas, by the way, are not the same thing in Mexico (and the US) and Spain. In North America, tortillas are round flat bits of bread, very thin, made of wheat or corn flour. In Spain, Tortillas are omelettes made with fried potatoes and sometimes tuna. And what I make, called Tortilla by some and Beignets by others, is some combination of omelette and pancake with whatever vegetables I happen to have on hand. Step 1: cook vegetables till crisp-tender. Step 2: beat eggs (3 - 5) with some flour, milk, and salt. Step 3: Add vegetables to egg mixture. Step 4: pour batter into pan and cook like pancakes/omelettes, using a pot lid to flip. Excellent way to use cooked vegetables or leftovers. Just so you know.

I've forgotten how much I love the smell of rain. I've also forgotten how long it's been since it's rained, and I miss it. It feels like summer, having a hot and humid afternoon and a soaking rainstorm, preferably with a lightning show. Best viewed with a mug of tea on the porch.

Ein grünes Blatt

Ein Blatt aus sommerlichen Tagen,
Ich nahm es so im Wandern mit,
Auf daß es einst mir möge sagen,
Wie laut die Nachtigall geschlagen,
Wie grün der Wald, den ich durchschritt.

Storm, Theodor (1817-1888) (born in Heiligenhafen)