The Laughing Maus

Dear Members of that Blow-Me-Away-Professional American Soccer Team,

You are the greatest!! I have never been so proud of the performance of an American Soccer Team as I am of you guys tonight. I know you’re disappointed, but you played an awesome tournament!!!

Congratulations on your incredibly cool suaveness, and on your silver medal. I know it’s hard to imagine tonight, but you wait and see: The future will be pointing out the elan with which you paved the way…

“Endlich gibt es Tempo als Toilettenpapier.”

“Endlich?”, dachte ich als Jürgen ging seine Nase putzen. “Du, hier sind die Taschentücher.” yodel ich ihm nach.

“Noooo ich hatte lieber Toilettenpapier”

Ach, deswegen.

I’ve finally figured out what is so depressing and exhausting about reading blogs. I never learn anything new. I do, very often, read good stuff that I already know. It irritates and bores me that I knew most of it fifteen years ago too when the internet was a baby, and having partaken of it’s temptations to the fullest, I was busy learning to live outside of my culture, to conduct my life in a language I had never heard before.

I didn’t have the energy to speak up in a public forum then and now I am willing, but find that a million someones have stolen my tongue. The revelation: I lived through the revolution. Now what?

My Cold and Flu Tip for the Year: Take one of those little packages of travel “Nosenex” (as my mother always called Kleenex when we were kids). Be sure you use the good thick ones for this. Open the package, and pour some cold water into it. Let the tissues soak it all up, then squeeze as much water out as you can. Take ’em out of the package and set ’em beside your cranberry tea, snuggle on the couch with a warm blanket and a good book.

You’ll understand what’s so great about this trick the first time you sneeze. These Nosenex are cool, and don’t hurt. You feel clean after using them, unlike the expensive ones with creams and aloe embedded in them that only leave you feeling a bit slimy about the nostrils.

What do you suppose moved the marketing department to think that “slimy” is a feeling consumers relish when we have a cold?

The last German national soccer game of 2008 was so boring that even Georg noticed the advertising around the field. “Hey, we use that company at work.” he said.

In the first half England made a goal. In the second half Germany did. The announcer said “One should always leave open the possibility of a stupid mistake on the part of the English goalie.” I thought that was a fresh statement and said so, but the guys assured me that was pretty much the way Germany wins against England — when Germany wins against England which they don’t when the game is in Berlin like it is tonight.

Returning from the halftime dishing up of dinner in the kitchen (curry with chickie, cauliflower, and yummy little baby melanzane), Oliver Kahn is standing on Gunther Netzer’s chalked in footprints to the right side of my television screen. What is he doing there? He is wearing a silver-gray suit and a striped tie and I want to scream. “Ollie? What are you doing? Get back outside where you belong. For heavens sake, stop talking and be useful!”

At the seventy-sixth minute marker Georg is bemused – “Hey, they are playing better.”

“Yeah”, I said. “It takes fifteen minutes for the half-time drugs to kick in.”

“Mmhmn, maybe. I don’t know.” he mutters.

He’s not listening to me. I can tell.

England makes a second goal. They need it in order to beat us 2-1. At the precise moment the ball passes into net on the right side, the German goalie is standing at the left post. waving his hand in the air as if to say “No, over here!”

The goalie has an exasperating job.

In England tonight the fans are happy. I hope they are as happy as the German fans were the last time the teams met in England. Germany wins at Wembley, England wins in Berlin. It’s tradition and let’s be honest, don’t we love to see a winning streak continue as much as we love to see it broken? Maybe those nice young men listened when their mothers said “It’s not polite to invite guests over to play at your house and then trounce them roundly, dear.” Bravo!

und unter diese headline schrieb der Stuttgarter Zeitung von 25 July, 2008: “Weil das Urkilo in Paris langsam Masse verliert…”

Ich glaube das ist schlechte Nachrichten für meine Diet.

It was another lifetime. One of you drove a car like this, didn't you? Yours was yellow and you know who you are. The other, a beautiful bridesmaid in my wedding. Could it really be almost twenty-six years since I last saw you? I was happy to see your names parade cross my monitor today. If you miss me at the original point of contact, but find me here - let me know how to get a hold of you. I'd love to do some catching up!

The audience was a reflection of the circus itself. Lots of clown people with too-big noses, droopy ears and vacant expressions trying to dissemble the system behind the seating. Standing around holding their coats and reading big signs directing them to “Reserved Section A” which, against all expectations was to be found both left, and right of center. As was “Reserved Section 1”. There were the requisite artist types with dreadlocks and rolled-wool clothing purchased at the Middle Ages Markt in Esslingen. Old ladies in expensive coats, and old men wobbling on canes, waving about glasses of proseco. Two wheelchairs, five children and a few shaved-head street criminal types. Were they there for effect or for my wallet?

It was a one-ring circus that opened with the Maestro handsome in his crimson velvet tails introducing the orchestra at eight o’clock in the evening. Just minutes after the three evenly-spaced but increasingly pleading announcements asking people to: “Please scoot to the inside of the row, without leaving empty seats – the house is sold out tonight” After which the audience to the left waited deafly for the audience to the right to begin. This resulted in absolutely no apparent change in seating availability as the next two hundred people streamed into the tent.

Including the 25 minute intermission, during which the audience was responsible for the entertainment, it was a three hour, nonstop, acrobatics, trapeze flying, balance act on stilts with four seals, a dozen pure-bred Arabian horses, and a Jack Russell Terrier thrown in for extra charm.

I don’t remember the last time I had that much fun.