...And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon

We are watching a documentary about the Space Race between the Soviets and the USA:

"Man never landed on the moon. That is such American bullcrap."

He maintains that Man never landed on the moon, never has, never will. He said that the film of the moon landing in 1969 was made in the studio in Texas!

"Have you watched the film of the moon landing? How would man lift off the moon? Not just with the earth's gravitational pull. They need engines! They need energy to get off the moon! No sand was blown away when they blasted off the moon!"

He never heard of Alan Shepard, only of Yuri Gagrin! He said that he saw some stupid TV program that proves man never landed on the moon.

Perhaps, with his ingrained dislike for the USA (he is, after all, East German), he is more willing to believe anything that makes America look bad.

Look, I am not a big fan of American foreign policy, their flawed racist society, or their imperiousness. I do not crave an argument about what I belive, especially who patriotically believe i America the Great. You are entitled to that opinion, good for you. But not to the extent that America never landed on the moon!

The Rules of This Beach

Sophie, Thomas' best girl friend and long-standing crush, recounted a very interesting experience she had last week at a nudist beach. East Germany has a fine tradition of nudist beaches, and Germans generally do not have any inhibitions with nudity.

Sophie is a very charming girl, dark hair, sparkling eyes, with a great body and a quiet beauty that grows on people. Her boyfriend, Tommy, has a very Teutonic, Aryan face. Blue eyes and blond hair, the idealized look of Germans often seen in Third Reich propaganda posters. In short, the golden couple.

Sophie was with her amigas at the FKK (Frei Korper whatever, or Free Body) beach, suntaning without the inhibitions of girls worried about strap marks. Her roving eye noticed that a guy was checking her out. Wary that he might be "that freak on the beach," she kept watch.

A few minutes later, the guy dresses up, comes up to her, and hands her a slip of paper. "You may decide to open it or not," he says.

Inside is his telephone number. This miffed Sophie. In recounting her tale, she fumed, "He should have had the courtesy to be nude as well when he gave me his number. It isn't fair that he was dressed and I was nude; it made me feel awkward."

Now, this isn't a problem that comes up in daily life. There is no etiquette book on appropriate behavior in nudist beaches. I can't imagine Emily Post dishing out advice on how to properly frolic out in the nude.

Coming out to ask a girl out is one of the most naked acts a man can perform. To do it in the buff is probably harder. A girl can adequately judge what she may have to deal with in the future, and dismiss a guy when he isn't up to snuff. Maybe the guy is a grower, and thus felt that he may be unfairly judged, under the circumstances.

If I can only come up with an answer to this one!

The Sun Eaters

When I lived in the Philippines, I considered good, hot, sultry weather to be a birthright. How I actually look forward to the rainy season, a brief respite from the sunshine of the tropics! How I looked forward to December, where the humid air was replaced by a balmy breeze in the Metro.

I could not fathom how foreigners actually did everything in their power to acquire stained skin, while the locals did everything to bleach themselves. Hiding from the sun as much as possible, sun umbrellas and whitening lotions. The heat can give people headaches, heatstroke, and a host of other unmentionable diseases. Oh how we dreaded it and took it for granted.

I have chased the summer across the world, leaving Manila at the tail-end season of perpetual sun, arriving here in Germany at the beginning of bathing suit season. Germany is facing an unusually warm summer, with cloudless blue skies and equally warm nights. Barbara complains that I took the Philippine summer with me to Germany. People I meet give me incredulous looks whenever I tell them I have never seen snow, and I could see that in the faraway look of their eyes they dream of a place where there is no winter.

With frantic cries, they urge me to go outside! Do something! The weather is so great, why are you wasting it by reading! Why are you indoors? Why aren't you interested in sports? The concept of wanting to stay indoors to read a book in during a sunny, humid day confounds them. As if the sun's rays are the last precious drops of water from a spigot in the middle of a desert town.

Here in Germany, people actually pay good money in tanning salons to bronze themselves, believing it to be a mark of relaxation, or of having enough money to travel to some sun-drenched island, sipping a pina colada.

In parks and meadows, people strip to their bathing suits, and, heedless of dermatologists' warnings of skin cancer among caucasians, bask themselves in sunlight, sometimes marinading themselves in baby oil for that crisp lechon effect.

I have also taken quite happily to the sun tanning phenomenon. I bought myself a ten-euro number at the bikini store, and talking my Bundeswehr-issued tube of sunblock, I bake myself on the grass in the local park, my bikini strings unfastened. It doesn't take long for the first furtive glances to go my way.

This Saturday in my meeting with Lars, my German-language tandem partner, I decided that I was bored and I wanted to play a little game. Little Big Lars, with his workman's hands and his naive blond haired-blue eyed looks, was perfectly rigid in his polite German way. I wanted to go to Paradis, the local park, anyway. I put on my bathing suit under my cami. An idle mind is the devil's workshop, indeed.

Trot-Trot. Off we go to put-put in Paradis, as we practice my German and his English. I lay my colorful sarong on the grass. Slowly, my clothes come off. First my top, then my jeans. His eyes nearly pop, and I am pleased with my little victory. He later becomes more relaxed and takes off his shirt, and the conversation flows more smoothly. We lie on the grass, and talk in hushed, languorous tones--a false intimacy, as if we were keeping a secret. In reality we talked about my country, Jena, and that a few miles away, a secluded spot by the Saale river (which was a few meters away from us), featured a sandy beach. He is careful not to touch me, he knows I have a boyfriend. He reluctantly says goodbye at quarter to seven in the evening, the sun still ablaze. It is amazing how a little nudity can engender coziness, albeit artificial.

Borrowed

Me at the Blickhan's home. Shirt, a hand-me-down from Thomas. Knapsack and flip-flops, a gift from Thomas. Bike, "borrowed" from Barbara's friend Carola.

That's how my life feels now. Borrowed. This is not my life. These are not my friends. This is not my apartment. Borrowed.

I don't normally go about in a bike. My alertness in the streets of Manila against pickpockets and an assortment of shady characters has been replaced by my alertness to the urban street traffic. Had some close shaves (straßenbahn, cars). Cobblestoned streets look really romantic, until you ride a bike over them. Now, they just look uneven and painful to me.

I almost died with envy when my friend Leslie told me that she was on her way to the Bench fashion show. Arrrgh. I know that I should not expect to mix with "high society" here in Jena. I don't think that concept even exists here in East Germany. But that was my life, you see, and the change feels really abrupt.

Language lessons every day. I am struggling with the language, but my teacher says I am doing better than expected. The more I learn German, the more I am in love with the simplicity of English.

The sun is just as deceitful, as well. In the Philippines, all I have to do is look at the heavens, seek out the sun or the moon, and I can pretty much approximate the time of day. Here in Germany, the sun is out until 10 pm, and my body is constantly tricked by the extended daylight. It is riled up as long as the sun is out, and I crash and burn into the bed as soon as the sun sinks.

There is a cool indie scene here, as I have said, but I have no one to really call a 'friend.' Mrs. Blickhan, an immigrant as well, told me that I just have to be patient. No Toastmaster's Club here in Jena. All the older people don't speak English, they speak Russian. All the young people know English, but most of them are students, and cannot afford to pay if I were to charter a Toastmasers Club here. I realy want to move to the West. Munich has something like 20 Toastmasters Clubs. Nuremberg, not far from Jena, has one. Mrs. Blickhan, an English teacher, has not even heard of the Toastmasters Club, and she lived in the US!

Jena is in Thuringen, the border state between the former East and West Germany. Thomas said that I should teach English to make some extra cash. I think I would do it not for the money, but so I would not die of boredom. The moment people hear the unmistakable sound of a native English speaker emanating from my mouth, they would seek me out like heat seeking missles, eager to practice their English with me.

The beauty of Germany is that everybody can wear those cool threads from the fancy magazines because of the cold weather. The bad news for attention whores is that nobody would really notice. I've seen it all: Punks bleeding on the streets, hungover and grumpy. People in traditional dress. Goth kids who wander the city in groups. I am seeking out the cosplay kids in the area. So far, no dice.

Fashioning a new identity is never easy. I have had to do it several times in the past, by necessity of a lost love, or a new situation. This is no different. I hope that I will like myself at the end of the tunnel.

Why God, Why?????!!!!!

From Jessica Zafra

David Sedaris, the author of Naked, Barrel Fever, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, and Me Talk Pretty One Day, is coming to Manila for a series of readings and book signings. The schedule:

July 27, 6 pm - Powerbooks Shangri-la
July 28, 5 pm - Powerbooks Alabang
July 29, 5 pm - Powerbooks Greenbelt

According to the poster, you can have one book signed for free. If you want more than one copy signed, you have to buy a David Sedaris book from Powerbooks and exchange the receipt for a signing pass.

Why??? Why would you allow my favorite author at the moment to visit Manila just when I left it? Why?

VIVA ITALIA!

I bet my dad's happy now.

Fuck you, Zidane. Was the head butt worth the World Cup championship?

Pasensya na, my money was on the French.

P.S. Germany took a cue from the Italian play and played great defensive. And to think that the best players passed on the game or were too injured to play! The fact that second stringers won the bronze was a message to the Portugese. 'Our best players don't deserve to break a sweat from you stuck up brats.'

Scheisse!

Tsk tsk. Talo.

I think the predictability of the Germans did it in. The play was too careful and technical. Plus, the Italians had a great defense strategy, and Juergen Klinsmann was not immediately able to counter it.

Nevertheless, it was a well played match. The Germans did well.

Exuberance

That is Germany today. Exuberant after winning yesterday's match against Argentina. I predicted that Germany would lose to Argentina.

I was with Lars, my Deutsche language tandem partner. "The only thing that could beat the Argentinians's skill," I told Lars, "is the determination of the German team to win."

And what a will it was! A squeaker of a game. Damned those Argentinians, they can squeeze more time out of a game than man can squeeze blood out of stone. I thought that I saw the best of Argentina in their 120 minute game against Mexico, but this game was a whopping 130 minutes.

In the end, an old-fashioned shootout between Germany and Argentina determined the fate of the World Cup. The substitute goalie of Argentina, who was called in after the main goalie was injured, sucked big time.

I honestly have to express my disappointment at Argentina. Their skill warrants enough respect that they don't have to play dirty. ?Por que, Argentina? And what poor sports you have in your team. Germany won the game fair and square. No need to brawl.

I watched the game in a cafe located inside Jena's Rathaus (town hall). In my white shirt and Deutschland flip-flops, I cheered for Germany. Behind us was a hilarious group of senior citizens who were so engrossed at the game. These young chaps thumped tables and sported viking hats, a funny sight indeed. In the streets of Jena, I was accosted by a group of drunken middle-aged men, who shook my hand as people sing-song screamed "Finale! Oooh! Cantare! Oooh!" People hollered and honked their car horns an hour after the game. In Germany, this is an arrestble offense, but the police gave the offenders a reprieve. A woman in her car gave me the thumbs-up sign as she honked at anything and anybody." A boy living next door shouted "Detschland!" at random people.

Don't cry for your team, Argentina. You did well.