Sometime between the hours of 11.00 and 17.00 on the 21. January, at least one unknown suspect broke into our kitchen (unlocked) and stole every piece of cheese in our fridge. A half-eaten box of cookies was also reported missing (however confirmation could not yet be made as to whether those cookies were related to the dissapearance of the cheese or a hungry roomate) as well as several cups and plates.

I finally got the chance to introduce my FAVORITE part of Texas culture to several non-natives the other night. About 14 of us (my flatmates and selected students) gathered in the hallway of my WG and chowed down on some good ol’ Tex/Mex food. Taco/burrito mixes were the specialty of the evening, introduced by chips and 64 ounces of salsa! The evening was later complemented by an old family recipe: banana pudding. This is a recipe that has been passed down from generation to generation and all the guests were thoroughly impressed.

The Granddaddy of them All was the greatest football game I’ve ever seen. Ever.

I was confident we would win and even hold them scoreless for the remainder of the game at the end of the first half.

By the third quarter I was cursing “That Idiot” Mack Brown and the next 10 years I was going to spend swearing him away from my bed-time thoughts.

Here’s a link to the binge drinking festival we called a Christmas Party. It was with the flatmates and I just wanted to say that I have some of the coolest flatmates you could imagine. I can’t tell you how lucky I am to be with them!

“My uncle Alex Vonnegut, a Harvard-educated life insurance salesman who lived at 5033 North Pennsylvania Street, taught me something very important. He said that when things were really going well we should be sure to NOTICE it.

Soulless.

After a short drive through the city in the hills on an abreviated vacation, I finally reallized what the concrete valley I currently live in is missing: Soul.

Have I ever told you how much I loved Berlin? Well, if not, let me mention it now. I love it. Berlin is amazing. It’s IT, you know? You get right there in the heart of things and you can just feel that something here is happening. There’s a buzz of energy, where people are coming and converging and creating and I can’t help but get sucked into everything.

Life is weird. I’ve accepted that fact but last night it was thoroughly reinforced. It culminated in two Ukranian girls waking up on my floor this morning at 5.24 in the am. Let me explain. Or at least try to:

i went to go buy a bike today cause its about -4 degrees outside and i thought theyd be on sale and it sounded like a good idea so i found this advertisement for used bikes so i thought id give it a shot i really like cheap things infact my favorite beer is free beer so i went out looking for the store and after trekking all over town (lots of open spaces) i finally found 2 people out of their minds standing in front of the door. i was here. or there.

I have officially entered the Hell of business Christmas parties.

and it friggin’ sucks.

Mr. Sucker invited me to the annual gathering of bore-ons and overweight ex-communists here on the University. It was an invitation that included the term “It would be nice if you showed up”. I understand this term in many languages: its fundamental meaning was taught to me by my mother as a youth. “It would be nice if you showed up”; directly translates, from any language, into”Be There!!! Or else…”

Spent the weekend in Southern Germany visiting a great, old friend of mine. It’s amazing that time, distance or even language can’t cut through a deep friendship.

We talked, we danced, we drank White Russians until 4.30 in the morning. (It sounds so romantic, doesn’t it?)

“Chaos”

“I remember the bananas. It was the first time I had ever tasted, or even seen(!), a banana”

Listened to the Horns drown those ags in their own tears Friday night via internet radio. I gathered with some flat-mates of mine and we had ourselves a time drinking beer and listening to “real” football. But can you imagine how hard it is to explain the rules of football to a foreigner? Much less in a language other than English? To work out all the kinks, we got a game of “two-below” going in the main hallway of our place with a roll of toiletpaper. They loved the game, especially the hitting aspect. “Wow, this game is very brutal. Are there no rules to it?” My neighbors loved the commotion as well.

As per our usual habits, St. Stephen and I met in the kitchen last night for a drunken dessert. We always seem to find each other nibbling on rolls and pizzas and other delights after an evening in the pubs. This time we noticed a rank smell escaping from the fridge. We sniffed out the acrid smell like a drug dog, until we counted 11 cartons of milk. There are 7 of us who use that kitchen. We laughed, then closed the door.

I’m in Zittau. After an hour and a half train ride, an hour bus ride and a thirty minute walk through the city center filled with “ruins” neglected by two consecutive regimes, I find myself in a white box that once served as DDR (East German) military barracks. At no point in the journey did I really understand where I was going or how I was getting there, I simply pushed everything aside and went. So here I am. I teach here, Zittau, every Wednesday. Or at least I’m supposed to, though I’m still not exactly sure what’s expected of me.

Yessterday was the first snow of the season.

Snow is cold.

Snow is wet.

Snow blowing in your face with a steady 20km/h wind is miserable.