Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Monday, April 07, 2008
Thoughtity thought thoughts
Happy April, Weinstrasse! Ahh... I'm loving this whole, whatsit, "changing seasons" concept. It's a lovely way to run a climate. The newest installment is called Spring, and it's like Europe has sat up, stretched, reached over, and turned on a light. Suddenly the streets are lined with various fluffinesses the colors of Easter eggs: pink blooming trees, neon-green buds, cheery purple bushes, trumpeting yellow daffodils that look like they're whistling at you as you pass, all under the sort of bright blue skies that shine down beatifically on every kid's crayon rendition of his neighborhood. All Ludwigshafen needs now are some curlicues emerging from quaintly irregular chimneys and a huge, quarter-circle sun thrusting squiggly beams out of a substantial corner of the sky. What a change!
Well, since, over the last month or so, I've gathered a fair little collection of half-finished blog posts, I think I'll just stick 'em all together in one big musings-style entry. So here goes...!
Weird Humans
Bert and I watched a program the other day about researchers attempting to improve aerospace engineering by harking back to the expert: nature. It was pretty nifty, touching on historical attempts to fly (all those Renaissancey, bat-winged things), as well as current innovations and future projects. Did you know that, until a few years ago, biologists had no idea how flies could actually fly? And now guys at Stanford are zooming their own little remote-control bug robots around, commenting that simply imitating insect structure really is the most efficient way to construct a flying apparatus. We watched model planes whose wings actually flapped, with soft, silicon oval feathers on the tips (!) and all-terrain vehicles that scurried along on six legs. Finally, the program concluded with attempts to make machines walk upright on two legs -- and, of course, the most successful models have been the ones that end up with an almost creepily human gait.
Which brings me to wondering, what is it about us people that makes us just so darned curious about everything? Why are we compelled to imitate every neat-looking natural phenomenon we see -- or even capable of perceiving them as imitable? What other animal looks down at itself and says, "Hey, how am I doing this? Let's build a model!"? Who was the first person to observe a sheep, fluffy in its wool, and say, "That looks warm. Give me that!" or, "Ooh, pretty feathers. Let's decorate ourselves," or, "Hey, that bird is flying. I wanna do that, too!"
We humans are weird. And very, very cool.
Bonny Soonds
I found the link to one of the bands we heard in a pub in Inverness, called "Schiehallion." I could have listened to these guys for hours. (Sing, that is -- when they talked, I didn't understand a word!)
Goo on and give 'em a wee visit. But beware of listening to the music samples: you'll have the catchy, r-rolling, Highland-dancing-inducing songs stuck in your head for days!
Elbow Room
I've started to really enjoy my regular flights back to the States. And not only for the obvious reason of imminent family time: I also mean (to a much lesser degree, of course!) the flight itself, just because it's usually the first contact I've had for a while with a concentrated group of Americans. And it's always jarring to find this experience simultaneously pleasurable as well as the tiniest bit embarrassing!
Lemme 'splain. Hm... how to 'splain. Well, maybe it's like this:
I've spent the last year and a half filling the role (more or less unwittingly) of Token American for nearly all in my acquaintance. Not that anyone usually makes a big deal of it; I'm sure most don't even think about it half the time. I certainly don't. But it has nevertheless become a feature of my identity as distinctive as the shape of my nose, more significantly because it's one that otherwise wouldn't even register were I living in, say, Seattle. Thus some subsequent adjustment has been required in order to accommodate this new proboscis on my personality: I've had to figure out just what exactly "being American" means to me, as well as to others, both American and not. It's been quite an interesting, enlightening, ongoing, and surprising process, let me tell you!
One of my first identifiable discoveries should have been obvious: namely, that such a various, multifaceted, multilingual, fiercely multifactioned country as ours is absolutely resistant to sweeping labels and generalities. The usual picture held of us by our bro's across the water comes predominantly from news and entertainment, both of whose ability to truly reflect the beliefs and everyday culture of a (particularly so huge) society is absurdly limited. I've constantly had to point out to people that the stories you see on the news are there precisely because they're newsworthy, which often enough means weird and atypical.
Second, this impossibility of sketching a "typical" American means that I don't have any real reason to wince when admitting my own nationality. Why should I? Yep, I'm from the U.S. Nope, I don't approve of Bush or his war. Yes, I do speak a foreign language. No, I don't eat at McDonald's. But I do enjoy root beer and can't wait to carve into that fat roasted turkey every year, just like in the movies. I wave a sparkler on the fourth of July and think the Second Amendment is a dangerous, ridiculously outdated "right" that has no relevance in today's society. I care about the environment, quote The Simpsons, and don't give a damn about Hollywood gossip. And you know what? I am no more or less extraordinary than anybody else who also whips out that blue passport at the customs check.
All of this means that I, of necessity, purport to know something about my culture. So imagine how startling it is to step up to a gate full of chattering Amis and suddenly see them as an outsider might! I am always a little chagrined to hear that our language really does sound as "rarrarrar" as people's imitations of it, and to notice that more than half the passengers are waiting for the plane in tennis shoes, exactly as stereotype mandates. Not that they're not all individuals inside those sneakers; it just always takes me a bit off guard. I'm not sure what exactly I expect. Maybe my sheepishness simply comes from the necessary recalibration of those idealized images that have been slowly pushing out the normal, sweaty, unfashionable, human reality of any gathering of Earthmen.
This becomes even more pronounced in close, economy-class proximity, when the general American discomfort with physical nearness manifests itself in overly hearty camaraderie. It's kind of sweet, really. In a train full of Germans, people just accept brushing against each other as a natural consequence of the communal effort to get somewhere. On a Northwest flight, however, the guy to my left inadvertently brushes my arm with his jacket and exclaims in dismayed apology. "Oh, excuse me, there!" he announces heartily. "Just getting settled in. Therrre we go. These sure are cramped quarters, huh?" I smile in agreement, half waiting for him to finish with, "Ho! Ho!"
A couple hours later, the guy to my right gets my attention by leaning forward to look into my face and waving a little. I look up; and, indicating his wife's unfinished meal tray, he inquires in a voice disproportionately loud due to his earphones, "SAY, WOULD YOU LIKE SOME ICE CREAM?"
Surprised, grinning, resisting the urge to cover my ears, I shake my head no thanks.
"OKAY, 'CAUSE SHE'S NOT GONNA EAT IT AND IT MIGHT GO TO WASTE."
I make what I hope is an expression appropriately regretful of the tragedy, and we nod and he turns back to his movie. This kind of thing would never happen in Germany. Offer a stranger your unopened ice cream? It's so... cute! Not that Germans aren't polite to each other, but they're just so used to close quarters that there isn't any need for a self-conscious attempt to compensate for being squished together.
I must point out the one thing that almost bordered on ridiculous, though, which occurred when I happened to step on the tip of someone's luggage strap at the baggage carousel. I immediately removed my foot and apologized, but almost not before the owner hastened to apologize to me, assuring me that he didn't want me "to trip up, there." (Ho, ho!) Er... thanks. I think? What? My brother pointed out a potential darker side to this, which might be a sort of passive-aggressive attempt to point out your rudeness by inappropriately taking the blame on oneself. It's a thought. Would correspond well at any rate to a quote I heard recently, claiming that "Germans are too honest to be polite, and Americans are too polite to be honest." Aside from the vaguely distasteful generalizing, I might admit that there's some merit to it -- if only as far as to reflect inexperienced intercultural perceptions. Politeness is all relative, anyway. The guy's behavior at the baggage carousel struck me as all but obsequious, but then many East Asian cultures find us Americans to be loud-mouthed boors.
These thoughts preoccupied me only as long as it took to spot my dad and bro waiting for me at the end of the airport hallway -- after that, I couldn't have given a spare ice cream cup for any focus other than family and laughter around the dinner table.
Well, since, over the last month or so, I've gathered a fair little collection of half-finished blog posts, I think I'll just stick 'em all together in one big musings-style entry. So here goes...!
Weird Humans
Bert and I watched a program the other day about researchers attempting to improve aerospace engineering by harking back to the expert: nature. It was pretty nifty, touching on historical attempts to fly (all those Renaissancey, bat-winged things), as well as current innovations and future projects. Did you know that, until a few years ago, biologists had no idea how flies could actually fly? And now guys at Stanford are zooming their own little remote-control bug robots around, commenting that simply imitating insect structure really is the most efficient way to construct a flying apparatus. We watched model planes whose wings actually flapped, with soft, silicon oval feathers on the tips (!) and all-terrain vehicles that scurried along on six legs. Finally, the program concluded with attempts to make machines walk upright on two legs -- and, of course, the most successful models have been the ones that end up with an almost creepily human gait.
Which brings me to wondering, what is it about us people that makes us just so darned curious about everything? Why are we compelled to imitate every neat-looking natural phenomenon we see -- or even capable of perceiving them as imitable? What other animal looks down at itself and says, "Hey, how am I doing this? Let's build a model!"? Who was the first person to observe a sheep, fluffy in its wool, and say, "That looks warm. Give me that!" or, "Ooh, pretty feathers. Let's decorate ourselves," or, "Hey, that bird is flying. I wanna do that, too!"
We humans are weird. And very, very cool.
Bonny Soonds
I found the link to one of the bands we heard in a pub in Inverness, called "Schiehallion." I could have listened to these guys for hours. (Sing, that is -- when they talked, I didn't understand a word!)
Goo on and give 'em a wee visit. But beware of listening to the music samples: you'll have the catchy, r-rolling, Highland-dancing-inducing songs stuck in your head for days!
Elbow Room
I've started to really enjoy my regular flights back to the States. And not only for the obvious reason of imminent family time: I also mean (to a much lesser degree, of course!) the flight itself, just because it's usually the first contact I've had for a while with a concentrated group of Americans. And it's always jarring to find this experience simultaneously pleasurable as well as the tiniest bit embarrassing!
Lemme 'splain. Hm... how to 'splain. Well, maybe it's like this:
I've spent the last year and a half filling the role (more or less unwittingly) of Token American for nearly all in my acquaintance. Not that anyone usually makes a big deal of it; I'm sure most don't even think about it half the time. I certainly don't. But it has nevertheless become a feature of my identity as distinctive as the shape of my nose, more significantly because it's one that otherwise wouldn't even register were I living in, say, Seattle. Thus some subsequent adjustment has been required in order to accommodate this new proboscis on my personality: I've had to figure out just what exactly "being American" means to me, as well as to others, both American and not. It's been quite an interesting, enlightening, ongoing, and surprising process, let me tell you!
One of my first identifiable discoveries should have been obvious: namely, that such a various, multifaceted, multilingual, fiercely multifactioned country as ours is absolutely resistant to sweeping labels and generalities. The usual picture held of us by our bro's across the water comes predominantly from news and entertainment, both of whose ability to truly reflect the beliefs and everyday culture of a (particularly so huge) society is absurdly limited. I've constantly had to point out to people that the stories you see on the news are there precisely because they're newsworthy, which often enough means weird and atypical.
Second, this impossibility of sketching a "typical" American means that I don't have any real reason to wince when admitting my own nationality. Why should I? Yep, I'm from the U.S. Nope, I don't approve of Bush or his war. Yes, I do speak a foreign language. No, I don't eat at McDonald's. But I do enjoy root beer and can't wait to carve into that fat roasted turkey every year, just like in the movies. I wave a sparkler on the fourth of July and think the Second Amendment is a dangerous, ridiculously outdated "right" that has no relevance in today's society. I care about the environment, quote The Simpsons, and don't give a damn about Hollywood gossip. And you know what? I am no more or less extraordinary than anybody else who also whips out that blue passport at the customs check.
All of this means that I, of necessity, purport to know something about my culture. So imagine how startling it is to step up to a gate full of chattering Amis and suddenly see them as an outsider might! I am always a little chagrined to hear that our language really does sound as "rarrarrar" as people's imitations of it, and to notice that more than half the passengers are waiting for the plane in tennis shoes, exactly as stereotype mandates. Not that they're not all individuals inside those sneakers; it just always takes me a bit off guard. I'm not sure what exactly I expect. Maybe my sheepishness simply comes from the necessary recalibration of those idealized images that have been slowly pushing out the normal, sweaty, unfashionable, human reality of any gathering of Earthmen.
This becomes even more pronounced in close, economy-class proximity, when the general American discomfort with physical nearness manifests itself in overly hearty camaraderie. It's kind of sweet, really. In a train full of Germans, people just accept brushing against each other as a natural consequence of the communal effort to get somewhere. On a Northwest flight, however, the guy to my left inadvertently brushes my arm with his jacket and exclaims in dismayed apology. "Oh, excuse me, there!" he announces heartily. "Just getting settled in. Therrre we go. These sure are cramped quarters, huh?" I smile in agreement, half waiting for him to finish with, "Ho! Ho!"
A couple hours later, the guy to my right gets my attention by leaning forward to look into my face and waving a little. I look up; and, indicating his wife's unfinished meal tray, he inquires in a voice disproportionately loud due to his earphones, "SAY, WOULD YOU LIKE SOME ICE CREAM?"
Surprised, grinning, resisting the urge to cover my ears, I shake my head no thanks.
"OKAY, 'CAUSE SHE'S NOT GONNA EAT IT AND IT MIGHT GO TO WASTE."
I make what I hope is an expression appropriately regretful of the tragedy, and we nod and he turns back to his movie. This kind of thing would never happen in Germany. Offer a stranger your unopened ice cream? It's so... cute! Not that Germans aren't polite to each other, but they're just so used to close quarters that there isn't any need for a self-conscious attempt to compensate for being squished together.
I must point out the one thing that almost bordered on ridiculous, though, which occurred when I happened to step on the tip of someone's luggage strap at the baggage carousel. I immediately removed my foot and apologized, but almost not before the owner hastened to apologize to me, assuring me that he didn't want me "to trip up, there." (Ho, ho!) Er... thanks. I think? What? My brother pointed out a potential darker side to this, which might be a sort of passive-aggressive attempt to point out your rudeness by inappropriately taking the blame on oneself. It's a thought. Would correspond well at any rate to a quote I heard recently, claiming that "Germans are too honest to be polite, and Americans are too polite to be honest." Aside from the vaguely distasteful generalizing, I might admit that there's some merit to it -- if only as far as to reflect inexperienced intercultural perceptions. Politeness is all relative, anyway. The guy's behavior at the baggage carousel struck me as all but obsequious, but then many East Asian cultures find us Americans to be loud-mouthed boors.
These thoughts preoccupied me only as long as it took to spot my dad and bro waiting for me at the end of the airport hallway -- after that, I couldn't have given a spare ice cream cup for any focus other than family and laughter around the dinner table.
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