This section of my post will not have the usual humor and wit that some have begun to associate with my blog. I feel that I have some duty to point out the differences, as well as the similarities, between the two countries in which I have lived. During my exchange year, I have come to realize that the differences, though sometimes questionable and even odd, are what make our regions of the world unique. Diversity makes us stronger, not weaker.
Of course, you may already know that. Travellers and world thinkers have been preaching the same thing since the concept of seeing the world and becoming tolerant, if not understanding, of other peoples and their cultures.
But something you may not have considered are the similarities, and the consequences they bring. Human nature is a strange thing, which man has pondered over since he learned to become intro-spective. We have all seen the good and the corresponding bad sides of human nature to some degree or other.
Well, this thursday I became aware of just how alike we humans are. (Before I tell you what transpired, or rather, did not transpire, allow me to assure you that no one was hurt, at least not physically.) While the better side of mankind was sending aid and organizing global efforts for the people of Japan, someone was composing something far less honorable. An online threat to the students and staff of my Gymnasium, or school here in Germany.
The threat was posted on an online gossip site, and simply said that on Friday the piece of scum in question would kill whoever was attending school that day. The police became involved, and Friday passed normally, save for the fact that there were only six people, including myself, in my final two periods of Chemistry.
The online threat also brought this gossip site to the public's attention. I have personnally seen the website, and I am disgusted and, frankly, disappointed with the level of inhumanity or rather humanity of it. The reality is that the site has become a forum where anyone may say whatever they please about anyone else with the double-edged sword of being anonimous.
They say the pen is mightier than the sword. Well, to be truthful, it is. A sword can only cut flesh, but words can cut into someone's very soul. The misuse of words pains me as a writer. Please, dear reader, do not make the mistake of using words malevolently.
I can only hope that humanity's similarities will be remembered for the good that we have done and continue to do, not the wrong that we do upon ourselves. TGWTC, leaving you with a little something to mull over.
17.3.11
HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!! (HUH?!!)
Top o' the mornin' to ye, I be here to be explainin' a bit abou' St. Patty's Day. 'Tis a wonderful holiday, and it be a pity tha' the folks across the sea aren't a wee more knowing 'bout it.
*Clears throat* Please excuse me for that feeble attempt at a written Irish accent. I apologize to the people of Ireland and anyone with red hair. But I can assure you that my odd start to a post will quickly segue into what I would like to write about.
St. Patrick's Day. That decades-old holiday which originated in the land of leprechauns and has worked its way overseas to America. (It pains me that America now looks strange to me when spelled with a "c" instead of a "k," lol) I'm guessing that it probably started to really come to the United States during the Industrial Revolution and the Potato Famine, during which many Irish people immigrated to America to seek better opportunities and basically not starve.
Every year since before I can remember, I have worn green on St. Patty's Day to celebrate the day (and avoid getting pinched! YIKES!!). My freshman year of high school, I had an orchestra competition on that day. I had to come to school ready to drag myself on that awful school bus and go to where the festival was being held. Okay, now I'm going to give you all a minute to thing about typical orchestra attire. When you go to a concert, what are they usually wearing? (Band uniforms don't count. A common mistake, but seriously, people, there is a difference between a flute and a cello, sheesh!)
BLACK, we're always wearing BLACK. Sometimes we really go out on a limb and wear a white top with black slacks, but that's about as colorful we get. I have no idea why we all dress like we're going to a funeral, probably supposed to appear sombre and therefore professional.
Anyway, the night before the festival (and St. Patrick's Day), I was about to lay out my clothes when I thought, oh, this is just grreeeaaatttt (think Frosted Flakes, only Tony the Tiger has suddenly turned into a sarcastic leopord), I am going to get pinched until I'm black and blue tomarrow. But not to fear! Converse Girl has the superpower of creativity!! So, dedicated as I was, and still am, I made myself a green necklace and earrings for the next day. (I didn't have a green shawl, and this was like 9pm, but nice try, guys, lol.)
In case you missed the point of the story (which probably wasn't very difficult to do, considering that my CDO seems to be creeping up on me again...), it's that I like holidays. I like celebrating holidays for the sake of celebrating, and I'm dedicated to that. So this St. Patrick's Day, I was one of the half a dozen or so kids at school who were wearing green. (Take note that at least a third of that half a dozen just happened to be wearing that color today, lol.)
I talked to someone about St. Patrick's Day and they were entirely oblivious to it. I must admit that at times I miss the apparently American mentality of "Let's go crazy and celebrate for the heck of it!" This is why I'm glad that I'll be home in time for the 4th of July. Because sometimes being the insane American is great, but to be considered moderate sometimes is just fine by me. ;)
I suppose at least one thing that I've come to learn about myself during this trip is that I don't have fun standing on the sidelines or sitting around at a party. I don't know if you'd still recognize me if we randomly met at a dance. I'm that girl who's having a good time dancing her socks off and who really doesn't Frankly Miss Scarlet what anyone thinks. And if you don't care, other people don't care either. Trust me, it's a lot more fun to just recognize the fact that, yes, I am a geek, and yes, I am cool with that. TGWTC, decked out in green.
*Clears throat* Please excuse me for that feeble attempt at a written Irish accent. I apologize to the people of Ireland and anyone with red hair. But I can assure you that my odd start to a post will quickly segue into what I would like to write about.
St. Patrick's Day. That decades-old holiday which originated in the land of leprechauns and has worked its way overseas to America. (It pains me that America now looks strange to me when spelled with a "c" instead of a "k," lol) I'm guessing that it probably started to really come to the United States during the Industrial Revolution and the Potato Famine, during which many Irish people immigrated to America to seek better opportunities and basically not starve.
Every year since before I can remember, I have worn green on St. Patty's Day to celebrate the day (and avoid getting pinched! YIKES!!). My freshman year of high school, I had an orchestra competition on that day. I had to come to school ready to drag myself on that awful school bus and go to where the festival was being held. Okay, now I'm going to give you all a minute to thing about typical orchestra attire. When you go to a concert, what are they usually wearing? (Band uniforms don't count. A common mistake, but seriously, people, there is a difference between a flute and a cello, sheesh!)
BLACK, we're always wearing BLACK. Sometimes we really go out on a limb and wear a white top with black slacks, but that's about as colorful we get. I have no idea why we all dress like we're going to a funeral, probably supposed to appear sombre and therefore professional.
Anyway, the night before the festival (and St. Patrick's Day), I was about to lay out my clothes when I thought, oh, this is just grreeeaaatttt (think Frosted Flakes, only Tony the Tiger has suddenly turned into a sarcastic leopord), I am going to get pinched until I'm black and blue tomarrow. But not to fear! Converse Girl has the superpower of creativity!! So, dedicated as I was, and still am, I made myself a green necklace and earrings for the next day. (I didn't have a green shawl, and this was like 9pm, but nice try, guys, lol.)
In case you missed the point of the story (which probably wasn't very difficult to do, considering that my CDO seems to be creeping up on me again...), it's that I like holidays. I like celebrating holidays for the sake of celebrating, and I'm dedicated to that. So this St. Patrick's Day, I was one of the half a dozen or so kids at school who were wearing green. (Take note that at least a third of that half a dozen just happened to be wearing that color today, lol.)
I talked to someone about St. Patrick's Day and they were entirely oblivious to it. I must admit that at times I miss the apparently American mentality of "Let's go crazy and celebrate for the heck of it!" This is why I'm glad that I'll be home in time for the 4th of July. Because sometimes being the insane American is great, but to be considered moderate sometimes is just fine by me. ;)
I suppose at least one thing that I've come to learn about myself during this trip is that I don't have fun standing on the sidelines or sitting around at a party. I don't know if you'd still recognize me if we randomly met at a dance. I'm that girl who's having a good time dancing her socks off and who really doesn't Frankly Miss Scarlet what anyone thinks. And if you don't care, other people don't care either. Trust me, it's a lot more fun to just recognize the fact that, yes, I am a geek, and yes, I am cool with that. TGWTC, decked out in green.
7.3.11
Monty Python Moment #142
I actually have not been keeping track of how many times I have drifted out of a situation simply to look at it from an objective angle and think, "Here's yet another instance in my life that greatly resembled a Monty Python skit."
So today the schedule gods were nice to me and gently guided my Geography and History teachers to not show up. No voodoo going on, and no ironic twist. The magical deities of school classes just decided to cut me a break on a Monday. (Which, unless there is a shuttle launch or some other remarkable event is scheduled, tends to be the least-looked-forward-to day of the week.)
After English, I went home and got to chill for a while before going back to school for Fitness, aka Sport, aka Physical Education, aka why do we have so many darn names for running around the track? Well, something to ponder tonight when you, dear reader, are trying to sleep but cannot due to the fact that I have now made it practically impossible for you to forget this singular question. Oh, find the cup if you can, but be wary... (Sorry, Dumbledor snuck in there...) So just warning you lovely people that this little thought has now been embedded into your subconscious. Your Welcome ;)
Now, where was I? Oh, yes, that institution of mandatory physical activity to which all students are subjected. I have already told you how the idea of me successfully learning to juggle is simply inconceivable, but hey, I deal with it. I try, and when the teacher comes around to tell me what I should be doing, I try to take the advice as it is intended, not as my sensitive American ego perceives it. That is, I try to not let the tone of superiority I half-imagine and control my urge to hurl the cursed tennis balls at the wall as hard as I can. I am very glad that our teacher had the foresight not to ask us to juggle baseballs...
Later in the class, we worked with jump ropes. Now, in the US, jump ropes are for children, having fun, and then for crazy competitions where you attempt to catch sight of the rope as it reaches supersonic speed. In a German PE course, you better take "Skipping Hearts," seriously. But really, can you blame me if I fail to suppress giggles. I mean, come on! It's like I'm eight again!! To me, the jump rope signifies something that does not require me to be the best in order to have fun.
And now I get to work out by skipping rope? Heck yeah!! It brought back so many memories. Way back to that time when I wore my hair in a pony, instead of a bun. Back to when the sun beat down on the blacktop and the sand from the sandbox gave off this dry, desert smell. So there I was, attempting the tricks that had been assigned to my partner and me, when my Sport teacher comes up to tell me not to stomp.
Wait, wow, wow, wow... Did someone just come up, ruin my reverie, interrupt my fitness activity, to accuse me of stomping?! I am sorry, sir, but have you seen me? I am no cream puff or daisy. I am a good ol' American girl, and sometimes, we stomp! (And I would like to admit that my accussed "stomping" was not affecting my skipping rope in some drastic, apocalyptic manner.) It felt like someone had gone back to my origins and told me that I had been wrong. How I jump rope is like how I ride a bike, or form a sentence. It's something I learned very early on, and it's not something that's going to change any time soon.
After this ran through my head, I thought about the irony of the situation. My teacher really needed to help everyone improve how they jump rope for... what exactly? And then the word stomping brought to mind an American elephant (hey, maybe it was born in a zoo) who doesn't give a darn if she steps around daintily. My train of thought then naturally ran to the Monty Python skit in which a man speaks of the life he dreams of, singing, "Oh, I'm a lumberjack and I don't care!"
So I would just like to thank Monty Python for reminding me to take everything with a grain of salt and just keep spinning the rope. TGWTC.. WALASDC (whose a lumberjill and she don't care! jk, Leute, I would never do that to the trees, hahaha!), taking it one PE period at a time!
So today the schedule gods were nice to me and gently guided my Geography and History teachers to not show up. No voodoo going on, and no ironic twist. The magical deities of school classes just decided to cut me a break on a Monday. (Which, unless there is a shuttle launch or some other remarkable event is scheduled, tends to be the least-looked-forward-to day of the week.)
After English, I went home and got to chill for a while before going back to school for Fitness, aka Sport, aka Physical Education, aka why do we have so many darn names for running around the track? Well, something to ponder tonight when you, dear reader, are trying to sleep but cannot due to the fact that I have now made it practically impossible for you to forget this singular question. Oh, find the cup if you can, but be wary... (Sorry, Dumbledor snuck in there...) So just warning you lovely people that this little thought has now been embedded into your subconscious. Your Welcome ;)
Now, where was I? Oh, yes, that institution of mandatory physical activity to which all students are subjected. I have already told you how the idea of me successfully learning to juggle is simply inconceivable, but hey, I deal with it. I try, and when the teacher comes around to tell me what I should be doing, I try to take the advice as it is intended, not as my sensitive American ego perceives it. That is, I try to not let the tone of superiority I half-imagine and control my urge to hurl the cursed tennis balls at the wall as hard as I can. I am very glad that our teacher had the foresight not to ask us to juggle baseballs...
Later in the class, we worked with jump ropes. Now, in the US, jump ropes are for children, having fun, and then for crazy competitions where you attempt to catch sight of the rope as it reaches supersonic speed. In a German PE course, you better take "Skipping Hearts," seriously. But really, can you blame me if I fail to suppress giggles. I mean, come on! It's like I'm eight again!! To me, the jump rope signifies something that does not require me to be the best in order to have fun.
And now I get to work out by skipping rope? Heck yeah!! It brought back so many memories. Way back to that time when I wore my hair in a pony, instead of a bun. Back to when the sun beat down on the blacktop and the sand from the sandbox gave off this dry, desert smell. So there I was, attempting the tricks that had been assigned to my partner and me, when my Sport teacher comes up to tell me not to stomp.
Wait, wow, wow, wow... Did someone just come up, ruin my reverie, interrupt my fitness activity, to accuse me of stomping?! I am sorry, sir, but have you seen me? I am no cream puff or daisy. I am a good ol' American girl, and sometimes, we stomp! (And I would like to admit that my accussed "stomping" was not affecting my skipping rope in some drastic, apocalyptic manner.) It felt like someone had gone back to my origins and told me that I had been wrong. How I jump rope is like how I ride a bike, or form a sentence. It's something I learned very early on, and it's not something that's going to change any time soon.
After this ran through my head, I thought about the irony of the situation. My teacher really needed to help everyone improve how they jump rope for... what exactly? And then the word stomping brought to mind an American elephant (hey, maybe it was born in a zoo) who doesn't give a darn if she steps around daintily. My train of thought then naturally ran to the Monty Python skit in which a man speaks of the life he dreams of, singing, "Oh, I'm a lumberjack and I don't care!"
So I would just like to thank Monty Python for reminding me to take everything with a grain of salt and just keep spinning the rope. TGWTC.. WALASDC (whose a lumberjill and she don't care! jk, Leute, I would never do that to the trees, hahaha!), taking it one PE period at a time!
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