strategies when the weather just isn't enough.

After blatantly stalking the blogs of some of my fellow Hamiltonians, I've decided my life in Germany is about as cushy as they come and that I need to MAN UP and GET AMPED and all those other HARDCORE PHRASES that mean BUCK UP SPORT since there's no reason to be moping. I mean - I sleep in an actual bed, in a room that has a little refrigerator that I keep stocked with beers, and the most dangerous thing that's happened so far has not been pick-pocketing or "auslander" slurs, but a bus nearly killing Rob and I because it was too polite to honk. After that same incident, I fell into hysterics on the bridge and frightened away all the ducks in the river.

I am, however, in the midst of my semi-annual "Rachel Smokes Too Much" sickness, which is good for my wallet and bad for my lungs. See also: coughing like an old man all the time, and skipping school today because the lining of my esophagus is trying to escape and no one wants to see that, or probably read about it, so I'm sorry for the details. But this could be a permanent change, and the only souvenir I get for anyone else considering I'm penniless, if that makes sense.

It was a combination of circumstances that pushed me down, and a lot of it was myself pushing myself down, as I am invariably wont to do. The boys go hide in their rooms to Skype their girlfriends, I sit up and read Steinbeck alone. I slept through the Goethe Party on Friday night, missing out on all sorts of shenanigans. I tried to buy some new jeans in town only to find out, the hard way, that I'm pretty much built like a pioneer and better start darning the holes in my American jeans. My Tandem Partner, a native I meet with once a week to practice my German, is pretty much the Anti-Rachel - doesn't drink, hates smoke, is pretty and petite and perfectly put-together. Things that could be funny in the right light, but were just lame in reality.

But there are counters to all of those, too - I bought myself a red plaid cashmere scarf because Tommy kept stealing his back, and now I feel like a little British boy ALL the time. We all went collectively, primevally insane with ennui and malaise one evening (that sentence probably makes you want to gag, whoever you are out there), so we booked it to a bar and were hollering and falling on each other the whole way. We ate a lot of cake baked by Schwaebian Fraus.
Rob and I went on a long wander yesterday, and then I went on an even longer wander afterwards, walking right out of Schwaebisch Hall. I think it was Chutney who told me the sky would just be bluer in Europe, and that's true. We've had uninterrupted sunshine for a week, now, no snow on the ground, hardly any rain. It's Minor Field weather.

And I'm going to Frankfurt on Sunday to see Jens Lekman, and, after doing some research, I am obviously going to go see THE HIVES in VIENNA because some 15-year old version of me will have a conniption at seeing PELLE. PELLE!

Also, everyone should shout "TOR!" much more often. Even when there is no goal to be had.

DON'T HATE ME

But this is my Spring Break plan:

FRIDAY, MARCH 14th - SUNDAY, MARCH 16th: Vienna to Prague, Czech Republic

SUNDAY NIGHT: Night Train across Deutschland to AMSTERDAM

MONDAY, MARCH 17th - WEDNESDAY, MARCH 19th: Amsterdam, The Netherlands

WEDNESDAY NIGHT: Night Train to Copenhagen, Denmark

THURSDAY, MARCH 20th - SATURDAY, MARCH 22nd: Copehnagen, Denmark

SATURDAY, MARCH 22nd - TUESDAY, MARCH 25th: Stockholm, Sweden

TUESDAY, MARCH 25th: Stockholm to Oslo, Norway

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 26th: Oslo to Bergen, Norway

THURSDAY, MARCH 27th: Bergen

FRIDAY, MARCH 28th: Bergen back to Oslo

SATURDAY, MARCH 29th: Flight from Oslo to Salzburg, train back to Vienna


HOLY COW THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING. I'm gonna stand on some fjords, smoke some Hollandish weed, and I don't know, have the best spring break in the universe?

EVERYONE SHOULD COME WITH ME!

EDIT: Congratulations, Rachel, you are officially broke as of today. Also it is Valentine's Day. Kisses are free but kind of hard to come by. Good luck with that. Sincerely, YOUR BETTER SENSE.

because the sun is shining, because ich bin verliebt.

Yesterday the gaw-damned internetz was completely busted, so I sat in the kitchen for far too many hours looking at the photo of young Orson Welles I tucked into my wallet. Yes. Orson Welles (CIRCA The Third Man and not the Muppet Movie) is in my wallet, smoking a cigarette and looking OH SO COY. Reason the First why yesterday was pretty good. But the point of this paragraph is that I just woke up, the sun's out for the third or fourth day in a row, and all the thoughts I thunked yesterday are murky in my groggy, 11 a.m. mind.

But here's the main one: I know I've done a Fervently Eclectic show about "Home" songs, but there was a big one missing. All Hail West Texas is probably only bearable if you're a fan of the Mountain Goats, and it's probably only enjoyable if you know what West Texas is like, but "Riches and Wonders" is a pretty poignant song. And I've listened to it around a dozen times, because the refrain is simple: "I wanna go home, but I am home." And that is about the summation of my attitude when we tromp back to the Wohnheim with our groceries in tow, Lucky Strikes in our pockets and Haaler Loewenbraeu six-packs under our arms. It's a sad and a simple fact - I want to go home, but I am home.

On the other hand, cars are really fucking cool, as proven by the Mercedes-Benz Museum in Stuttgart. Someday, when I make my bajillions, the first completely exorbitant purchase I'll make is some souped-up old car that gets horrible mileage and holds only two people but is red and curvy and basically the sexiest thing on the road. And yes, I saw THE POPEMOBILE. Photos to follow. Further proof that insane things are always happening to me (see also: my parents and that night my Dad and I had Diner Breakfast at our own kitchen table when we were drunk, my run-in with the Nazi, basically everything ever), I was ambling around the basement of the place which has a Benz dealership in addition to the usual museum gift store when some old man comes bounding over to me, pumping my hand, saying his name was Walter and he built rockets, he was on some list to go to Mars soon, was I English, no American, what was I studying, Writing huh, like Shakespeare, to be or not to be that is the question, did you know women couldn't write back in those days, oh my name's Rachel, like the Beatles song Baby You're A Rich Man which he proceeded to sing to me. Walter from Transylvania. Transylvania is full of insane people. It would have been hysterical if I wasn't already late to catch back up with the group.

I'm off to caffeinate myself and get some sunlight drilled into my skin.

p.s. Annie's blog is still LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAME.

EDIT: Mike just walked into the kitchen with this incredible German eagle tattoo all over his back. Holy cannolli. This tattoo business is intense. Actually I just wanted to edit and add a few Oscar-esque thank yous.

To anyone who is reading this, thanks for putting up with me and my sporadic wordifying.

To the Tulsa chickadees who fbook m'd me (that's awesome-talk for sending a message via facebook), I love yer faces, wish you was here, we will have ourselves a time in Oklahoma come summertime. Vanilla Coke will be had a-plenty - something tells me it goes pretty great with booze.

To my ridiculous parents, who are not reading this because I haven't sent them the link, thank you for being absurd. I called them tonight and spoke to my mom in the first time since I've been here - within a moment, she was swearing she wasn't drunk, even though I have never accused her of being so, and then she asked if I'd ever had a Buttery Nipple. This is my mother, by the way. My mother wants to make me a Buttery Nipple because it's apparently delicious. Also, my father is awesome, and promised me we'd go to Senor Tequila's when I got back, considering I'm legal tender these days, and if we all got too Rochestered on liberally-liquored margaritas in tropical flavors, we'd take a cab home. We live approximately one minute away from Senor Tequila's. Basically I am going to be hammered in a cab in Tulsa, Oklahoma with the people who created me. HYSTERICAL.

A big UN-THANK YOU to the IMF for booking awesome bands while I'm away. Whatevs. I'm gonna go see Jens in Frankfurt, thank you very much. (No, really, I'm glad the IMF is alive and well, but damn I am jealous.)

And anyone who isn't on this list and wants to be, hell, thank you too.

Mister Rochester strikes again!

MAN I did not want this to turn into my old livejournal, which I diligently and angstily kept for a number of years, but, as I have learned, I cannot escape myself and so I am both taking a poll and going to use bullet points.

A) PUBLIC POLL: Rachel and tattoo. Reasonable? Rational? Would not happen until many months later, not until I'm home definitely. Also would perhaps be a reward for some thing like getting the hell in shape. Considering. Inside of my wrist. Important message. Very tempting. Pros: Badassery? Cons: Pain and more pain. Also, losing all rights to making fun of my brother's tattoo. Also, it's a tattoo. Do tattoos get you laid? I have no idea.

B) The number of inside jokes we have here is quickly skyrocketing and the levels of absurdity are peaking. We've been here all of a month and a week - things are looking bad in terms of my normalcy. I'm just warning you, if I shout "IT'S ME MISTER ROCHESTER" there's a reason. I have quite the repertoire of faces at this point. Adding to the current collection of Roller Coaster, Creepy Genie, Chinese Dragon, and Mysterious. Which could also be the names of types of weed.

C) Realizations: Much of study abroad is learning to cope with my chin. Or rather, chins. Because we take a lot of photographs and I don't have time to compose myself. EXCEPT for today, we went to the the Field On A Mountain and all photos are incredible in that spot, which I'm fairly sure is now my favorite place in the entire world.

This entry is pretty much nonsense, I know, but I haven't got any homework again and Schwaebs feels so damn normal nowadays. Our classes switched - no more Terada-san, but now I have Walter, the graying Irishman with the bluest eyes I've ever seen, and of course Tomstable and Robinson. 11 p.m. is way past my bedtime, considering Annie just shouted "Surprise" though she's been sitting in the next chair over for about an hour now and I got frightened.

TSCHUSS OUT.

berlinified, berlinized, berlinization.

First and foremost, good god is it good to be back here in Schwaebs. Maybe it was the 9 hour train ride from Hannover, maybe it was 10 solid days of traveling, but I've never been so glad to be back in small-town po-dunk Germany since, well, ever. I slept until 2:45 this afternoon, half from train-lag, half from a mere unwillingness to get out of bed, half because of the dreams I was having were too intriguing to leave (Miss Hornet talking with the Media Board Chair while a random African I met here was selling drugs in the living room and I was scrambling to the playground outside). That's three halves, I know. WHATEVS.

SO BERLIN. I love Berlin. I always have. There's the name, most of all, which is just so completely badass - when I went in summer 05 with Matthew, I remember just chanting the name in my head. There's the Brandenburg Tor within sight of the Olive On A Stick TV Tower, which is also completely badass. There's the incredible fact that the biggest wars of the 20th century went down in Berlin - WWI, WW2, and the Cold War - and that the place is continually picking itself up and moving on - you can't contend with the truth of Hitler, of him hiding in his bunker underground, eating chocolate cake and hopped up on speed, poisoning his dog before ramming a gun into his mouth while the Soviets banged down his door. That's not supposed to sound heroic, if it does. It's just incredible to stand on the very spot where it all occurred, just a patch of ground. The whole attitude of Berlin is so incredibly complex and intense - and the nightlife is jumping, as I found out the hard way on my 21st birthday.

I am not cool. Let's just get that out there. I am awkward and uncomfortable in most party situations, and my 21st was no exception. Fortunately, Johanna and Jamie were there with 2 other Prague girls to shove drinks in my face and tell me to start having fun as it was my birthday. Which I did - we were on a pub crawl, dragged from what was supposed to be 4 bars and a nightclub, but I only made it to Bar #3 before collapsing in a bathroom until some Angel of Light rescued me and put me in a cab. But before that fantastic catastrophe, we made friends with Spaniards who couldn't speak a word of English but kissed us all when we left, I put in a request for 'Someone Great' and danced by my lonesome, an Australian bought me a Jagerbomb, had Jager poured down our throats under a train bridge, and did I mention Johanna and Jamie were there? When I erupted back into the hostel room, miraculously alive and semi-coherent, our sober compadre Tommy took notes on our drunken shenanigans, and the best and truest quote of the night was this: "It was great. I do not remember 75% of it."

So happy birthday to me. I thought Turning 20 In A Toga could never be topped (that also ended with a very public pass-out), but hey, 22 will have a lot to live up to.

My birthday was typical of our misadventures last week. The Baltic Sea is not so exciting in the dark, as we found out after trekking up to a lighthouse (appropriately with a pale green light beckoning us onwards) and screaming at the wind. Potsdam is probably gorgeous in the summertime, but, on the Tuesday we went, it was bleak and deserted and closed. We did waltz through Charlottenburg, a castle in the city limits of Berlin, and of course the Berlin Zoo is always a good time, regardless of the weather (plus Knut the polar bear is a complete photo whore). The Pergamon still has lots of giant stuff in it, and Unter Den Linden is still a little too long of a walk. And the Brandenburg Tor - still the greatest monument on earth. And misadventures are still adventures, or at least that's the attitude I'm straining to maintain - straining because I still read the WHCL emails, still obsess about what's happening at Hamilton and think irrationally and erratically, still feel split between three hills - the one leading from my dorm in Germany, the one where my house is in Tulsa, and, of course, Hamilton.

I DID, HOWEVER, SEE IRON & WINE IN A CHURCH WHILE HAVING MANY BEERS. That's just a fact!