Saaga

Alex and I went along last night to the Fasching Sitzung, which is the one of the opening events of Karnival, which starts in earnest this coming Thursday. Essentially what they do is pack 1200 Germans into a giant hall and play brass instruments at them for five hours. By the time we left if I heard the band do the German equivalent of the ‘boom tish’ just one more time, I would have killed 50 people with my bare hands before they could subdue me.
The brass bands are interspersed with German ‘comedians’ of a former age. These guys were of the era that spawned the likes of Graham Kennedy. There was even a perfect Deutsch analogue of Ugly Dave Grey…bless his smutty soul. But the decrepitude of the performers didn’t dampen the enthusiasm of the punters, who roared with mirth almost the entire time. I say ‘almost’ because at our table at least, most of the people spent a portion of their time watching my quizzical expressions as I tried to work out the jokes.
There is a stereotype that paints the Germans as having no sense of humour and I would like to help perpetuate it a bit. The Germans do not joke around at work. They do not joke around on the train. They do not joke around whilst shopping. However, put them in an environment where a certain amount of merriment is allowed (like a pub or an elevator) and they will take advantage of it. Put the same hive consciousness into a large party atmosphere where frivolity is just shy of mandatory and dress every individual up in all manner of costumes and you will have an outpouring of laughter whether you like it or not.
The staffroom at work seems to be one of those places where some fun is allowed and the German staff are not shy to get in on the joke making, though one of them will usually go and close the door first.

It’s also quite funny what does and doesn’t faze the German people; walking through the Altstadt dressed as a 19th century sea captain, with my friend dressed like he is going to the beach seems to raise no eyebrows, but my ability to jay-walk has them completely mystified and starts muttered conversations between strangers.

Alex has decided that we need a new curtain for the kitchen as our current one is much like the one we had in the front room at our old place; one step from becoming curtain vapour.
Anyway, Alex decided to go and by some German flag material and is currently in the process of turning it into a Belgian flag to make our kitchen shenanigans more private. If I didn’t point out to her that turning the German flag sideways makes it look a lot like the Belgian flag she would never have noticed. Because it is only the Belgian flag to the untrained eye I have lost my ability to veto the idea, but I will loudly say I told you so every time someone says,
“Hey your curtain looks like the Belgian flag.”

Not intentionally added to be with the theme but here is the best blonde joke ever.

It’s good to see our conservative government getting ready to transform into a tyrannical right wing government, by banning computer games that show the future oppressed how to fight against such a fascist regime.

http://www.smh.com.au/news/breaking/graffiti-game-banned/2006/02/15/1139890798010.html

The worst thing about this is that from the reviews I’ve read ‘Marc Ecko’s Getting Up: Contents Under Pressure’ seems like a really stupid game, but if the decision is overturned by Atari, sales will go through the roof…hmmm.

Not having a firm grasp of the language of the land in which you live makes many normal things (like buying credit for your mobile) difficult. Coupling this with having to do things the German way, (which is generally either a completely confused riot or a slow and overly complicated series of procedures) further complicates many situations unnecessarily. So when you come upon some crazy combination of the above two factors, there is no one word in the English language that can describe the feeling you get. So I had to invent one; Infuriority.
Watching my wife attempt to buy tickets from the Deutsche Bahn machines at the main train station is something I can no longer do. I get the same feeling that I did as a child when I had a splinter but was too afraid to let my mum hack it out of my finger with a razor blade and a rusty hook, so I instead wiggled it back and forth until it snapped off above the skin. At that moment I would always realise that I had just more than doubled my time under the rusty hook. However, I digress and it is not me that is experiencing infuriority. Oh no.
The Germans have developed a complex and beautiful machine for dispensing train tickets to anywhere in Germany and many places in Europe and if you are perfectly fluent in High German and the local dialect, then making use of this perfect engine is only about as hard as doing your taxes after a drinking binge. For us, using this device is slightly harder still and I don’t even get involved until the end anymore. Once Alex gets to the verge of tears (I am usually watching timidly from the distance) I know that it is time to creep over and gently usher her broken, weeping form away before she puts her boot through the screen. I then listen patiently with (I hope) a not too condescending air as she rants at length about the stupid thing and how it will be very different WHEN she is in charge.
Buying credit for my mobile phone is another Infuriority inducing time and it is largely due to the fact that I have to deal with Deutsche Telecom and its’ employees, who are hired (as we all know) based largely on their ability to lie, especially to foreigners. It is also clear that aside from being paid poorly for the jobs they do, the DT personnel also run the risk of being fed to their colleagues as a kind of paste if their performance shows any signs of friendliness or their methods become in any way distinct. So while I am ready for my confrontation with Frau Müllenbacker, I still have to upon reaching the DT shop, talk myself into entering the building.
I am greeted by the half dozen staff in chorus and I reply in German and begin my transaction. Having learned from my past mistakes and studied some extra vocabulary, I confidently move through the numerous steps to recharge my phone and begin to believe that my experience will be short and positive. Until my electronic transaction is rejected. Frau Müllenbacker stares at me for a moment and then asks for my card again. This happens twice more and uses up almost half an hour, as the whole process is dependent upon every step along the way. On the fourth try Frau Müllenbacker leans across and explains slowly that after I have entered my PIN and pressed enter, the screen goes blank for five seconds and during that time I am to press enter again. As the whole debacle is brought to its’ shuddering conclusion, she says something to the effect of, ‘How many times do you need to be told to press enter?’
As I kick the door open to leave I look at her and shout in English, ‘Four times, clearly!’

I remember complaining a couple of weeks ago that I had only managed to see three football games in the six months I have been here, which was quite sad because football was one of the lures Alex used to get me to move here in the first place. Now all of a sudden…Football Frenzy.
This week I have come into possession of tickets for two Bundesliga games and a Regionalliga game, all of which take place over the next fortnight. W00t!

It’s going to be strange not having visitors to look forward to until June, because so many people have visited us, that we have gotten used to having something to aim for on the horizon. Now it seems we will just have to make do with coming back to visit Sydney in April. I think we get in on the 8th or the 9th and fly out on the 23rd. Yay!