W.A.G. #2

Guten Tag, Damen und Herren! Welcome to W.A.G. #2, your second Installment of the funniest German Words I can think of. This Week's Word is: Psychologie. Now you may be thinking, "That word looks totally normal and boring. Miss Hattie, why have you been taking crazy pills with your daily Getreideflockengericht?" That means Cereal, Boys and Girls, or literally: cereal-flake-dish.

The answer is this: pronunciation! While any old monkey can find some long crazy word that Germans have made to save paper (think of all the blank spaces they eliminate! They could make space bars a complete thing of the past! No more spaces or bars!), it takes a true connoisseuse (yes, I like to practice noun-adjective gender agreement when at all possible in our shockingly gender neutral language - are my hands male or female? HOW WILL I LIVE WITHOUT KNOWING????) to find words that look innocuous but are in fact as nutso as they come (20 points if you can tell me whence that picture hails).

OK, enough buildup. Here's the explanation. Psychologie is pronounced: p'SOO-kho-low-ghee. As a disclaimer, I don't know how to actually phonetically demonstrate/write out pronunciation. Here are the lights, both high and low, of this fantabulous word.

1) Both p and s sounds are pronounced, clearly and distinctly, leaving the oft-confused listener-of-German no doubt about how this word (or at least its beginning) is spelled.

2) The "y" is pronounced as if it were u/oo.

3) The "ch" has the requisite throat gargle popular in German and French (the only languages I can speak without much accent since my tongue refuses to roll r's).

4) And keep that g hard as the Iron Curtain, people! Soft g's are for those sissy Swiss.

It's all so weird, I can't believe it's not Dutch! Am I right or am I super right? I know that in English we have stupid pronunciation for a lot of things (which can for the most part be blamed on the Brits - Worcerstershire, guys? Really?) but this takes things to a whole new level. Leave it to the inventors of Gummibärchen to come up with a whimsical, and let's not forget delicious, way to dress up such a seemingly boring and uninteresting word.

In summary, you better prepare before ze German gets you. It's not only surface-crazy, it's got that innocent-looking-little-girl-who's-actually-an-ax-murderer horror movie type of crazy. You're thinking, "Aww, look how cute and sweet it is with its weird long words and funny verb conjugation! It's really adorable how hard it tries; what a well-meaning if oft-misguided language!" Meanwhile, German is thinking "Just you wait, foolish Amerikaner. My evil plot to explode your brains with unpredictable Kokolores (translation: nonsense! How delightful!) has only just begun!" ACHTUNG! Not so innocent this language is.

(Sidenote: Yoda-phrasing is very similar to German sentence construction - VERB AT THE END MUST GO!!!!)

Cast, In Order of Appearance

Before I get to the body of this post I just want to let you all know that yesterday at 1:17PM EST, TASTYCAKES WERE ACCOMPLISHED!!! I know you have all been on pins and needles for weeks, wondering how our heroine was going to get herself out of yet another sticky situation, but fear no longer! I successfully filled my tummy with delicious morsels and let me tell you how good they were: so good. Of course I immediately texted Hattie to tell her not to worry, we were out of the woods, to which she immediately replied 'I'm so jealous,' which was the correct AND ONLY response of course. Now back to our regularly scheduled post.

THE TIME: Late in the evening. Like maybe....6:30PM.

THE PLACE: A mysterious underground lair. It's actually the basement of a hotel in midtown, but whatevs, tomato tomahto, right? Of course right.

THE SCENE: We join our heroine as she enters a cavernous room deep below the city. Exhausted after a long day's exploits she fights to stay awake but nonetheless is nobly prepared to sacrifice her evening in the pursuit of bigger and better things. We are touched by her perseverance. We laugh, we cry. It's emotional.

But she is not alone! Who else could be exploring such a desolate landscape at such an ungodly error? Who else but...BUM BUM BAAAAAAAAAAAAH...America's Future Professionals! Join our heroine this week in an episode we like to call: The Good, the Bad, and the Never Gonna Make it Through This Class.

Now let's meet our supporting cast:

Princeton: Princeton is the kind of kid that I imagine went to (shock) Princeton undergrad because that's where his dad and grandad and great grandad and greatgreatgrandaddy went to college, all of whom are also named Princeton. (It's a family name). He wears a cable-knit v-neck sweatervest over a polo--popped collar optional--and rocks a murse. IT'S FOR HIS LAPTOP OKAY. Okay. [EDIT: The real test will come summertime: will he sport the eternal classic of penny loafers, sans socks (obvi!) combined with J. Crew shorts, preferably the ones with the little animals all over? Also I would expect a full range of salmon-colored apparel to emerge once GQ says it's time for spring colors.] Princeton is probably a reasonable smart cookie, and under normal circumstances he would probably fly under my radar and escape unscathed...but. The problem with Prince T is that he has the highly annoying and totally pointless habit of asking the most irrelevant questions about how to 'get the right answer' and 'beat the test.' Lemme 'splain. Rather than actually do the work in order to get the right answer, Mr. Nonsense would rather know secrets. Secret things like: 'what percentage of the time is this the correct answer' and 'if I think an answer is correct, should I assume it's wrong.'

Look P-ton, I feel you. This is all a game, and the name of the game is Win The Class. But it is a waste of my time and your time and LB's time and frankly the janitor's time for you to be filling the air with crapsense that won't help anyone not even you. For serious: the strategy of 'I definitely think it's B so I'm going to pick C! Booyah! School accomplished,' is really just one chromatic half-step away from the strategy of 'I'm going to fill in the bubble sheet so it looks like a picture of a tree.' And what would grandaddy Princeton have to say about that Principants?? Trumpery and Balderdash, that's what he'd say.

Oleg: Maybe it's just me, but I feel like an educational experience is not complete without a posse of Russians. Maybe it has to do with my misspent youth in the seedy underbelly of the Math departments of New York City, I don't know, but a little Russka is just what I need to really get my brain juices a-flowing.

Here's how to make a Classic Oleg: mix one part cocky, one part brains, and a liberal amount of argumentative, to taste. Garnish with misspoken English and serve. Oleg spends about half his time "spinning his wheels" and the other half "confusing everyone else," which in case you had any doubts is hilarious. Here's a gem from this week: "So if you invert if A then B you get if B then A, and then if you invert it again you get if A then B and that's the reverse of if B then A, so isn't that the same thing?" To which LB (hesitantly) replied, "...why did you do that?" WHY?? "Because that's how I was taught." Of course it was Oleg, of course it was. And that is why I hired you.

5 O'Clock: 5 O'Clock sits in front of me and even though we have only known each other for the equivalent of one workday I already love him like my older, higher, more unwashed brother. I would not be at all surprised to know that Five-O sets his alarm for 4:00 every day, hits snooze, and then wakes up ten minutes before class with just enough time to munch a few handfuls of dry cereal, turn his t-shirt inside-out, and trip over last month's laundry on the way to the door. I think in his mind he's going to end up as Zach Morris by way of Raising the Bar, but in reality he's probably going to end up more like Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law.

No worries though, because that's just how 5O rolls. It's all good. Frankly I'm impressed by the fact that he is in this class at all, and I'm skeptical that he's going to make it all the way through without completely blowing his own mind, so I'm just going to treasure each golden moment we spend in the same general area together.

And last but MOST DEFINITELY not least in the lineup is Pearshape. Oh Pearshape. I have to admit that when I first met you I was at once completely memorized by your physical makeup and a little ashamed of myself (HAH, as IF). I don't know if I can explain this in a way that makes me NOT sound shallow and judgemental--but really, can I explain anything in a way that makes me not sound shallow and judgemental? OF COURSE NOT--so I'm just going to give you my notes:

-Pear shape

-Unfortunate jean skirt

-Biz cas fri blouse? Nonono

-Of course giant flower headband

-TOO TALL

Initially the problem with Pearshape was that she had clearly read this and then proceeded to try and make this out of this. Not so much. As you already know, we here at SUWA have strong opinions on what not to wear, but I think I could've let this go if it was just a one time offense. No. No. A hundred times NO.

Pearshape is here because not only did she show up to class TWICE committing the EXACT SAME fashion faux pas--same skirt, new lurid yellow headband. Appropriate for four-year-old child? Totally. Appropriate for you, PS? ABSOLUTELY--but because of the spectacular bullshit that apparently flows like a river from her mouth every time she opens her trap. And it is not just any bullshit, but the choiciest, grade-A bullshit you could hope to hear.

Here's a little taste: first day of class, and LB is explaining basic logic. But she tells all of us not to worry if we've never had any logic before, because this is going to be really basic, and we're all going to be just fine by the time the test rolls around. Why don't we start with an example, suggests LB, for practice. Here is a premise and here is a conclusion. Done. Right? WRONG-O. Cue Pearshape, who raises her be-bowed hand high. Clearly she has got something to say, and that something is: "Isn't that just the same as the presumed assumption of the reverse negative of the contradiction? Because clearly you need to rebut the happenstance and then negate each triple axle until the bidirectionality is depolarized. Or at least that's how I learned it."

SILENCE. WHOA. NELLY. LB is thrown. I am thrown. THE WORLD IS ROCKED. I don't remember what eventually happened because I was so shocked at having been gifted with this individual all for my very own. By the time I recovered LB was asking us questions to which the class was answering in unison. Yes. No. Facts. False. Whatever it was, everyone would answer and move on. Not so Pearshape. Every time she would get an answer wrong (read: every time she answered a question)(read: every time sound issued from her face) she would then proceed to apologize, at length, and explain what logical reasoning had led to her mistaken conclusion. "Five" "No, One" "Oh, well I thought five because when I contraposed the interdictory-" and by that time we had already moved on to the next question and the glorious cycle started all over again.

I have hobnobbed with some class A know-it-alls (see Oleg, above), but I'm betting that over the course of this course Pearshape will give them all a run for their money. And I am ON BOARD WITH THAT. Bring. It. On. Girlfriend. Smarty Pants? Check. Dressed by a tweeny bopper? Uh, CHECK. Delusional?? Checkulous to the power of check check CHECK.

And those, loyal reader(s) are your new Biffs 4 Lyfe. Will they survive? Make the grade? Is Jenna really having Jake's baby or is it all a lie?? Tune in next week to find out!

Captain Ridiculous Strikes Again!

Guess what? This is a real shocker, so prepare yourselves. Seriously, if you're not sitting down, you may do yourself serious injury. I believe, and hopefully Harester will verify, that this constitutes fair warning and any harm that befalls you as a result of the following revelation can no longer be said to be in any way my fault or responsibility. OK, here goes: I had another extravawkwardganza yesterday!!

Now, as a professional hatter, it may come as no surprise to you that I have (and wear) many hats. In my case this is purely figurative, whereas ironically the Hare has more literal hats than I would ever know what to do with beyond have a hat-as-frisbee-throwing-contest. Unfortunately, the hat which I need to use the most is this one. (Or this, depending on your sense of style. Remember, this is a metaphor - to preserve my sole remaining scrap of dignity I must reiterate that I do not own either of these hats in real life.) You might think that at this point in my life, I would be so inured to these types of situations that I would no longer notice them, and become some sort of oblivious Awkwardstorm (see below), raining uncomfortable silences and strange facial expressions upon all who cross my path.

However, I have not yet resigned myself to this fate (although it probably would end up being a lot less stressful). While I fully intend on developing into a crotchety old curmudgeon a la Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino, until the time comes I would in general like to have more than just one awkward neighborhood teenager for a friend. My hope is that by recounting and analyzing these experiences, I can somehow therapize (is that a word? If not it should be) myself and gradually transition into a life of normalcy. Hey, a girl can dream, right?

So, on to the story. Or as my new bffers Stephenie would have it, saga. (Is there a "Stephenie Meyer Day?? Ohgodohgodohgod I hope so.) I left my apartment for work this morning, only to find it was pouring rain. I didn't have an umbrella, but our super kindly lent me one. As I was a leeeeetle bit on the late side, I rushed to the bus, which I not only caught but also got a seat! I was feeling quite pleased with myself until I looked into my bag for my book and discovered I had left my wallet in my other more casual bag which I brought to yoga the evening before. This was unfortunate for several reasons.

1) I was originally proud of myself for going to yoga during the post-work rush, an ordeal I usually avoid so I am not forced to drink someone else's sweat. The instant "God, why why why did I do that" reaction to my missing wallet cancelled out that pride. Fail #1.

2) The reason I did not bring my other bag to work was that, in an attempt to appear more professional and grown up, I bought a nice new fancy tote-type bag. I did not remember that your possessions do not transfer themselves between your bags by magic. Fail #2.

3) Unlike yesterday, where lunch for trainees was paid for by the company, today we were sent out on our own. Which is problematic without money or a tin cup with which to importune passersby. One hour is not enough time to sell oneself on the street AND get a bite to eat. Fail #3.

4) I was unsure whether the other trainees would suggest a group lunch, thus forcing me to choose between:

a) a fake "oh no, where's my wallet" act at the end of the meal and then borrowing money from people I had only met yesterday

b) admitting that I had no wallet and looking like a sad idiot, potentially prompting someone to pity me and offer to buy me lunch (even worse than choice a)

c) making up a fake lunch date with my dad and hiding somewhere for an hour where none of the others might accidentally see me

Obviously, I chose (c) in the event of an emergency, but decided that I would not pull the ripcord unnecessarily, because as we all know it can lead to disastrous consequences. So, I went into the office, and proceeded to have the eyeballs bored out of my sockets for 2.5 hours. At this point I realized, "Hey, I could actually have lunch with my dad and then I would get to tell the truth for once in my life! Also, I would get to replace skulking in a corner with eating delicious foodityfoods." However, this was also 30 minutes before lunch, and my dad is notoriously difficult to get in touch with. I sent plaintive texts and emails, received no response, and had to go back to plan (c) purely because of my inability to take the mental step from brilliant excuse to feasible real-life plan. Fail #4.

My next thought was, "Heyheyhey, I could also eat some more of the bagels they gave us while everyone else is at lunch!" This plan was instantly squashed when everyone else seemed to be feeling some strange inertia that left them staring into space uncertainly when lunch time rolled around. Not wanting to encounter choices (a) or (b), I ran out.

I then went to Banana Republic to kill time, browsed for a while, forgot that I didn't have money, and tried on some awesome pants that I wanted to buy but then remembered I could not. Fail #5. I left BR and went to Aldo's, this time miraculously remembering that I was penniless and could only be "buy-curious," but I tried on some shoes for the heck of it. I did forget that shoe salesmen are the worst hasslers of all the hassle-pants of the world, and it took a lot of awkward excuses to get me out of the store without being murdered for leaving empty-handed.

Finally, I hit on the failsafe option of browsing Barnes and Noble until it was time to go back. I had a loverly time, and made it back to the office about 5 minutes early, only to find everyone else seated and staring at me as I came in. The snarky middle aged trainee said "Where did you go for lunch? You were gone a long time!" To which I replied that my dad had taken me out for lunch (good thing I thought of plan (c) ahead of time, eh? eh? EH-NO-WAY-JOSE). I proceeded to make that story seem completely implausible by my stomach's audible growling through the next two hours of training, followed by my scarfing a bagel and a muffin in our 5 minute break. This, by the way, prompted an "Oh, you must not have eaten much at lunch!" comment, to which I replied, "Oh muh muh ummm haha what?" Fail #6.

I sit back down to see that my dad has sent me an email saying he wants to take me out to lunch tomorrow (which, by the magical passing of time, is now today). Which means until lunch is over I will be going through a VERY similar situation to that of my last awkfest, in which I dream up all sorts of scenarios in which the whole charade (I pronounce that cha-RAAAHHHD in my head, makes it sound more sophisticated) will be revealed and my carefully crafted professional/sane facade (I pronounce this fa-SAYED, just for counterbalance) will come tumbling down.

Oh, and remember the umbrella? You thought that was just a casual random detail of no significance whatsoever, didn't you? Once again, WRONG. On my way home the wind inverted it and broke two of the spines. Fail #7.

In summary: 7 fails, bagel for lunch, no pretty pants or shoes purchased, one awkward lie told, several awkward sounds emitting from stomach (involuntarily) and mouth (sadly voluntarily). ANNNNDDDDD I'M OUT.

THE UNIVERSE LOVES ME

MY PEOPLE. I have so much to tell you and I don't even know where to begin.

If you have been tuning in regularly, dear reader(s), then you know that I am apprenticed at a lawberdashery, in the hopes of one day becoming a lawsmith myself. In order to aid me in my noble quest I enrolled in some extra-curricular classes. That's a thing people do, right? Right. And I'm a people, so I thought hey, Ima do this thing. I've never taken night classes before--up until now I've been kind of against the idea, all "I know how to read! I don't need one of your fancepancy classeries!"--so what I didn't realize until now was that the value of such classes lies not so much in the hard candy coating that is their ability to get me a good grade on the exam, but rather in the delicious chocolate-caramel center that is the people in the class. [EDIT: hold on now, a hard candy coating surrounding chocolate-caramel? In what kind of wackjob candy store was this class manufactured? Clearly not Wonka-grade.] Well hold on to your hats, because it's like chribirthalentines came early and I scored the 140 piece Gold Ballotin. And I am going to share every truffle and white chocolate starfish with you because that is how much you mean to me. YOU ARE WELCOME IN ADVANCE.

Aside from some legit logistical reasons (HAHA jkjk, I don't have real reasons), I picked this class because of the three that were open to me, the instructor for this one looked the least like that skinny, preppy bitch that I spent most of my college career trying awkwardly to avoid making eye contact with. That girl who was the manager of the men's crew team, and totally did Teach for America and was student government rep and just wanted to let you know that the Winter Wonderland dance was coming up and you should buy tickets because it's going to be so so amazing this year because we're going to have a chocolate fountain and PUNCH IN FACE LADY. Because the only thing I'd enjoy less than shelling out $30 for the privilege of watching you and John Jacob VanWittenheimer grope each other on the dance floor to Ignition (Remix) is shelling out $bajillion to listen to you talk legalspeak at me for four hours straight twice a week for three months in a row. No. thank you. ma'am.

The instructor for my class, on the other handle, looked like the kind of girl who maybe we wouldn't be roommates Sophomore year, but I would definitely be okay with making eye contact with her as we passed each other in front of the library. And I would probably let her use my laundry card for the dryer cycle if she ran out and was in the middle of washing everything on a Wednesday night during finals, because she just didn't have any clean socks. That's the kind of friends/barely acquaintances I decided we would be based solely on her 100x100 profile pic, and since that's exactly the depth of relationship I was looking for in my part-time instructor, I signed right up for her class. BEST CHOICE I EVER MADE.

Here are my honest to god notes from last night:

-Shenanigans?? Best idea ever

-Dogs are awesome (NOT the Jersey Shore)

-Wily

-Mathtimes!

I <3 Language - learn words!

-SMURFS!!!

-She has x-ray vision

-I am not overwhelmed, but I love you

Seriously folks, can you even imagine?? WELL CAN YOU??? Really you had me at shenanigans, and the rest was just gravy on the deliciously narcotic thanksgiving dinner that was the other 3 hours and 55 minutes. You my fine woman, can borrow my laundry card for as long as you like.

Quick side story: at the last place I worked I was cubiclemates with this amazing girl named Erin. We weren't cubicle buddies in that we shared a cubicle, but rather in that we shared a cubicle wall, which is infinitely more entertaining, because we couldn't see each other and you could only hear enough of what the other person was saying to make every conversation hillarious. One day I was sitting at my desk minding my own little business when I heard "Hey! Are you over there facilitating shenanigans??" Game, set, match, Erin. You have just won my friendship for life.

ANYHOO, as if Laundry Buddy wasn't enough to warm my heart and soothe my soul, the universe saw fit to bestow upon me IN ADDITION a room full of the most incoherent, ridunkularious, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed classmates that you could ever hope to set your pretty little eyes on. Seriously, I don't know how these kids got through the fourth grade, let alone how they are fooling themselves that they can make it through any higher education. All I know is that I have been blessed, and I am thankful. Amen.

To illustrate my point, here is an example of an actual interchange between LB and one of these crazyfaces budding attorneys:

LB: So this is the transative property. If A->B and B->C and C->D, then we know that A->D. Let's do an example: if dogs->pets and pets->happy and happy->good, then dogs->good. Any questions on that?

Student: Um yeah, I have a question. Could you write the letters on the example? Because I don't know which one is which. Like which is A and which is B and C and D?

LB: Um....(writes A above "dogs" and B above "pets")...you mean like this?

Student: Oh yeah, like that. Can you do the rest?

Were you dropped on your head as a child, sir? Cuh-learly. If this is giving you trouble, I have a feeling that no amount of night classes is going to be able to save you. Prehaps you would be better served by attending HIGH SCHOOL. And it went on like this. For four hours. Of pure, unadulterated, molten comedy gold. There is so much more to say but I think should put the Godiva box away for now so we can stretch out our delicious prize over the coming weeks, although if this is any indication of how every class is going to be I will just say that you need never worry about the blog running dry, ever, ever, ever, again. Hallelujah.

Equal Opportunity Offenders

My people, my people! I've missed you. Lord knows there's nothing I'd rather be doing than showering the doubloons of my wisdom all over your gruff, mustachioed faces (Topical? OF COURSE I AM), but a girl's gotta eat (read: get spanked by the legal establishment.) I won't bore you with the nitty gritty details of what kept me from your sweet, lovin' arms, but I will say that somebody needs to lighten up just a twee, and that person is the California Civil Court. I gots things to do, Cal. Civ., and frankly I just don't have the time time to be catering to your every ridiculously specific need. I have like, four episodes of Jeopardy on my DVR.

Anyanyanyways, I know we've been belaboring the figure skating motif in the past week, but I just had to bring you the results of last night's Ice Dancing competition, because HOW COULD I NOT? For those of you not slurping up every second of Olympic coverage like the sweet lifemilk it is, last night was the second of the three Ice Dancing components: Compulsory Dance, Original Dance, and Free Dance. It's worth pointing out at this point that of the four figure skating medal events (Pairs, Ice Dancing, Men's & Women's) ONLY Ice Dancing has three components. This is obviously because the IOC knows that what I need in my life is MORE ICE DANCING. MORE! MORE! MORE!

Some team is winning (I think they're Canadian) and everyone else is losing, but who cares about that. The question you should be asking yourself right now is: What was the (un)official theme of last night's griping, edge-of-your-bedazzled-seat Original Dance showcase? Don't worry, I am one step ahead of you loyal reader(s). Without further ado I present to you a recap of:

Offending Everyone: My Culture AND Yours.

Now here's how I think this happened. I imagine being the only division in your sport that doesn't feature death-defying throws, jumps, spins, and lifts can get a little...disheartening. (read: embarrassing.) It's gotta be a little like being the red-headed stepchild of the royal family: you're never going to get noticed unless you cause a little trouble, and that was clearly the inspirational message all the ice dancing teams had written in capital sharpie letters over their dressing-room mirrors before last night's competition. But how to do?  Easy peasy puddin' and pie. What gets you more media attention than anything else? That's right, children: racism.

Here is how the game was played. First each team chose an overall strategy: performing an outlandish (and mildly offensive) caricature of its own country OR performing an outlandish (and moderately to extremely offensive) caricature of a different country. Georgia, Italy, Czech Republic, Estonia, Japan, Ukraine, and Israel were on Team A, playing it safe by choosing to do self-parodies; in my opinion the much less hilarious option. The Italians did an "Italian Dance", the Japanese did a "Japanese Dance," &c. BORING. Estonia did something called "Polka, Waltz, Polka" which seems like it could be their national dance, so I'm going to assume that it is. The best of this category BY FAR was the Israeli team though, who did a "Traditional Jewish Dance" to the merry tune of Hava Nagila. I kid you not. I wish I could say that this was an inspired reworking of a Hebrew classic, but that would be a lie. It was a dude in a yamacha and a girl waving a white napkin confirming everyone's suspicious that Jews spend all their time dancing the hora and wearing funny hats. You're not supposed to know!!

HOWEVER, any old Johnny Ice Dancer can choreograph a crude mockery of his own culture; it takes real kahones to lace up your skates and show everyone that you are not afraid to be brazenly racist on international television. Canada, the US, Russia, France, Britain, China, and Germany all know this, and they came to win. Was anyone surprised Germany made the list? Anyone? No? Good. The Germans get a bye, because well, they're Germans, and who can blame them. More of a shocker was China, who inexplicably chose to do a Greek dance in outfits that looked suspiciously Chinese. Because nothing goes together so well as tiny Asian skaters and traditional Greek peasants. Natch.

To conclude, I'm going to leave you with the Top 5 Most Awesomefensive Dances of the evening. Each of these teams brought their own country's special brand of prejudice to the international games, and they all worked hard to secure the top prize. Sadly, only one team can take home the gold:

5. Canada
Both of the Candian teams did a Flamenco dance, which lets be honest is not really offensive to anyone. It looks pretty, it's a real dance, and who is going to protest? Spain? Please.



4. France
France was actually split--one of their pairs did a Can Can, so technically that puts them in Team A, but they made the Top 5 because team number deux decided to take it down south and go country strong. I'm not sure what les frances think goes on at a rodeo, but I think they might have their American cultural symbols confused.



3. Britain
The U.K. also brought the Dixie jamboree, but they beat out France for the no. 3 spot on authenticity. Not only did they go country, they went country trash. For. the. win. The plot of this dance was as follows: Boy drives truck to rest stop. Boy picks up girl at said rest stop. Boy rides girl like a truck. Did I mention they're brother and sister?



2. The U.S.

Of course 'murica wasn't just going to sit back and let any of those crazy foreigners run away with the Gold! BOTH American teams set their eyes on the prize and singled out crazydiculous foreign traditions to shame and dishonor. The team of Davis/White, a.k.a. the Whitest Crackers in All Christendom,  went all out on an Indian theme:

While the more experienced team of Belbin/Agosto went for the gut with a crafty send up of...Moldovia?



Okay, I know this is all about mocking the unfamiliar, but seriously, what? Perhaps if you had picked a more recognizable and/or recognizable at all culture to mock, you would've taken first place, but now you're going to have to settle for silver WHICH MEANS that the number one spot goes to...

1. Russia

Of course it does. I was prepared for this, but I was not prepared for this. Apparently Domnina & Shabalin changed their costumes for the Olympics, but can you tell? Does it even matter? This routine debuted in January, and it caused a whole mess o' controversy then, but that didn't stop the Soviets from rolling into the Olympics and throwing it down like a cold war nuke. If anything, that probably encouraged them. Mother Russia, back down? Nyet. It is beautiful dance, no? Wonderful costumes, no? Da! Because in Soviet Russia, Ice Dancing offends you.

More Clowns!!!

Just a quick update this morning. There may or may not be another post in the works later on, but I just had to keep you all in the loop. So as you know, clowns are the best. Also, the Olympics pretty much rock my socks. When you combine the two, it's so fantastic it's almost unbearable. Of course, after the euphoria I experienced when the German pair clown-suited up, I figured there was nowhere for the rest of the Games to go for me but down. WRONG!!

Last night, the former-Brazilian-orphan-then-adopted-by-a-French-family men's figure skater Florent Amodio decided to up the ante: not only did he dress as a clown (complete with tears painted on his face), he also skated to music from Amelie. Hold the phone, A FRENCH CLOWN with French music? Be still, my beating heart! I am like 80% in love with this guy already. Now, apparently he was supposed to be a marionette, but come on now, you're not fooling anyone. Unconvinced? You be the judge.

Thank you Florent! Thank you.

OMG Twilight and Vampires SPAZZZZZ

To begin, I would like to offer the March Hare's and my apologies for being somewhat remiss in posting frequency this week. Things have been going crazypants on the home front, including but not limited to Harester having to work like a bitch [EDIT: YES MA'AM]. I have less of an excuse, other than general laziness and the desire to fill my days with eating noodles and taking naps (seriously, how happy does that family look?). However, we hope to make up for reduced frequency with increased awesomeness. Now I know what you're thinking: is that even possible? We don't know either, but we're going to give it our best shot.

OK, so here begins my first post of staggering genius. My theme for today was inspired by a YouTube video I found while Facebook stalking someone I haven't spoken to in at least 10 years (don't judge me, you all do it). The video was of this rando British boy summarizing and reading selected quotes from chapter 2 of Twilight, the first in an incredibly badly written and simultaneously addictive series of books about how OMG vampires are like totally the best EVER. So far he has done clips for chapters 1-7 and I would highly recommend them to both Twilight virgins and whores alike. Have I piqued your interest? Well, just watch his summary for chapter 1. (FYI: each video starts with an inexplicably unrelated random video clip, just power through)

I completely agree with everything this dude says. Yes, it's a ridiculous plot, ridiculous characters, ridiculous writing. What does that make the book slash series overall? I suppose intellectually my response would have to be riDONKulous (as we all know, 1 donk = 3 dics; basic math guys). However, in the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that I have read not just Twilight but the entire series (excuse me! SAGA, not series. While the four books, totaling over 2500 pages, probably don't fulfill most definitions of the word saga, they are for sure the epitome of "a long detailed account," so I guess technically I can't quibble about word choice here). Despite a healthy sense of shame, I managed to plough through those four "books" in the space of about two weeks. Why? Because I just HAD to know what would happen next. Stephenie (way to have an originally spelled name, lady) Meyer may write like a fourth grader, but to give her props - she knows how to spread a short story's worth of plot into twice the length of War and Peace. She's like a literary Stretch Armstrong.

So I can understand the fascination this holds for tweens (OMG, the hottest guy in school is in love with me! OMG, I thought I was ugly but it turns out I am super duper hot and EVERYONE is in love with me! OMGOMGOMG I'm a vampire now and I'm eighty times hotter than I was before!!!). But at the same time I think it's terrible that such drivel has generated so much fascination, interest, and money. I also don't understand this whole Robert Pattinson aka RPatz/Kristen Stewart aka KStew obsession. Granted, I've only seen parts of the first movie, but that was because the acting was so terrible I kept skipping forward hoping to see something a little steamy (which as we know, is a true rarity in Twilight, unless you count descriptions of Edward's cold-as-ice marble skin - sexy, right??). Maybe it's just me, but the concept of some dude who is super pale and has freezing cold skin and who can't bang you because he would kill you just doesn't do it for me. You know what does? Yeah, that's right. What, pray tell, is so attractive about the "I wear guyliner, never wash my hair, and don't go out in the sun" look?

This brings up a more general trend with which I take issue: somehow vampires are the new skinny jeans - they are everywhere and are rarely if ever a good idea. Seriously, W(hy)T(he)F(ace)?? I watch True Blood, and I enjoy it, but I don't understand why a bona fide hottie like Anna Paquin would date (either in fiction or in real life), someone as lame and blah-tacular as Stephen Moyer. Especially when the HBO makeup artists seem to interpret "pale" as "some weird shade of grey that looks like someone threw ash in your face." Seriously, if you're going for pale, I'm pretty sure Michael Jackson had a good guy (too soon for the MJ jokes? I'm never sure about these things...).

I'm not even going to attempt to list the multitude of vampire-related things that have emerged recently. Frankly, I don't have the time or the energy, and I'd much much rather do this. In general, I would just like to say this: when somebody wants to drink your blood, it's probably a better idea to stake them through the heart than to try to suck face. Just a suggestion.

Send in the Clowns

So surprise! I showed up to work today and they actually gave me some work to do. While I am busy as a legal beagle, please refer to the following video:

And you're welcome.

I Love Clowns

Before I start in on the actual subject of this post, I have two random-ish gripes to bring up based on events of my day. 1) How is it that there are so many people in this city who cannot walk up (or down) stairs faster than one step per minute? Some days it seems like there are millions of people with knees so bad they have to pull themselves up by the handrail and put both feet on every step. This bothers me the most on the bus, which I have to take to get to work, and which takes 20 minutes at every stop because each of the people waiting needs 5 minutes to get on (they're already kneeling buses, people! The first step is like an inch from the ground). Is this an exercise deficiency problem? Or some sort of nutritional thing that affects joints? WHY is no one capable of using stairs effectively/efficiently???

2) I saw a group of 5 pre-teen girls wearing tights as pants, while simultaneously wearing seventeen layers each on their upper bodies. It looked something (well to be honest, EXACTLY) like this. Honey, if you're so cold that you have to bundle up like Nanook of the North just to keep your Prada bag from hitting the ground when your arm falls off from frostbite, maybe (and I'm only saying MAYBE here) you should put on some real pants.

OK, now that I've vented I can get on to the real deal; let's face it, clowns are where it's at. First of all - I was inspired to write this post because of the pairs figure skating short program in the Olympics that was on last night. Don't watch the Olympics? A) Shame on you! B) You missed the most artistic, creative, and masterful performance of Olympic history. For realsies. No, I am not talking about the Chinese team who came out of retirement to chase Olympic gold, and whose performance was, as mandated (read: punishment for failure is 2 years hard labor) by the Chinese government, flawlessly synchronized and technically perfect. I am referring to the true genius of the German duo, Savchenko and Szolkowy, who, in a spectacularly successful effort to top these costumes (fluorescent futuristic robots?), skated while dressed as clowns. YES THEY DID. As the March Hare can attest, I immediately freaked out when I saw them. I was hoping they were French, and when we discovered they were German I was even more excited because, let's face it, the only thing better than a French clown is a German one (obviously German clowns are naked, because that's just how they roll over there). I was in a complete tizzy waiting to watch their routine, and while I think it could have been a lot more clowny/circusy (although their music was "Send in the Clowns" - I never would have guessed!) I was so thrilled by the fantastisch theme that I really couldn't have cared less.

This brings me to my point: I love clowns. I mean a "this is the most ridiculous thing in the world" kind of love. I loved it when Cam dressed up as a clown in Modern Family (if you don't watch it, get yourself a double order of shame with a side of lamesauce). Now let it be said that I don't understand their purpose, and as a big-footed individual I've always resented the idea that having huge feet is funny (same with the ugly stepsisters in Cinderella who had big feet - how revolting!). However, for whatever reason, they make me laugh. I've never really been able to understand people who are afraid of clowns - what could be less threatening than this? Or this? Or this? OK, maybe that last one is a bad example. But still, what's the deal? They're smiling, they've got balloons and bike horns and big round bellies, they ride unicycles, what's not to love?

Don't get me wrong, I'm no stranger to irrational fears. I personally am afraid of spiders. I don't like the way their legs move and even the tiniest spider within a 20 foot radius of me must either be moved or I will run away. This fear doesn't translate to creepy crawly things in general - just yesterday I had cockroach squashing duty, while Harester took up the housewife-who-just-saw-a-mouse-and-jumps-on-the-table position (I don't know what that picture's about, but it's awesome). [EDIT: HEY HEY HEY. Don't misrepresent. Here is a photo of what actually happened. I also like to vacuum in my pearls.]But it seems to me (maybe irrationally, I'm not an objective judge of myself) that being afraid of weird gross little bugs with too many legs for their own good is way more normal than being afraid of a big jolly dude named Bozo. But who am I to say? In fact, at one point in my life I told someone (whose identity escapes me now) that I was afraid of clowns because I thought it made me sound unique and cool. Yeah, I was that kind of awkward. Probably still am, to be honest.

I am no longer afraid to admit that I love clowns. They make no sense, and they are ridiculous, but they make me laugh in the same way that this does. I can't explain it, but there's a general subcategory of "things that are borderline stupid" that tickle my funnybone in a pleasing way. So please, nations of the world - follow Germany's lead and integrate clown culture into all aspects of life! For example, we could have clown chefs cooking at clown-themed restaurants! Wouldn't that be spectacular? I would love it anyway, and when all is said and done, my opinion should be the only one that counts.

What the Eph?

So my plan for today was to regale you with an elaborate fantasy I had recently involving international espionage, European royalty, and Matt Damon, but I was sidetracked during the first paragraph (surprised? I didn't think so) when I googled "friendly neighborhood child psychologist." SO NO FANTASY TODAY OKAY?? Okay.

If you are a regular guest on our show it should be pretty clear at this point that I enjoy  nothing more than a good google. I waste invest a goodly amount of time every day plugging things into my browser's search bar and eagerly sifting through what comes up. So far this month I have learned about lil wayne's mysterious tooth ailment, smack heroin, old jail art center, and Vice Admiral James Stockdale. (Damn you Trivia Dave.) I also enjoy a good incoherent website, and when those two worlds collide, watch out, because shit gets magical.

So instead of exploring the wondrous world of my idle imagination, boys and girls, today I'd like to take you on a guided tour of this bag of words. Let's a-start at the beginning:

EphBlog, Your UNofficial source for All Things Eph!

Solid opening, as it raises many questions, right off the bat. Like what is an Eph? And how many Eph things can there possibly be? Apparently the answer to that second question is, enough that the internet requires BOTH an official and an UNofficial source just to contain them all. More pressingly, if there is so much Eph flowing through the internets, how come I am just now hearing about it? Well friends, lets go ahead and mozie (mozy? mowzee? mowgli?) on over to the EphBlog FAQ to see what we've all been missing:

What is EphBlog’s motto?

All Things Eph. This is a three word summary about how many of us think about EphBlog. The motto should be interpreted as broadly as possible. We are interested in anything and everything related to any Eph. Of course, there is a sense in which this is impossibly broad. Since Ephs are everywhere and involved in everything, it would be hard to come up with a topic that was not Eph-related somehow.

EPHS ARE EVERYWHERE AND INVOLVED IN EVERYTHING. Okay, after reading that I'm not going to lie, I feel like I'm about 30% on my way to joining a cult. Weird homepage? Check. Ridiculously vague but megalomaniacal mission statement? Chiggety check check. At this point I think it's time to consult our trustydusty copy of thefreedictionary.com to find out the real deal Happy Meal. Which apparently is that Ephs are elderly biblical hydrocarbon surprise attack epidemiologist bankers farming with persistant headaches (incidentally I bet that their headaches would improve if they switched from energy pattern healing to Aleve). Thanks internet, I know you got my back. MOVING ON:

David : Fourteen Fun Facts (4) Child Psychologist

Okay. Before we get down to any psochologistry, I need some clarification. Are there fourteen facts or four (4)? Or is this the fourth in a series called 'Fourteen Fun Facts'? Or maybe the (4) is a clever reference to the fact that the number '4' and the word 'for' sound exactly alike! Hehehe so clever, David, I bet that's why they call you 'Fourteen Fun Facts (4) Child Psychologist.'

“How else are we to shape the hearts and minds of future Ephs if not by publicly praising behavior which is good and criticizing behavior which is bad?” … David in a recent comment

And welcome back to the fold, my brother. Definitely a cult. Still not convinced? Check out this totally normal and not at all child molestery mugheadshot:

'I can psychology the pants off your chillens! (Figuratively and probably also literally)' Is what David is obviously trying to say with this picture, as clearly evidenced by the juxtaposition of a) old-timey cover of which all I can see is someone wielding a baseball bat under the (presumable) title 'Children the Challenge.' (Editor's Note: I checked it out on Amazon and full title: "Children: The Challenge: The Classic Work on Improving Parent-Child Relations--Intelligent, Humane & Eminently Practical." Excerpt: "On every side and in every gathering, children make themselves obtrusive and obnoxious" Conclusion: AMAZING) and b) weirdly pixelated picture of David? resting his head at a jaunty angle. This looks EXACTLY like the kind of friendly neighborhood child psychologist I was looking for when I decided to find my child's new therapist on the interwebs! And that kind is blurry, hates children, and lives in his mom's basement.

David is an eminent child psychologist! And he is using ephblog as a ‘natural consequence’.
 
Well now, somebody is feelin' mighty proud of himself. It's probably because he went and got himself one of those collegiate-type degrees I'm always seeing advertised on the T.V.  I was thinking about calling that toll-free number myself on account of I clearly don't have enough edumacation yet to understand this doctorman's jibberjabber.

The two-parter:

a. Do you think ephblog is an appropriate tool for shaping the minds of future ephs or do you think this David’s super-ego talking?

b. What do you think of ‘the family constellation’ as an operative? Maybe you were raised with this book at the family meetings, maybe you are using it now.

Let me answer your two-parter with another two-parter (touche!) 

a. Didn't you read the motto? Isn't that EXACTLY what ephblog is appropriate for? Because it sure as sherbet isn't appropriate for anything else.

b. Huhwha? I think the more likely possibility is maybe you didn't get enough hugs as a child.

Aaaaaaaand scene. There you have it. I'm not sure what else to say, except that thank god for Al Gore, because these are the kinds of things that make my life worth living.

Word That Is Awesomely German (W.A.G.) #1

Hello, dear readers! As mentioned in my introductory post, I am instituting a regular feature on SUWA which will heretofore be called "Word that is Awesomely German," or WAG for short (pronounced "vag" for authentic Germanity, or "vaj" if you wish to make it both Germanish and a high-larious reference to one's beaver). I will also be penning these posts using random bits of Germenglish spelling - e.g. capitalizing all nouns and copious ümlaüts (purely for amusement's sake).

So, here we go! In Light of the March Hare's Post yesterday, I think this is a great Opportunity to debut WAG, since the Germans are more fond of Snow and wandering around in the Cold than anyone else in the World. Take as Evidence this Phenomenon. If Germans can hike the Alps in their Geburtstaganzüge, then we New Yorkers can go to School/Work when there is merely a Gesprinkeling of Snow. (Sidenote: Geburtstaganzüge is not technically a word, despite fitting the spirit of German wordage quite well. The German equivalent of "birthday suit" is das Adamskostüm/Eveskostüm. You know, just in case you get the opportunity to use it - and if you ever go to Germany, I guarantee that it will come up).

So! We begin! The first Word I have chosen for you WAGers to enjoy is: Schnurrbart. A Schnurrbart is also known as a Mustache. In Deutsch, ein Bart is a Beard, and Schnurr means String. Therefore, ein Schnurrbart = a Stringbeard.

I like this Word for many Reasons. The first is: it sounds fünny. The second is: it exemplifies the typische (this word, pronounced in German, is "TOO-peesh-uh" - this shit never ends) German Practice of multiple-word-compounding to a level so far past incomprehensible that it's basically just gibberish. The third is: I like Mustaches/Stringbeards. They amuse me, for what I would hope are obvious Reasons (if not, I am planning on writing a Post on the Awesomeness of Stringbeards later on - prepare yourselves). The föurth and final Reason is: when we learned this Word in German Klass, I literally LOL'ed, and instead of being reprimänded by mein German Teacher, he smiled and said, "Ja, it is funny Vord, no?" At the Point where even the Germans find Something amusing, it's gotta be CRÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄZY.

That is it for WAG number eins! Danke for your kind Attention, meine Freunden. It is time to celebrate this Momentous Occasion by eating some Schnitzel mit Sauerkraut and topping it off with ein Kaltes Bier. Bis später!