It feels like American culture has been explained on a phone with a bad connection. As if the Transatlantic Cable is getting a bit shabby, subtly changing words and letters, making ideas put in at one end come out differently on the other. Like a game of, well, telephone. […]
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I love pork. When I found out we’d be moving to Munich, the first thing that popped into my head was the scene from the musical inside the musical The Producers, “Springtime for Hitler,” where a scantily-clad dancer saunters down the stage wearing a 6-foot bratwurst on her head. Heaven. But even someone who eats ham religiously has their faith in the snouted saint tested here. Bavarians go hog wild for pig. […] As I sat, and read, and listened, trains came and went, percussion coming in on cue, every three minutes. My train came and went as I sat, and read, and listened. Reading with Mozart and my daughter, time marked by the rhythm of the trains; it was a small moment, small beauty, in an unexpected place–Euope’s specialty. […] What would you give up for a year off work to raise your children? What would you be like when you returned? German parents face this question with every trip to the maternity ward, and their answers are more complicated than you might think. […] The journey from loving, adoring father to crazed, frazzled lunatic, it turns out, is about as long as the ride from Universität station in downtown München to Olympiazentrum, where we live. We rode the U-bahn home today, after a long day out with Ella. Laura and I were exhausted, and Ella was fussy. It had […] |
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