hast du etwas Zeit fuer mich??

I received my acceptance into the German language program in Kassel this past week. I was on cloud nine for about 12 hours before reality sunk in. I leave in two months. In that two month period it's already set in stone that I'll have finals, my research project, birthdays, graduations, communions, Bamboozle and MY birthday. This is not a lot of time. I am little stressed. I really shouldn't be, this is an amazing opportunity, but I'm overwhelmed with my school work alone nevermind the other day to day happenings that I deal with. Now I need to worry about the rest of my registration, orientation here in the states, meeting with a travel agent while surfing the interwebs for good airfare, meeting with financial aid and trying to get a sallie mae loan to make this all a wee bit easier on my purse strings for the moment and figuring out what the hell I pack so I don't look like a complete American idiot.

My parents, secretly aware of my abject poverty, took a train in to see me yesterday and bring groceries. It was a beautiful thing. My mom also brought me some crochet hooks and yarn and I've been making adorable headbands instead of doing my American Legal Systems midterm (that's due tomorrow). Priorities. It makes me feel a bit like Hello Kitty and that's always a lovely thing to feel.

I found the pattern HERE. Awesome blog!! I'm hooking myself up with some knitted handwarmers as soon as I finish out this blog. Again, I'm completely avoiding my midterm and all of the things I need to get done for Germany simply because I'm overwhelmed. How typical of me.

All things good.

--I never published this blog for some reason--

(THURSDAY MARCH NINETEENTH)

It's a rather cold and rainy day here in Gotham. I'm sitting here, staring out onto the soggy masses trudging along Lexington Ave. and feeling completely overwhelmed one moment and underwhelmed the next. There's an older gentleman in his office across the street with the whitest hair I have ever seen. It's like a beacon shining through this overcast gloom.I wonder if my hair will turn that white when I'm old or if it'll be wiry and salt and pepper. I'll be quite the tattooed granny me thinks. I hope have grandchildren. Lots of them, like my Nannie...or a Weasley.

My mind has been on overdrive lately. I feel like something in my life is missing and that this isn't where I'm supposed to be. I've once again become a vegetarian and for the first time it's based on ethical reasoning. The idea of eating another living thing just seems odd, the way they are farmed is barbaric and unsanitary and it's completely destroying out planet. The statistics are mind boggling and I can't ignore them any longer. The switch however is running concurrent with my annual Spring detox. My body is purging itself of these harmful wastes double time and I feel as sick as a dog. Every year I forget how miserable a detox initially makes you feel.


A few floors up there's a gentleman hanging his head out of an open window. I wonder what he's thinking about, if he's feeling as --whelmed as I am, if he's also scared of the future and the follicular changes it will bring. City living can make you feel mighty small sometimes. You begin to cling to any shred of connectivity with another being that you can find. A pigeon just landed on the windowsill and is staring quite intensely at me. Either that or he sees his reflection and is as vain as the rest of this city. I think I humanize animals too much. I blame cartoons.

There's this girl in my two evening classes that I've been observing since the beginning of the semester. The poor thing takes herself so seriously that I think she could turn coal to diamonds with her bum alone. I want to know what goes on in her head, what makes her tick. She likes to read really, really intense books, always making sure you can see the cover or spine and then laughs to herself. I suppose my use of "observe" is a little off as I find myself a bit obsessed with her. She took to shooting down all of my comments in lecture and I was immediately hooked. I suppose I've been so riveted by her because I am waiting for her to fail or make a fool of herself. Something, anything to break her facade because no man (or woman) is indeed an island. I need her to prove to me that she's human, but I don't know why. Strange, isn't it?

I had to write an essay about Opa for a $1000 grant to study in Germany. The dead grandfather card is always a good angle. As I wrote it though, I began to get really angry that her didn't uphold more customs and traditions and that he died so young. I'm not sure why I seemingly identify solely with my German heritage, perhaps because it's the biggest part of me or where I have the strongest living ties, but shouldn't being an American be enough? Shouldn't that make me whole?

Heavens I suck at blogging. The only reason I’m doing it now is to avoid the mountain of homework that’s sitting next to me.

The past month or so has been all consumed by school and a gnarly stomach virus. However, I did finally see Flogging Molly in concert and let me tell you, it might have been the best concert of my life. Yes, seeing David Bowie and Billy Joel were momentous moments but, there’s something about concerts at Madison Square Garden that always fall a bit short. I think it’s a lack of intimacy. Music is so passionate that when there’s any kind of disconnect it all becomes rather blasé, it’s still good, but could be so much better. Much like sex.

I’ve also figured out that if I take two summer class I’ll be right on target to graduate next Spring. It’s all very surreal. The prospect of graduation is so foreign that I can’t quite wrap my head around it.

Walking home from school the other night a woman in a motorcycle helmet and leather came out of a side door on 5th Ave. and scared the piss out of me. My schemata went berserk as I tried to figure out what she was and I distinctly remember placing her as the Repo Man from Repo! The Genetic Opera, a Nazi and a riot control officer. This all happened in a period of about 2 seconds and I must have noticeably flinched or gasped (probably both) because she stopped to look at me. Three blocks later my heartbeat returned to normal and my head was clear enough to realize that I am indeed, losing my mind.

My parents sent in groceries for me with a family friend today. I’ve never been so excited over a jar of mayonnaise before. Dancing along the borders of abject poverty does very strange things to a person.

All things good

In rereading a blog from a week or so ago I came across the typo, “who’ve I’ve.” Most typos, while irritating don’t quite embarrass me, but this one’s a whopper and while I thought something was off about it, I didn’t necessarily pick it up right away. All I really can say right now is, “thank you Eastport for the fine education.”

Speaking of education (oh how I love a good segue!)… this semester may in fact lead to my untimely demise. Monday had me LOOKING FORWARD to going to German. Droll professors, ridiculous amounts of work, a sprint up 10 flights of stairs in order to make it to American Law on time… UGH! I haven’t even finished out my first week and I’m already pulling my hair out. On the plus side my 19th Century American Social History professor is pretty much me in 20 years. She’s primarily a 19th century NYC social historian and I started reading her book on foundlings and I’m in love. It’s the only class I’m super stoked about and thank god it’s the only class I have to write a gigantic research paper for. A research paper in which I can choose any 19th century topic that I want… this is not work for me, this is simply a night of curious inquiry. God, I’m pathetic.

I’ll keep this short and on the topic of education I suppose. I must depart now and go talk about the French Revolution with a professor that I’m pretty sure was, in fact at the Congress of Vienna. Then I’m going to sell a kidney on the black market so I can buy my books. True story.

All things good.

What's in a Name?

SCHMIDT

Surname Origin: German
Definition: An occupational surname for "blacksmith" or "metalworker," from the German word "schmied." The German equivalent of the English surname SMITH.

I need to address this growing phenomenon of my friends thinking me Jewish because I just don't understand it. This is not an 'at first glance' situation either. It's only starting to emerge years into friendship and I'm boggled. Have they simply not been listening as I've been regaling them with stories of teaching Catechism or my brief misadventures in Catholic school?

Many fall back on the old, "well Schmidt's a Jewish last name." SINCE WHEN? Yes, I know that due to persecution most German Jews changed their surnames many times over the centuries, but the closest to Jewish Schmidt has ever come is with "Goldschmidt." My last name IS NOT Goldschmidt. Is it simply because Schmidt is German? If that's the case why not think me spawned from the Nazi party? I am, after all a huge supporter of Socialism! Because that's pretty much what you're getting at, "oh well, she's got to be a Jew because she's too nice to be a Nazi." We all know that's what us Americans think about Germany; it's just the land of Nazis, Jews and David Hasselhoff sympathizers.

Then there's the ever popular "you just sound Jewish." What does a Jew sound like? Is this because I'm from Long Island? Yes, I know I have a disgusting accent and lay on the guilt whenever possible but this, I don't think, should be used as proof of my ethnic origins. I'm merely from Long Island and with that being said, why don't you think I'm Italian and Catholic? If you did that at least you'd be half right. Is it because I don't flat iron my hair, sausage my fat rolls into too tight clothing and proudly shout "JAEGAHBOMBS!!!" when I go out?

I'm also a fan of, "you speak Jewish." Oh, I do, do I? What language is Jewish exactly? Because I can tell you for certain I know naught of anything Hebraic. Is this in reference to my copious use of Yiddish? My exclamations of "OY VEY!" when I'm frustrated? Again, I must draw your attention to the fact that I use "Madonna mia!" just as frequently and I am NOT Italian. I'm from Long Island, folks, a place where both of these ethnic groups are so highly concentrated that it's nearly impossible for one to grow up in such an environment and escape untouched.

Also, my first name is Brittney. BRITTNEY. A name that didn't even become popular until the 1980's. In the Jewish faith it is customary (though not Jewish law) to name your child after a recently departed loved one or a living relative, depending on whether the family be Ashkenazic or Sephardic Jews respectively. Yes it's not law, yes there are those who don't follow this practice but, for anyone who's seen Fiddler on The Roof, you know Judaism is all about TRADITION. There is nothing traditional about the name Brittney, not even the spelling.

Perhaps I take for granted the fact that there are more Jews per square mile in NYC than in Israel and that I've grown up with Jewish friends and spent a lot of time in Jewish households but, I just don't see how so many people have mistaken my ethnic identity. Especially people who've known me for years!

Genetic Opera and a New Year Resolution

Oh what a horrible blogger I am. It's not that I don't have anything to say, it's simply that everything to say seems too inconsequential to be littering the interwebs. Oh dear, perhaps it's time for me to put on The Cure and whine some more about feeling insignificant. Where did this all come from? I'm appalled.

Let's turn this post around before I get emo about the new year and talk about something a smidge more upbeat. Friday night we bundled up and ran to the Port Authority to catch a bus to New Jersey. Why, you may ask? Well let me explain; for one night, a cinema in Rutherford was showing "Repo! The Genetic Opera" and there was no way in hell we were missing it again. So, after almost missing our bus and 45 minutes of standing in the blistering cold all while singing Vanessa Hudgens' 'Sneakernight' to keep our minds off of the onsetting hypothermia we were finally settled into the equally frigid venue and giddy with anticipation. (Yes, I'm aware that saying we were giddy makes us look like douchetools but, you can't hide from the truth.)

This movie has been on our radar for quite some time now and I'm not sure why we didn't go and see it when it was released here, but again, we're douchetools, simple as that. We may or may not have illegally downloaded it though. THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT -- point is that this movie is BRILLIANT. Do you know how you can tell? When something stirs up such a rabid fanbase that people show up in costume and begin to form shadowcasts, that's the markings of something lasting and brilliant. Like pretty much everyone else who've I've talked to about this movie, I agree that it's well on its way to being the RHPS for a new generation. It's been a while since us outcasted little freaks had something of this magnitude to cling to.

It's out on DVD Tuesday, go buy it. Even if it's just to watch Paris Hilton's face fall off.

Now on to other matters.

The holidays are finally over, the new year has begun, we get a new President this week and I feel no different than I did previously. Talk about a bummer. I should be excited or at least a bit more upbeat, no? When did I become such a cynic? When did I let the man get me down? Regardless, January is already on its way out and I only have another week before school starts up again. Let's see if I can turn this frown upside down.

As far as resolutions go, I guess I don't really make resolutions as much as set goals. Hmm, that doesn't make sence seeing as a resolution is essentially a goal so nevermind. Last years resolution was to procure and master the ukulele. I'm glad to say It was accomplished before May and I spent the rest of the year annoying and amusing all those around me. This years resolution will be learning to yodel. Why you ask? Well, why not? It's slightly more obnoxious than the uke and what a great party trick it will be!

I was driving behind a “Nugent and Potter” delivery truck Friday afternoon and I cannot even begin to express the mirth I got from the mental image that soon followed. There before me, in the empty white space of the door, suddenly appeared the most glorious picture of Ted Nugent and Harry Potter, arms slung around the others shoulder, bright smiles and thumbs up. I’m not quite sure what kind of business the two would have with each other but, I can only assume it would phenomenal and rather lucrative, especially since they base themselves in the Hamptons.

Now I’m sitting here on the LIRR, preparing myself for the start of another week and wondering where the past 3 months have gone. I divide my time between Gotham and Superbia, I divide my emotions between relative pleasantry and maniacally depressed, I divide my levels of motivation between little and completely nonexistent. It’s the doldrums of life at their finest, I suppose. I’d really just like to feel something other than this for a little while. I think it’s the change of season, or maybe it’s the holidays and the sinking realization that if I don’t start a family soon it’s going to just be me and my parents within a few years. I miss the big gatherings, I miss the camaraderie. Maybe it’s my own fault though, I’m very good at self imposed hermitry after all.

I always thought I’d do big things, make a name for myself and change the world but, now none of that seems important. I just want a home life, a spouse, a bunch of children and a couple of cats. I want the neighborhood kids banging at my door to see if my children can play, I want block parties, PTA bake sales, soccer mom carpool duties. I want Superbia and everything I’ve continually tried to run from and that scares the pants off of me.

That being said:

Dear Santa,

Please return me to my proper state of mind this Christmas. This is getting a bit ridiculous. If this isn’t enough notice please forward my request to the Easter Bunny.

All things good.