Du hast shmacked

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Flag of Germany  ,
Saturday, February 25, 2006

"Du hast shmacked," I said to the waitress, after she asked me how the meal was. She smiled and laughed a bit. I assumed it was because of my horrible attempt at German. This was sort of true.

Mr. Springsteen (*) shook his head sadly at my confusion, as she walked away. "Good going genius. You just told her she was tasty." I had been, of course, attempting to say the meal was tasty, but well, I'm new at this language, having only Mr. Springsteen's sporadic German lessons to go on. Add sleep deprivation and two or three glasses of beer to that, and things are bound to get ugly. I will now ask for a rewrite of any and all "how to talk to women" texts. They are all lies! The real secret, as I found out, is to have no clue as to what you are saying. I was completely and utterly charming right up until realizing what I had said. Only then did I have to fight the rudolf-like signal of fluster that could guide an entire convoy of Santa's sleighs.

It has been a long run, my friends, and after being up since Friday morning with maybe a couple of hours of sleep, my brain is simply not in the condition to pick up languages. Nor much else for that matter. I have entrusted it all to Mr. Springsteen, who once lived here for a year, and thus actually knows what's what to an extent. Hopefully with proper rest, I can star picking up landmarks, etc. that will be useful in becoming a little more self-reliant. I've just been being lazy this trip. It's nice to not have to think about that stuff every so often.

And so, with day one under my belt (well, really, day one and two, as I never really seemed to see the true end of Friday and the true beginning of Saturday), I have picked up a little German, unkowingly tried to pick up a German waitress, have seen the airports of Toronto, Munich, and Dresden (ooh, ahh!), and am settling down for a long deserved rest in suprisingly spacious lodgings. I sort of feel like I'm living in an IKEA storefront, but they are quite nice.

(*) I am quite free with my misadventures, but I also believe in protecting the anonymity of the innocent - or not so innocent, as the case may be - but the third parties, nevertheless... and so, I will refer to only the mysterious Mr. Springsteen, who, of course, is not Bruce.
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