E. and I were in the supermarket the weekend that our kitchen was being renovated, because, after Chinese food we both had an irrational craving for ice cream - and where else can you find it in the middle of January? Next to the ice cream freezer in our PLUS market is, logically, the housewares aisle, and that's where we noticed the energy-efficient light bulbs being offered on the cheap.
Finding a compact fluorescent bulb for sale at the chaotic, convenience-oriented drop-out prices discounter around the corner is a little like finding a Williams and Sonoma sale catalogue in the waiting room of a free clinic. Imagine hearing this in a 7-11:
"I'll have a Big Gulp, a corn dog, and a HighPower 4-Watt soft glow light bulb."
"Your total is 12.77."
So of course we nestled them into our shopping basket. PLUS may be an unusual place to find elite consumer goods, but we needed lightbulbs, and we stood to save a handful of cash by buying them from an unusual supplier. We swam contently in the knowledge that discount doesn't have to mean abandoning your values, inwardly congratulating the higher-ups int he PLUS chain for their forward-thinking range of products.
But as we neared checkout, the responsible consumers in us awoke and we felt uneasy about not being able to test the bulbs on the spot, which you can do in any respectable store. E. presented this dilemma to the man at the end of the conveyor belt and asked what happened if the light bulbs didn't work.
"Yeah," he said, scratching the peach fuzz on his chin. "You can't bring 'em back, cuz we wouldn't know how they got broken, if you know what I mean."
But then a light bulb went off above his own head and he gave us this reassurance: "But all you have to do is just put it to your ear and shake a little and you don't hear anything, then it is gonna work all right."
Confirmed. Whatever forwardthinkingness the company exhibited by offering enery-efficient lightbulbs hadn't trickled down to the brain behind the counter. Still I saw the situation with an upbeat: if someone so lacking in general knowledge or experience can present such a positive, self-confident face and an air of expertise in his job, I really don't have to hold back my piece of mind.
18 January, 2008
04 January, 2008
Hitting a Nerve
There are many signs that my stay in Germany is more substantial than a post-college flirtation with Europe. For example, I know the word for that plastic thing that you hammer into a wall to anchor a screw - only in German. And in a weak moment I thought the word friend might actually be spelled more like its German cousin, as in freind (Freund auf Deutsch). But the most obvious sign that I am really making a nest here is that I went to see a German dentist.A dentist is something that everyone choses carefully. But in my family there is an almost religious (bordering fanatical) faithfulness to the honorable Dr. R. Only once did I venture into an unknown practice, though I haven't lived in my hometown for eight years. The price of that sole instance of infidelity is a sensitive tooth, its yowling response to hot, cold, and pressure as deep as my regret.
Before I left for Germany the first time, my attentive mother made sure to help me squeeze in an appointment with Him. The second time around, however, I had started dumping a large sum of money into German health insurance each month, and somehow, with a sunken heart, I couldn't justify going without US insurance coverage to visit the family doctor.
So I bit the bullet (don't tell Dr. R.) and asked around in Bonn for a reputable teeth caregiver. I came away from my first set of visits with contradictory feelings. On the one hand, I was relieved to find that treatment results were similar - no complaints. On the other hand, I was bemused to see German/American cultural differences reflected in dental care, and the lasting psychological impact of my visit couldn't be less familiar.
The emphasis of my appointment with Dr. S. was a performance review: how I am doing in the guardianship of my teeth. She took my jaw under the microscope and gave me feedback: fear-inducing feedback. She told me that my gums were on a forward march to pulp-dom (as a result of haphazard flossing) and did a demonstration. A delicate, pin-shaped object sunk in beside a rear molar like a rake into a pile of tender leaves. She smeared my teeth with blue dye and used a small camera to project every patch of plaque thus revealed onto a computer screen. She pointed out where small pieces of tooth enamel were worn away, leaving cold, frightened nerve endings to fend for themselves.
With Dr. R. the sober, clinical analysis must have taken place in his head. He certainly found faults - I've had my share of fillings. But with a sunny grin he preferred to talk about his trips to Haiti and Lithuania and ask if that heart-breaking brother of mine had settled down. During the standard professional cleaning of the teeth - itself rather a rarity this side of the pond - his assistant always asked which flavor toothpaste I preferred, offering bubble gum until I was well into my twenties. And I never left the office without a sparkling new tooth brush, a stash of floss - travel size and regular - and a foamy sticker or an eraser shaped like a tooth.
Dr. S.'s goal was to offer objective, relevant, practical advice. But because she bypassed all of the small talk avenues and failed to make any encouraging remark, I found her approach cold-hearted - and very German. But I also see that the chatty optimism of my family dentist, just as stereotypically American, can also leave something to be desired. Because, while one result of Doctor S.'s frank language is that I have had nightmares of smiling into the mirror, only to see gaping, black holes, I also can't remember a time in which I took better care of my teeth.
20 July, 2007
my first press release
Food for Thought: youth get a taste – literally – of how the other half lives
Instead of reading about poverty in their textbooks, 100 tenth graders at Martin Luther Secondary School had a social studies lesson served up in their school cafeteria.
Rimbach, Germany (June 4, 2007). About half of the Hunger Banquet’s participants represented the low income population of the world, which meant they waited almost an hour on the floor for a small portion of plain rice. The looks cast at the tables where luckier peers were served either soup or a three course dinner were wistful and envious.
The students were participating in an experiment conceived by British aid organization Oxfam International to make income disparity in the world tangible. At a Hunger Banquet, guests are divided up proportionally to the numbers of rich, poor, and middle income people in the world – and they eat accordingly. Bringing the experiment to Martin Luther in Rimbach was the idea of guest teacher Catherine Reynolds, who had participated in and helped organize similar events while a student at the College of William and Mary in her native USA.
In order to heighten suspense, Ms. Reynolds kept details of the event a secret. Students came expecting a meal, but not until they funnelled into the dining hall and opened an envelope revealing their socioeconomic status did the full picture begin to emerge. Only the luckiest students, fewer than 15 %, were invited to join the wealthy society at proper tables and have the lunch fare that the average Rimbach student expects, in this case, lasagna.
At the Hunger Banquet, even ladling lentil soup at cramped tables seemed like an extravagance in the eyes of the 50% of students – corresponding to the half of the world that lives on less than $2 a day – who had to eat rice while sitting on cardboard boxes on the floor. Low income diners were forced to wait in line for water and weren’t guaranteed to get it. Still hungry after eating her ration, one poor student asked a neighbor from the middle income group if she could have an empty pot of lentil soup just to scrape the sides.
After the event was over, small groups met to debrief their experiences. Behavior observed at the Hunger Banquet stimulated a lot of discussion and insight, and many participants reported feeling empathy. “I realized how much luck is involved in who is born into a rich country like Germany,” commented upperclassman Akina Ingold.
Though many students felt similarly to Ingold, no privileged guests reached out to help the poor during the experiment. “The rich immediately put up a wall,” mentioned Clemens Frassine. “They pretended not to see so that they didn’t feel guilty – just like rich nations.” Not only did the dozen students in the high income group keep their eyes on their plates, none offered to give up even a bite of lasagna, let alone a seat.
Most students agreed that the experiment, though contrived, was thought-provoking and had parallels to real life. There was a common objection, however, that the situation of the low income group was not grim enough. In the words of one student, “The poor were allowed to go back for seconds. That was lame!” Surprisingly, few underfed students complained about being hungry. Some were engrossed in exploring new perspectives. And all, perhaps, were relieved that they would soon return to their familiar world and the Dönerbuden around the corner.
Instead of reading about poverty in their textbooks, 100 tenth graders at Martin Luther Secondary School had a social studies lesson served up in their school cafeteria.
Rimbach, Germany (June 4, 2007). About half of the Hunger Banquet’s participants represented the low income population of the world, which meant they waited almost an hour on the floor for a small portion of plain rice. The looks cast at the tables where luckier peers were served either soup or a three course dinner were wistful and envious.
The students were participating in an experiment conceived by British aid organization Oxfam International to make income disparity in the world tangible. At a Hunger Banquet, guests are divided up proportionally to the numbers of rich, poor, and middle income people in the world – and they eat accordingly. Bringing the experiment to Martin Luther in Rimbach was the idea of guest teacher Catherine Reynolds, who had participated in and helped organize similar events while a student at the College of William and Mary in her native USA.
In order to heighten suspense, Ms. Reynolds kept details of the event a secret. Students came expecting a meal, but not until they funnelled into the dining hall and opened an envelope revealing their socioeconomic status did the full picture begin to emerge. Only the luckiest students, fewer than 15 %, were invited to join the wealthy society at proper tables and have the lunch fare that the average Rimbach student expects, in this case, lasagna.
At the Hunger Banquet, even ladling lentil soup at cramped tables seemed like an extravagance in the eyes of the 50% of students – corresponding to the half of the world that lives on less than $2 a day – who had to eat rice while sitting on cardboard boxes on the floor. Low income diners were forced to wait in line for water and weren’t guaranteed to get it. Still hungry after eating her ration, one poor student asked a neighbor from the middle income group if she could have an empty pot of lentil soup just to scrape the sides.
After the event was over, small groups met to debrief their experiences. Behavior observed at the Hunger Banquet stimulated a lot of discussion and insight, and many participants reported feeling empathy. “I realized how much luck is involved in who is born into a rich country like Germany,” commented upperclassman Akina Ingold.
Though many students felt similarly to Ingold, no privileged guests reached out to help the poor during the experiment. “The rich immediately put up a wall,” mentioned Clemens Frassine. “They pretended not to see so that they didn’t feel guilty – just like rich nations.” Not only did the dozen students in the high income group keep their eyes on their plates, none offered to give up even a bite of lasagna, let alone a seat.
Most students agreed that the experiment, though contrived, was thought-provoking and had parallels to real life. There was a common objection, however, that the situation of the low income group was not grim enough. In the words of one student, “The poor were allowed to go back for seconds. That was lame!” Surprisingly, few underfed students complained about being hungry. Some were engrossed in exploring new perspectives. And all, perhaps, were relieved that they would soon return to their familiar world and the Dönerbuden around the corner.
30 June, 2007
Farewell to MLS
When I first stepped into Martin Luther College Preparatory School, the first German school in which I would teach, I was stunned at how empty it seemed. In the classrooms there were no posters about how to eat a healthy diet, no maps of
By the end of the year I had forgotten I ever thought the school was bland, because I came to appreciate the buzz of creativity, insight, and - in most cases - hard work that lay just under the surface and characterized the everyday school environment. Students in the 11th and 12th grades were reading the classic English literature that I read in high school: Othello, Fahrenheit 451, Catcher in the
Even though all students at MLS were capable learners and most put in effort in most courses (even if they didn't admit it), they got the full range of grades, like most students in
The only thing that my students at MLS took more seriously than grades was getting a driver's license. Though they fretted nonstop about school exams, consensus was, it mattered most of all to have a friendly examiner (netten Prüfer) when they were sitting behind the wheel. That is because getting a driver's license in Germany entails about 35 hours of driving lessons and 2,000 €.
With such smart students, you'd think I couldn't help but learn a lot myself from being at Martin Luther. In one sense, that's true, for example, my German vocabulary expanded to include things like von wegen (get real), and saugeil (way cool, far out). On the other hand, my English, most notably in spelling, got steadily worse.
Split Personalities
Let's be honest. I am a perfectionist. How often have I heard, "Wow, are you still working on that?" To keep the self-destructive tendency at bay, I concentrate on viewing every task I take on through the eyes of the person who will benefit from its results. Doing so often frees me from the most rigid standards and harsh judgement - my own.
I realized recently that I already knew this to some extent in fourth grade. In May that year I was assigned by Mrs. A. to make a Mother's Day card for my mother. I considered for a brief agonizing minute picture, poem, pop-up, what to do? Then I realized that the real recipient of the card would not be my mother, but my teacher. For my mother we would plan something as a family, or I would make her breakfast in bed, or decorate her bedroom mirror. So, I just asked myself, what would Mrs. A want to hear?
About ten minutes later I brought my letter to her desk for approval. It displayed the straightforward, but overbearing style of writing that my teacher delighted in: "Thank you, Mom, for guiding me along the winding road of life. You are always there for me, and you shower me with love." Mrs. A liked my Mother's Day card so much that she got tears in her eyes, hugged me around the middle, and called for silence in the class so that she could read my composition aloud.
In a parallel scenario I could have made an off-beat, but sincere Mother's Day card there, and I would have given up recess to stay in and keep working at my desk. My classmates would have looked away in bewilderment as they fled out of the classroom to play four-square and Mrs. A would have wished that I had chosen a less abstract or complicated motif.
The utilitarian approach I just outlined is a bit contrary to my rather bohemian philosophy that "the journey is the destination" and one should not change one's standards or values for the sake of the mainstream. But it seems to hurt no one and it keeps me from getting lost in the details. Sometimes.
I realized recently that I already knew this to some extent in fourth grade. In May that year I was assigned by Mrs. A. to make a Mother's Day card for my mother. I considered for a brief agonizing minute picture, poem, pop-up, what to do? Then I realized that the real recipient of the card would not be my mother, but my teacher. For my mother we would plan something as a family, or I would make her breakfast in bed, or decorate her bedroom mirror. So, I just asked myself, what would Mrs. A want to hear?
About ten minutes later I brought my letter to her desk for approval. It displayed the straightforward, but overbearing style of writing that my teacher delighted in: "Thank you, Mom, for guiding me along the winding road of life. You are always there for me, and you shower me with love." Mrs. A liked my Mother's Day card so much that she got tears in her eyes, hugged me around the middle, and called for silence in the class so that she could read my composition aloud.
In a parallel scenario I could have made an off-beat, but sincere Mother's Day card there, and I would have given up recess to stay in and keep working at my desk. My classmates would have looked away in bewilderment as they fled out of the classroom to play four-square and Mrs. A would have wished that I had chosen a less abstract or complicated motif.
The utilitarian approach I just outlined is a bit contrary to my rather bohemian philosophy that "the journey is the destination" and one should not change one's standards or values for the sake of the mainstream. But it seems to hurt no one and it keeps me from getting lost in the details. Sometimes.
27 June, 2007
THE MONICA SONG - now available in English!
(Translated from the original German. See copyright information at the end.)
Monica, hey,
oh had you stayed,
on 'til today,
as an intern in Washington.
and had you fancied to
rendezvous with "W" -
then lickety split, (Wahoo!)
he'd finally be ...on the run.
Because voters are consistent
and not the least indifferent
on the topic of the instant:
moral values and what God allows.
The head-of-state has a green light
to wage some wars, tell a few lies,
and break all diplomatic ties,
if he never breaks his wedding vows.
That set of skirmishes way over in the Gulf States
generates destruction and big deficits,
and yet not the man's impeachment.
There's no fancy out of bounds 'cept - God forbid - he fool around
Modus operandi : "Make war, not love!"
The Prez's Day of Reckoning won't come to be
until he is suspected of adultery.
***
The people'd call out, "Shame on
you. You are a traitor!"
and "Confess at once!" "Betrayal!"
"Our trust in you has hit a low."
Then every detail of the romance
would find its way into the news stands
and from there into the hands
of every gossip, critic, and talk show host.
Then we'd see Ken Starr on replay,
mudslingers in their heyday.
And Iraq and - even - Al Queda,
'd fade from news to history.
We'd see Bush would feel compelled
to hang his head, throw in his towel.
And just think how very swell:
we would all breathe so much easier!
Monica, in your hands you hold the trump card.
The choice is not hard.
The time has come to send him back to Houston.*
I know he may not be your type. But if you say,
"I'll do it if your price is right."
You would get ...
... a flood of contributions!
***
"Fuck Bush," that's what you see,
expressed so candidly,
from Berlin down to Paris,
sprayed on buildings, in alleyways.
I won't say that's in good taste.
I wouldn't say it to his face.
Still I'm begging you, make haste,
Monica, do it anyways.
Monica, hey,
oh had you stayed,
on 'til today,
as an intern in Washington.
and had you fancied torendezvous with "W" -
then lickety split, (Wahoo!)
he'd finally be ...on the run.
Because voters are consistent
and not the least indifferent
on the topic of the instant:
moral values and what God allows.
The head-of-state has a green light
to wage some wars, tell a few lies,
and break all diplomatic ties,
if he never breaks his wedding vows.
That set of skirmishes way over in the Gulf States
generates destruction and big deficits,
and yet not the man's impeachment.
There's no fancy out of bounds 'cept - God forbid - he fool around
Modus operandi : "Make war, not love!"
The Prez's Day of Reckoning won't come to be
until he is suspected of adultery.
***
The people'd call out, "Shame on
you. You are a traitor!"
and "Confess at once!" "Betrayal!"
"Our trust in you has hit a low."
Then every detail of the romance
would find its way into the news stands
and from there into the hands
of every gossip, critic, and talk show host.
Then we'd see Ken Starr on replay,
mudslingers in their heyday.
And Iraq and - even - Al Queda,
'd fade from news to history.
We'd see Bush would feel compelled
to hang his head, throw in his towel.
And just think how very swell:
we would all breathe so much easier!
Monica, in your hands you hold the trump card.
The choice is not hard.
The time has come to send him back to Houston.*
I know he may not be your type. But if you say,
"I'll do it if your price is right."
You would get ...
... a flood of contributions!
***
"Fuck Bush," that's what you see,
expressed so candidly,
from Berlin down to Paris,
sprayed on buildings, in alleyways.
I won't say that's in good taste.
I wouldn't say it to his face.
Still I'm begging you, make haste,
Monica, do it anyways.
German lyrics copyright Bodo Wartke 2005. To see the original, go to www.bodowartke.de, then 1. Click on 'Zum Lesen' on the lefthand side, 2. For the second albumn from the top (Live in Berlin) click on 'Titelliste aufrufen,' and 3. Go to track number 28 and click on 'Text anzeigen.' Then learn German!
To hear the melody of the song, look at his performance broadcast on YouTube.
*The capital of Texas is actually Austin, but nevermind.
To hear the melody of the song, look at his performance broadcast on YouTube.
*The capital of Texas is actually Austin, but nevermind.
17 June, 2007
Divination Class
I've spent most of my year as a foreign language teaching assistant feeling like I don't have much authority. The students may dutifully employ the German formal address of "Sie" with me, but they have no scruples about tuning out my requests and challenging my directions and competence. I recently experienced, however, that it is possible to convince them that I have access to mysterious, hidden sources of wisdom.
It started as a small joke; I wanted to open a lesson on career choices with a satirical spin on a job assessment test. With the help of Google, I had found a survey supposedly administered in the circus, a litmus test for the Ringling Brothers to determine how to corral newbie members into the professions of clown, animal trainer, ringmaster, and acrobat. I gave this test to my students. I told them to answer it accurately and I would score their tests at home.
Of course I had no scoring sheets. And it was too much work to sniff out which answers belonged to which professions. Could you say which member of the circus is most or least likely to be afraid of thunderstorms? So I decided, based on intuition and random association, which professions I thought fit my students. Or absolutely didn't. And in doing so I didn't limit myself to the circus. I wrote my scientifically confirmed results in an official-looking ballpoint pen in the corner of each paper.
With the same air of self-mockery and exaggerated irony I returned their "aptitude tests" to them. Their knowing chuckles assured me I had played a reasonably funny joke and that no one was too depressed at being assigned the fate of "real estate agent" or "teacher." Until I came to Lisa "the wonder child," who has a reputation among the teachers for spoiling a lesson by hitting the figurative nail on the head in the first five minutes of class.
Linda said, "Computer scientist?! But - mein Gott - how did I get to that result? All computer scientists who I have met just sit all day and stare straight ahead" - (she demonstrated with her hands on an invisible keyboard) - "and never go out."
When I said, "Well, it's based on the answers you gave," trying desperately not to break a smile, she looked so down-trodden that I felt a small twinge of guilt.
I continued on with the lesson nevertheless and figured that when Lisa's shock wore off she would be able to convince herself that whether or not she liked skipping better than jumping rope has nothing to do with being destined to end up working in software development. But then I began to wonder how many members of the class actually had seen through the aptitude test. Almost all of them were excited to see their "results," and they called across the classroom, "I'm a make-up artist, what about you?"
But at the end of class, the students indeed started to use their powers of reason to work out my playful deceit. Two pupils put their two quizzes together and determined that they had answered four of the - five - questions on the test identically. Confused at first and then relieved, confident of my trickery, they said, "We have everything the same, but she is a fashion designer and I an architect. Hmm."
I puzzled for a long time over the unintended outcome of my lesson on career paths. I wanted them to know that you can take an aptitude test to learn more about yourself, but critically evaluate the theory that certain personalities are suited for specific professions. Instead they wanted to believe that their course in life is written in the stars. I am baffled that I can tell them a million times in vain, "the United States is singular" and that they have to do their part (i.e. homework) if they expect the lessons to be interesting. But they plod forward, insisting that even in English a coffee cup is female, unable to motivate themselves to prepare a short article at home. Yet I can look into my teacherly crystal ball, report what I see in their futures, and the branding goes so deep that I scare myself realizing how much power I have.
It started as a small joke; I wanted to open a lesson on career choices with a satirical spin on a job assessment test. With the help of Google, I had found a survey supposedly administered in the circus, a litmus test for the Ringling Brothers to determine how to corral newbie members into the professions of clown, animal trainer, ringmaster, and acrobat. I gave this test to my students. I told them to answer it accurately and I would score their tests at home.
Of course I had no scoring sheets. And it was too much work to sniff out which answers belonged to which professions. Could you say which member of the circus is most or least likely to be afraid of thunderstorms? So I decided, based on intuition and random association, which professions I thought fit my students. Or absolutely didn't. And in doing so I didn't limit myself to the circus. I wrote my scientifically confirmed results in an official-looking ballpoint pen in the corner of each paper.
With the same air of self-mockery and exaggerated irony I returned their "aptitude tests" to them. Their knowing chuckles assured me I had played a reasonably funny joke and that no one was too depressed at being assigned the fate of "real estate agent" or "teacher." Until I came to Lisa "the wonder child," who has a reputation among the teachers for spoiling a lesson by hitting the figurative nail on the head in the first five minutes of class.
Linda said, "Computer scientist?! But - mein Gott - how did I get to that result? All computer scientists who I have met just sit all day and stare straight ahead" - (she demonstrated with her hands on an invisible keyboard) - "and never go out."
When I said, "Well, it's based on the answers you gave," trying desperately not to break a smile, she looked so down-trodden that I felt a small twinge of guilt.
I continued on with the lesson nevertheless and figured that when Lisa's shock wore off she would be able to convince herself that whether or not she liked skipping better than jumping rope has nothing to do with being destined to end up working in software development. But then I began to wonder how many members of the class actually had seen through the aptitude test. Almost all of them were excited to see their "results," and they called across the classroom, "I'm a make-up artist, what about you?"
But at the end of class, the students indeed started to use their powers of reason to work out my playful deceit. Two pupils put their two quizzes together and determined that they had answered four of the - five - questions on the test identically. Confused at first and then relieved, confident of my trickery, they said, "We have everything the same, but she is a fashion designer and I an architect. Hmm."
I puzzled for a long time over the unintended outcome of my lesson on career paths. I wanted them to know that you can take an aptitude test to learn more about yourself, but critically evaluate the theory that certain personalities are suited for specific professions. Instead they wanted to believe that their course in life is written in the stars. I am baffled that I can tell them a million times in vain, "the United States is singular" and that they have to do their part (i.e. homework) if they expect the lessons to be interesting. But they plod forward, insisting that even in English a coffee cup is female, unable to motivate themselves to prepare a short article at home. Yet I can look into my teacherly crystal ball, report what I see in their futures, and the branding goes so deep that I scare myself realizing how much power I have.
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