The 19th C will always welcome you back

I signed up to teach this class called AGE OF EUROPEAN EXPANSION and sadly Europe started expanding--yes, that's right, try not to panic--before the French Revolution. You know, in that gray and fuzzy time period I like to call "Back in the Day" (or BITD). When Europeans like, road on burros wacking each other with clubs and had witchcraft familiars named Snoony Tom and didn't believe in evolution. It is also called Olde Time and Ye Olde Time.

So the whole first two weeks of this class, I find myself saying things like, "As the Portuguese extended their chain of forts down the west coast of Africa," and using the word "15" things. As in, "1519" and "1562." Numbers that start with 15. As in, as my own voice comes out of my head, it triggers a faint memory of my 10th grade civics teacher saying much the same thing. And terror. It triggers terror, because instead of the old, familiar and answered-before questions (ex: "Was Hitler gay?") you get stopped in your paces whilst in front of your class with doozies like "Did the Maya have money?" "How did the Aztecs select their kings?" "What was the population of the largest city in Europe in 1500?"

Answer: "Well, the Maya didn't have money as we understand it, of course, but they did have units of exchange."

Answer: "Aztec king selection was a complicated affair, with heavy priest involvement and possible human sacrifice."

Follow-up question: "So, did the Aztecs have a hereditary monarchy?"

Answer: "Well, not per se, but being related to the former ruler helped one get power."

(Note: Post-class research revealed that the Mayan money answer is correct (thanks to roommate research dept.) but the Aztec answer is totally wrong!)

It makes you even wish once again to hear the well-known ring of, "I saw a show on the History Channel--Was Hitler on drugs?"

(Note: the show is called "High Hitler.")

Anyway, but finally tomorrow we are moving on to the Atlantic Slave Trade and the book I've assigned takes place in 1823. Whew. I never thought I'd be so glad to see the 19th C. The 19th C, when things finally start making sense.

I feel bad that I once called it "the null century."

The turtle incident

Grandma and her sister both died this past year. Grandma was 95 and Rita was like 90. This is pretty sad, I miss those old ladies. This is my latest Grandma versus Rita story (they had been battling on and off, sister-style, their whole lives).

Background info
Grandma, a candy lover, had a particular fondness for chocolate turtles.
Grandma stopped driving when she was like 89; Rita kept driving till just before she died. Rita also liked candy. By the time of the turtle incident, Grandma almost never left her house. For her supply of candy, which she kept by the chair she spent most of her time in, she relied on gifts (unprompted; I never heard of Grandma requesting turtles, or anything) from visitors and from my aunt with whom she shared the house.

The turtle incident
Someone bought both Grandma and Rita each a half pound box of turtles (that's like 6 turtles). Grandma put hers into the stash in her room and ate them sparingly, occasionally out of brave and obligatory politeness offering one to a visitor (but visitors knew to decline the offer). Rita took her turtles home and apparently consumed them all, because one day she showed up to visit Grandma and said,
"Aren't you going to offer me one of your turtles?"
Grandma, an unfailingly respectable, devout and polite woman, said no. Insulted, Rita accused Grandma of being a bad hostess and left in a huff.

This incident prompted a debate (of course not including Grandma) on whether Grandma should have shared her turtles. Some people thought it wasn't worth fighting with Rita about.

But I thought that they were missing a crucial point: Rita could drive herself to get more turtles for herself. But Grandma was completely dependent on gifts of turtles from others. In the candy economy, Grandma, though the major consumer of candy in the family, was forced to rely on donations.

Personal victory!

I ended my History of the Holocaust summer course by showing the class this picture.

What's nice about it

What's nice about studying Nazism is that when you are at parties or whatever, you can point out
that whatever has happened to come up in polite conversation (the person's profession, the modern dance performance you're all about to see, etc.) was implicated in German fascism. It's fun at parties and on romantic weekends at B & Bs.

Example:

Someone at cocktail hour: Meet [name], he's a doctor.
YSA: The medical profession is one profession that really hasn't grappled with its involvement in the Nazi genocides at all.

Happy Pride, everyone!

Wow, I am kind of sucking as a blogger. Hmm. This weekend I had a good idea for a post when I was really drunk, but now I can't quite remember it. Except that The Gays shouldn't be forced to choose between the NY Met Opera performing for free in New Brunswick (yes, it happened) and the Dyke March. That is just a purposeful thwarting of homo nationalism by the opera. The opera! I thought they were on our side!

Heidi

Dissertation Year is on vacation this week/staff can't think of anything to write, so we are re-running some of your favorite DY hits of the past year.

(Summer, 2006)

You might think that when you take up with a rugged Canadian Canoe Counselor, you will be doing a lot of macho camping. And that's right! But despite my macho image, I was raised in a suburb and only camped once (in a backyard) and found the experience quite alarming and the danger level of camping generally under-rated.

Then I went on vacation to Maine (pictured) with CC. This was our first camping vacation. We camped at a Kampground of America because to CC 's disappointment, the rugged national park camp was full.

(Kampground of America (KOA) replaces all "C"s with "K"s and thus, unfailingly puts me in mind of the KKK, but I think that's accidental on their part.) They had this somewhat baffeling poster all over of "Heidi" holding an inflatable dinosaur, though there was no swimming pool to be seen. (see picture)

We arrived late the first night and set up our tent in the dark. It began to rain. In the middle of the night, the sounds of my own feet sloshing in a puddle woke me. Woah, I was like, camping emergency! And it was only the first night! Though shocked to realize that my initial inkling that camping was in fact dangerous and uncomfortable was plainly true, I knew this was my chance to show that at heart I was no suburban American, but a rugged camping woman who could sleep through anything, including a flood. I resolutely went back to sleep, bending my knees to avoid the puddle. I found that as the puddle grew, I could bend my knees more and more, till by morning I was curled into a ball, but a ball with a mainly dry torso, and a ball that was ready to spring up come morning and declare myself well rested!

The next morning, we saw that in the dark and confusion of the previous night, we'd set up our tent in a mud puddle in the parking area of our camp site (see picture). Then we realized why Heidi is holding that inflatable dinosaur. She's preparing to happily toss it to the Kampers who are sleeping in big mud puddles.

Blog identity crisis

Hello dear reader, well, now I really am in New Jersey. The dissertation year is over. The original purpose of this blog was so that my mom would be able to read what I was up to in Germany, but I think she actually only reads it when the blog covers golf and I send her a link.

Dissertations take more than one year to research and write, though. Now I have dissertation writing year coming up. What do you think--do you want to read more complaining, but not so much about Berlin? If you feel like it, post and tell me if you want to keep reading, and also what kind of stuff you like to read about.

Cheers queers!