Blythe Spirit

Books – May 2006

The Enchanted April by Elizabeth Von Armin
Politics among women haven’t changed much over the years; humor remains intact as well. And, fortunately, so has the dreamy beauty of the Italian countryside.

The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler
A breezy read for anyone who loves Ms. Austen.

Shopaholic Abroad by Sophie Kinsella
A Bridget Jones knockoff that I picked up in desperation at one bookstore’s lackluster English-language section. Unfortunately, by the end, I was in agreement with the heroine’s detractors who saw her as an irresponsible airhead.

Back When We Were Grownups by Anne Tyler
A soothing story about one woman’s musings on the life that could have been.

A Room with a View by E.M. Forster
I’m not sure why I manage to forget how funny this book is, but each time I re-read it I am surprised by how many times I laugh out loud. Also, more lovely Italian and English scenery.

The Last Picture Show by Larry McMurtry
This is the best portrayal of a down-and-out small town in the American west that I’ve ever read. Read it and see why Larry McMurtry can get away with wearing jeans to the Oscars.

Divided Lives by Elsa Walsh
This nonfiction account of three high-power women and their struggles to balance competing life goals rings just as true as it did when it was published ten years ago. It’s especially interesting to read the section on Meredith Vieira, written post-60 Minutes disgrace and pre-The View, Millionaire and Today success.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt
I re-read this smart page-turner every couple of years and am reminded why it’s still one of my favorite books, even though I know the answer to the mystery. Creepy and cool.

Garlic and Sapphires by Ruth Reichl
A behind the scenes look at the career of the New York Times food critic and woman of many faces. Recipes included.

Der Links

I will be away from the computer for the next week or so. For your enjoyment until I return (after breaking out in hives from lack of DSL access), I leave you with the following musings of my fellow German transplant bloggers:

Jen at Heisse Scheisse describes the German fascination with, um, bodily functions, and the toilet they’ve designed to satisfy their curiosity.

I feel Hamish’s pain as he adjusts to watching favorite American films and sitcoms, dubbed in German.

Over at Ich bin die Ananas, we see a (fairly extreme) example of how, in Deutschland, no one is a stranger.

For proof that I’m not the only one around here who has a parking spot that resembles a theme park ride, see Eurotrippen.

And if you were excited to hear that David Hasselhoff is still alive and well and rocking in Europe, check out Megan’s discovery of another megastar you had probably forgotten about.

But can they play the guitar with their tongues?

If you’ve been caught up in the American Idol hoopla, you might have missed the results of this year’s Eurovision song contest. Eurovision, a contest famous mainly for the long-term obscurity of its winners, its complex voting procedures, and ABBA, was won this past weekend by Finnish band Lordi. Their song, Hard Rock Hallelujah, harkens back to hair metal at its best, and the band members are known for their elaborate monster costumes, without which they refuse to be photographed. Lordi’s victory was somewhat controversial, seen by many (especially the second-place Russians) as a protest against the traditionally pop-oriented tenor of most Eurovision songs.

I’m sharing this information with you mainly because I believe it’s high time for the emergence of an heir to KISS. And because I wanted an excuse to link to the band’s website, which includes a warning that it contains “strong monster violence and gore.”

Home is where the nuclear power plant is

I watched a nuclear cooling tower explode this morning.

Thanks to CNN video, I learned that one of the landmarks of my former home stands no more. The plant was closed thirteen years ago, and the destruction of the tower is just another step in the decomissioning process. I’m not sad to see it go, but I felt indignant when I saw the news online, like I was out of the loop. Shouldn’t someone have informed me about this major development?

And then, I remembered. I don’t live there anymore.

Everything’s coming up Spargel

It’s spargel season in southern Germany, which means that perky vegetable stands have popped up at every curve of every road, and each restaurant menu features a special slate of spargel dishes. Spargel is a special species of asparagus grown in our area for just a few weeks each year. They are covered with soil and deprived of sun during their growing season so that they emerge chubby and healthy yet completely without color. Albino asparagus, I guess.

I enjoy a dose of asparagus now and then but I haven’t yet developed a taste for these naked-looking specimens. I do appreciate the idea of eating vegetables when they are actually in season, but apparently I haven’t totally integrated yet because I didn’t order the spargel pad thai at our local Thai restaurant last night.

In case you care

-Chris, my predicted American Idol champion, was voted off the island last week. Shocking, yes, but his departure (along with Elliott’s not-unexpected exit) turned the final competition into more of a horserace. Will we have Kelly Clarkson II? Or is America ready for a Ray Charles/Joe Cocker/Doobie Brothers hybrid? I like them both, but I do have a hard time seeing a Taylor Hicks single at the top of the Pop charts. Adult Contemporary, perhaps.

-I can’t believe I have to repeat myself, but I’d like to make another request to the gossip media to lay off Katie (um, Kate) Holmes for five seconds. Did I really read somewhere that she’s being accused of faking stretch marks for the cameras? And subtly revealing them when the breeze blows her blouse aside?

-It’s hard not to feel a little sorry for Dan Brown. I guess that’s what you get for writing a book everyone in the world wants to read – sued and booed. Reviewing his bank accounts probably cheers him right up, though.

Fuβball spielen

Jeff asked me to alert you that the UEFA Champions League final will be played today – FC Barcelona versus Arsenal FC – and now that we live in a civilized country, he will be able to watch it from our couch instead of sneaking peeks online at the office. He also asked if I wanted to install a countdown to the World Cup ticker on my blog, but I tactfully declined.

My Old Kentucky Home

When I used to travel outside the USA a tourist, I felt that eating at McDonald’s was some kind of cultural betrayal. Why eat Le Big Mac in Paris when the crepes were plentiful, cheap and unavailable in the average American strip mall? I have always been more of a Wendy’s gal anyway, (notwithstanding the the best fast food in the universe), so a trip to the golden arches was rarely on my vacation agenda.

During our first months in Germany, however, McDonald’s beckoned me. I resisted its advances, saving it until the day I knew would come, when I just couldn’t find the energy to decipher a German menu or enter a bakery and point hopefully at something I believed to be a lunchtime item. I knew, at the House of Ronald, that I could place an order and be understood, and that the food would taste as expected. It was like eating at my grandma’s house – not very fancy and probably full of bad carbs and cholestorol, but the predictability was unparalleled.

I eventually became more comfortable reading menus and ordering food auf Deutsch, and my visits to the McNugget Palace diminished. I went there mainly during times of desperation – I needed something fast and Mickey D’s was the only real fast food/drive thru/get outta there with a sack of fries and a Coke option we had discovered. This past Saturday, we zipped through while running some errands (our other option was eating in the IKEA cafeteria and while it also appeals to my lazy point-and-nod ordering style, I wasn’t in the mood for Swedish meatballs). Perfectly practical and defensible.

Then, yesterday, we took a drive through an as-yet-unexplored part of Furth. Jeff was trying to show me the local football stadium, but I was distracted by a glittering mirage – a shiny red building topped by a white belltower and the smiling face of none other than Colonel Sanders. We swung immediately into the parking lot and headed for the entrance without a word to each other. After ordering combo meals (they serve fries instead of mashed potatoes, but the coleslaw is exactly the same) and perching on those familiar plastic banquettes to enjoy our grease, we sheepishly agreed that neither of us could remember the last time we’d eaten at KFC. In fact, we both specifically avoided it, citing urband legends of questionable entities emerging from the Colonel’s deep fat fryers.

Then why were we there, in the middle of an impressively packed fast food joint, eating greasy chicken off unfamiliar glass plates (it’s that sustainability thing the Germans have going, it really ruins the paper-plate and plastic-cutlery American vibe)? It was either the longing for a chicken dinner on a warm Sunday in May, or those hormones that all Americans are injected with along with the measles vaccine, causing us to develop a homing instinct for the nearest free-standing cinderblock building housing a bank of French fry warmers, teenagers wearing visors, and a drive-up window. There’s just no escaping fate.

Current soundtrack

Waiting for my Real Life to Begin – Colin Hay
I found this song through Mandy Moore’s celebrity iTunes playlist. Zach Braff’s good taste in music must be rubbing off on her.

SOS – Rhianna
I thought sampling Tainted Love was sacrilege until I heard this song.

Tainted Love – Softcell
But the original is even better

I’ll Believe in Anything – Wolf Parade
Dooce has good taste in music. I’m sure Wolf Parade was delighted to see their downloads soar the day she posted about them.

In the Waiting Line – Zero 7
Really, anything on the Garden State soundtrack works for me.

Black Horse and the Cherry Tree – KT Tunstall
See? American Idol is good for something besides giving me an outlet for my inner critic.

Crash – The Primitives
One of those songs from the 80’s I’d forgotten about. Fortunately, when I rediscovered it, it sounded just as great as I’d remembered. Unlike, say, The Final Countdown.

Tuscan Bread Salad

.flickr-photo { }.flickr-frame { float: right; text-align: center; margin-left: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; }

I love it when the weather gets warm enough that it’s OK to have salad for dinner, but not hot enough that you must have salad for dinner because you can’t bear to turn on the oven or even the barbecue grill. We ate this salad for dinner last night. The recipe is from Tom Douglas’s Seattle Kitchen, a cookbook that I read on the afternoons when I long for Pacific Northwest cuisine. Like yesterday.