There's this post on German toilets *someone* named Portnoy did for TheLocal recently:

We renovated our apartment several years ago and at the time I found myself standing in our small, unfinished guest bath with three large construction workers. When the plumber suggested he install a run-of-the-mill toilet, I replied: “Not if it has a platform.” At that point, the three burly men looked at me as if I had no idea how to truly void my bowels.

And I put up some pics of our America visit. I think I'll do more now because I'm procrastinating:

Because I was just a contributor and not the sole author, I haven't gotten excited each time the two books I was a part of came out. Sure it was cool signing an actual publishing contract and having everything ferried across the ocean by FedEx (including the freshly printed copies of the books) but something always seemed to be missing (my self esteem, maybe?).

I've always had work on my desk when the books came out and, to be honest, contributing to guidebooks becomes such a grind by the end that it in no way resembles the glamor everyone thinks it would when turning to a Rough Guide or Lonely Planet to find a place to crash.

But: Explorer Berlin, an English-language guide to relocating to Berlin, is out and I did the how-to-navigate-the bureacracy section called "Residents" and Marc (of thelocal.de) did some other section that I can't remember. For those keeping track, we co-wrote Moon Metro Berlin, which (nervous laugh) I see now goes for $0.04.

A shout out to Sean the Explorer editor for actually using this photo of me:


However, he removed my reference to Ralph Waldo Emerson.

F*cker.

About the time Martha was born, all of our friends starting barking about how we had best soon get on the list for a kita (German for daycare) or we would never be able to get a spot. All of our English-language friends started telling us we had best get on a list for a bi-lingual kita and begin kissing up to the selection committees to get a spot.

So we picked our favorites, ranked them and added ourselves to ALL of their lists. Every. Single. One. Some even said their lists were so long it was no use. But we did it anyway and then we started kissing up and sending emails and acting VERY KEEN.

In April of that year, our second choice accepted us and we signed a contract for August. All was well. Then about May we started getting phone calls -- every kita with the exception of the various bi-lingual kitas started calling us, begging us to sign up.

(As an aside, our first choice -- one of the bilingual ones -- called in October and begged us to come, so we did and have been there ever since).

Since everyone gets so worked into a lather here about kitas, they sign up everywhere, creating artificial waiting lists that benefit no one -- the more kitas that tell you they have a list 100 deep, the more you get worried. It's dumb.

With Martha going to school next year, we're subject to the latest hysteria in our kita: the supposed bees' knees in schools. All school-age parents are atwitter about how to exactly fill out the application form to ensure you get in. DO THIS, DON'T DO THAT. But be sure to worry and fret and lose sleep over whether or not you get in. It's all anyone has talked about for two weeks -- every time we see parents who are already there they give us tips and follow-up emails.

The school's nice but has as much going for it (special treatment/funding from the government because it's really the diplomatic corps' school) as against it (it's 30 minutes away each way through the heavy and annoying center-of-town traffic). But what I'm going to start asking everyone is: why is it so important that we go there/get in?

Because I don't think it is. To me, it feels like the unquestioning rush to get on these kita lists (even more so because I think since our kids are actually, truly bi-lingual, they are exactly what that school not only wants but needs to help the kids of the German State Department employees learn English).

We'll apply by Friday but we may ignore their last minute begging to have us come to that school.

First: On election day we all went to White Trash Fast Food for dinner. Although the two could be connected, they weren't really -- we just wanted a good burger.

This morning Cy came in to cuddle after he woke up and he looked over at me and said, "Dad, you're white trash."

!

Second: Road rage. I never believed that thing about how people get road rage because they feel safe in their cars. For me, it's always been more that some incompetent boob is keeping me from where I'm going through their incompetence.

I've always just wanted to avoid that kind of stuff altogether -- turn the other cheek and all that -- but I didn't always know how to.

On Saturday I was waiting for someone to leave their parking spot on Rykestrasse so I could parallel into it. I wasn't in the middle of the road but I wasn't as far to the right as I could have been. Suddenly, a 5-Series BMW came the other direction and stopped astern with our Volvo, concerned he couldn't get by. Then, a big van came behind the 5-Series. The dude pulling out of the parking spot was taking forever and I couldn't really move to get out of the BMW's way.

The van flashed his lights again.

I was confident the BMW could sneak by me if he really tried but I didn't want to get into any arguments so I just looked straight ahead, waiting for the guy to get out of the parking spot. I could feel the BMW driver looking over at me. And the van kept flashing his lights.

I couldn't move. The BMW driver was scared to move and the van driver kept flashing his lights.

Usually at this point a lot of honking occurs. But instead, the guy in the van got out. Uh oh, I thought. He casually walked between the BMW and my Volvo. He walked in front of the BMW and, with a smile on his face, guided the BMW on through.

Smiling.

"That was awesome," Sabine said. "What a way to solve the problem," I said.