email from New York, February 2001
I've just come back with sweat from the laundry in Bedford Avenue, where there on Saturday morning, half in Polish America came together. And I have learned that may go in Williamsburg when washing anything wrong if you do not speak the Polish language. You do not need to trust that we could negotiate in English with the capo on. And operate without any clichés cheapest to do, I have to say that the Poles are well out to snatch a such things in front of the nose, which I personally always had kept for rivet and nail set - such as washing machines.
After several hours of bitter struggle, I got it but then managed to clean my clothes, as far as possible in America is given. When I think of Germany I am pleased most of all on the hot water cycle ...
The younger Poles speak English and the way I was able this morning to convince yourself that nostalgia is a common disease in Poland. Probably in some ways it is not always wrong, but the young man with whom I talked, went so far as to claim that one would have noticed the presence of the Russians to Communism little time. Ah, the little bit of martial law, I should not even do that!
Valentine's Day has me - how could it be otherwise - brought once more into a very tricky situation. The doorman of NYU, a seasoned head of the family in the Bronx at the age of my father's youthful in appearance only, it had not let himself take to give me chocolates in a box in the form of a red flaming heart. I still interpreted as a touching gesture that aimed to not raising any nostalgia for me, of course, in disregard of the fact that the Germans get along in love with a small fraction of the rituals required by the Americans for it. Suspiciously, it occurred to me before then, however, when he then asked the next day, if he could send me as well as flower. I do not know what I stammered, then and in any case, I went quickly upstairs to my office and wrote an Emil to my culture grave consultant Helen, who knows about the U.S. and in the Taiwanese and German culture as in their pocket, Solange it is to be non-red non-roses that I should remain calm, she said, otherwise it may be, but definitely a "dirty old man". I should accept the flowers in any case if they were coming, but at the same time earnestly ask me then, as he that had spent the Valentine's Day with his wife. As I open, positive and focused recognition of his wife and showed his children, I would impose some limits of our relationship. Who of you does not agree with the fact that the woman belongs in the diplomatic service?
If a person on this earth has an Argentine soul, then it is Lucas' father. I would love to keep all their messages on our answering machine. Corinna would also like these: A tango could not be better. "Te quiero muuuucho, te quiero muuuuuucho, cuidate cuiuiuiuiuidate!" I have a little afraid to believe the Argentines could not my parents loved me, so I called a home-like messages. But you know, like the one in Northern Germany is. The men go out hunting with his club, and if anyone is responsible for feelings, then these are the women, and they show by cooking lots or buy an outrageously expensive green leather jackets. But how Lucas remember that?
If my father says one every three years on an answering machine, he dictated a rule set of characters - old occupational disease - and as I sit down immediately and mitstenographiere, I'm glad he does not leave messages. Lucas keeps me with my garbage separation already crazy enough. My mother has the habit of yelling at the answering machine: "Niciiiiiiii where you drive you again 'around? "This is a little too hard for Lucas, but her" Helloooooo, Niciiiiiiiii "already so it makes for good that I constantly have the feeling I was sitting in the living room or jump possessed a parrot. Yesterday, they gesäuselt but my explicit request to the most violent, including hand-created English. "Te amo, te amo, te quem, te quem" or something like that I was certainly excited I hope Lucas will be impressed when he later. to wake up five times.
Yesterday I embarrassed myself a bit during cooking, because I did not have the spinach cleaned properly. It gave me Cathy still as a student with great Attention to detail taught how to properly field salad dressing - actually I should have known. Thank God Arnold a spinach Allergy and Frank ate with contempt of death, albeit involuntarily clenched teeth. The duck in orange sauce for it was delicious.
Last Sunday I brunchte with the largest Jewish extended family in the state of Michigan. I have more Williamsburg (speak French and the Israelis) met in the pubs know, and now that one in Williamsburg is a woman approaches not just by asking hypocritical: "I know you from somewhere?" But at least " You look familiar, are you an artist? " Maybe I'm it as soon as my Indian friend Rohit, in which I complained recently, what a hard lot to have to admit to an artists' party in Williamsburg, that one is an economist. "I describe myself as to mathematical artist," he says, with his unparalleled, priceless Indian accent.
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