Lessons from a year of university life (Some things they may or may not talk about at orientation)

Being almost done with my first year of college at UNC-Chapel Hill, I figured I should attempt to summarize and pool everything I've learned about life there.  That way I'll have this to look back on if I magically forget everything over the summer and come back clueless  (Although that newfound sense of wonder would help me stomach the dining hall food for the first couple of months, might be a good coping strategy).  Now keep in mind that I have done no planning in advance or preemptive thinking about these lessons, so I'm just going to spit out whatever comes to mind and hope I can arrange it into something insightful (This technique of mine should be very familiar to you by now).

Some of this will probably  be applicable to college life in general, while some might be adapted to UNC in particular -- we'll see.  I'm not even going to attempt to organize the information, but hopefully my train of thought will be visible in the associations I make.

1)   There are lots of books in libraries.  You would think this is obvious, but here's a second piece of insight:

2)   Books can be useful, and people write books on many different subjects.  Libraries are also nice places to work, because there's a lot of knowledge around you.  This facilitates knowledgeability (I refuse to hyphenate -- that would be surrendering to pressure and compromising my principles) 

3)   Bathroom stalls are like Youtube: the people who comment are the worst kinds of people who thrive on anonymity and hate.  Library walls, however, are like makeshift bulletin boards for all kinds of intelligent discourse and politically correct but metaphysically insightful complaints about life. And ex-girlfriends.

4) The nicer mens' bathrooms in the dining hall and the bottom of the library use only steaming hot water for their sinks.  They needlessly sacrifice the health of your skin and the lives of every single bacteria on your hands in order to cause you serious discomfort, punishing you for attempting to maintain hygiene.


5) No matter how many different names they use on different days, the dining hall only has one "asian" flavored sauce.  It is not unlikely that it is made up of random sauces collected daily from the Chick-Fil-A downstairs.  This is because the Sushinara next to it doesn't leave its sauce out in the open.

6)  If you're scavenging (scrounging?) for food in the dining hall, and someone says, "[insert food name here]? Well there's no way to screw *that* up, it's gotta be at least alright," Avoid it at all costs.

7) If it sounds too fancy to be regularly served in a dining hall, then it probably is.  Don't eat it.

8) Unless your room is or is near where you spend almost all of your time, you are not going to be there very often.  That sounded less obvious in my head.  This means that you are never going to eat the snacks or leftover food in your room.  You're also never going to get around to making all that coffee you have supplies for, especially because you're trying to wean yourself off of caffeine. Instead you're going to spend *all* of your money buying assorted snacks and coffee drinks every time you smell it or pass by a store.  You're also never going to wean yourself off of caffeine.  Sorry.

9) If you're walking to class and you see people standing in open areas holding clipboards, there are a few options to consider.  You can: A) Take the passive aggressive route and take the long way around them; B) Cover your eyes and ears, scream, and charge by or at them;or C) As a diversion, throw some change, food, or interesting pamphlets that expose the corrupt hypocrisy of the beef industry on the ground in front of them, then run quickly around them. (pretending to talk on the phone is a nice addition if you don't feel safe with any of these techniques alone).  I guess D would be actually taking a few minutes to listen to their proposal and carefully consider their ideas.  I advise against it.




Nine "lessons" is probably good for now, right?  If I find out I've learned anything else I'll be sure to pass it on.

RETURN TO UNC! (Because my blog has been in Germany for the last month)

It pains me to say it, but I have to move on from talking about Germany.  Luckily, I’ve been at UNC since then, which, while it is not Germany, is far from the least interesting place in the world.  It’s actually pretty crazy-awesome-fantastic, if you haven't caught on yet. (Aka: crAZAwesomtastic. There are 5 more ways to pronounce this than you have thought of thus far) 

So now I need to think about what has happened in my last month of college since I got back from Germany.  Hm.  Well I haven’t seen any drunken parades or played on any impressionist jungle gyms or raided any medieval castles.  That much is certain.  Depressingly certain. 

Okay Michael, focus on the good times, THINGS HAVE HAPPENED.  UNC has been really absolutely incredibly beautiful.  Like a lot.  I participated in Holi (Moli), which is…(deep breath) a spring religious  Hindu festival celebrated primarily in India Nepal Sri Lanka and countries with large Indic diaspora populations by people throwing colored powder and colored water at each other in order to celebrate life and give tribute to Vishnu to whom is ascribed six important qualities by the Hindu religion including opulence, energy, strength, vigor, and splendor.  Omniscience is not really relevant to the celebration.

Translated into American college student: “We runz every which way wheres and throw paint ats each other 'til we'z is all good n’ mussied up.” (My Hindu-American College Student dictionary is slightly outdated.)

(That joke was the product of minutes of elaborate deliberation.  I don’t think it shows so I figured I’d let you know.  Only the best.  When that is not an option I usually shoot for the most unusual.)

The best part of this was that I got to walk around for hours afterward and answer to questions from curious and confused Franklin Street people, saying: “Paint? What paint?  .... My face?  …. I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about and I think I’m going to go back to my table now; your probing questions about my appearance are making me feel somewhat uncomfortable.” *Powerwalks back to table and speaks in hushed tones while making quick and obviously creeped out glances back at the cute and bewildered old couple and their 5-year-old granddaughter*   

I also enjoyed getting an awesomely tie-died shirt.

The worst part about this was leaving a cloud of paint dust wherever I went, ruining my shower, and having to throw away those socks.  I also had visible paint in my right ear for at least 2 days afterward.

Apparently that’s a very important annual event at Carolina.  Another thing I did was attend Relay For Life, which was a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society, which is like a less tiring, less quirky, less insane, and entirely more mainstream version of Dance Marathon.  (I am becoming a conoeisur of fundraisers.) (I wonder how bad I can misspell cannneisusur and still make it recognizable…)

My hair is red. His is green. striped.

Relay For Life was really cool and definitely worthwhile.  The weather got bad (And the bands got worse) but people stayed and camped out inside the Field House and it was just a beautiful thing.  (What was not exactly beautiful per-say was the creepy synth beats with what sounded like a Russian opera singer on stage weaving her voodoo gypsy magic on the crowd.  -- actually that’s probably what caused the bad weather.)  (I realize the historical inaccurate improbabilities of that first thing I said.) 

(Okay to be fair the bands were at their worst when the weather was good at the beginning; it was more of a negative correlation.)  

(My statement about the Siberian voodoo sorcerer and her Celtic gypsy magic calling a vicious storm to rain lightning on the soccer field still stands.) 

(I sincerely apologize if that joke is a "you-had-to-be-there".  I tried my best.)

(Here's a consolation: If there is one thing that I've learned at UNC, it is how much I love bagels.  Bagels bagels bagels. Bagels bagels bagels bagels.)

(I'm not sure how that's consoling.)

(Maybe if I'm lucky it'll be entertaining to all those people that weren't very entertained by my description of the romani witch singer.)

(Or maybe this waffling about it will do the trick.)

(Or that.)

(Haha "Waffling")

(I should go.)

Everything Else That's Been Fascinating And Exciting At UNC For The Last Month That I Haven't Talked About Because Of Germany--WAIT! GERMANY! I WENT THERE! I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY!

Quick question:  Have you ever seen 48 college students go to town on a legitimate medieval castle? It’s ridiculous.  We were like little children that just moved into a huge new house when our parents immediately decide to leave for the weekend, leaving us to explore the mansion on our own.  It was beautiful chaos.

 There were people climbing over random castle walls. (I was afraid a phalanx of longbow-men were gonna jump out of the woodwork and take us down with a rain of arrows at any moment)

To the walls, the Americans are attacking! AND THEY HAVE CAMERAS!

There were people lowering themselves into the empty moat. (There was no water, but I was afraid we’d see some snakes -- If there are snakes in Germany, which I’m not so sure about -- I think they killed them all.  All German children below the age of 10 were given sticks in 1825; snakes disappeared from the region within a month, followed closely by large spiders and bears.)

This used to be filled with water. crazy.

There were people falling into tunnels and caves beneath the castle grounds. (I was afraid we’d find frozen cavemen or a cavern that goes hundreds of miles underground but we just found old beer bottles, used condoms, and an old German soldier who’d been there since World War II.  We convinced him the Norwegians had shaken off their German occupiers, led the Allies to victory, and now ruled Germany with an iron fist, or at least a friendly but heavily gloved hand that smells strongly of fish – let’s  be realistic.)
 

There were people climbing up random pieces of tower that were separated from the castle by a good bit of wilderness. (I was afraid I was going to hear war-cries and see a huge legion of orcs pouring through the hills in the distance; then of course I would’ve forgotten my horn back in the bathroom at the lodge and I wouldn’t have any matches with which to light the signal fires)

Needless to say, my imagination got more exercise than that one Christmas when I found 2 sizes of cardboard box and a big plastic tube behind the tree.  And ohhh what a day that was; I get nostalgic and a little nauseous whenever I see ribbons.  (Nostalgic and nauseous are very similar words – and when you think about it, somewhat similar in the feeling they evoke too.) (Wait no they're not; that's stupid -- wait -- is it?)

We spent two nights in this renovated-castle-turned-medieval-YMCA-slash-youth-retreat-center.  This secluded place was different from most other places we visited, not only in that it was a castle and not a city, but in that we didn't cause huge inconveniences to hundreds of people.  There were 50 of us in all, and we definitely knew how to block a sidewalk/fill a hostel/mob a restaurant. We were obnoxious Americans too; we only had two people who knew any German, and we talked loudly in English wherever we went.  We were the people who blocked the hall that is the entrance to the subway and occupied every ticket machine because there was a lot of us and we didn't know how technology worked.  We *always* got put in the back room at restaurants, along with all the German families that had young children.  Perhaps showing our Americanism the most, we dominated karaoke.  Even when it was a German song being sung (99 luft balloons) we overpowered them with our assertive and arrogant vocal cords.

Classic Americanism: Being critical of their artistry.

There was no room in this castle for anyone else.

This is the only picture that exists of karaoke. I promise. Don't look for more.

Okay I'm happy now; I think I've finally had my fill of talking about Germany.  Probably.

If I Had a Time Machine I Would Hijack Michael’s Blogger Account and Fail.

Hello, Ladies and squids. Michael has no idea that I’ve deciphered the password (it was “password”) to his mega-popular blog. I divine that his web traffic shall go the way of GM stock value or the right hemisphere of Ed Hardy’s brain and vanish altogether.  Fortunately, Michael will be unable to dislodge this UNfortunate happenstance, for he is tied up at the moment and listening to Friday on repeat (Just kidding about the Friday thing I’m not a monster). Anyway, I just thought I would take some time to introduce myself; I am Brian, Michael’s wiser, more esteemed, and modest older brother. Why am I here? You might be wondering in your curious little mind. That will all be revealed in a few short paragraphs. 

It just so happens folks (check out my southern slang, eat your heart out Mark Twain)[that almost rhymed, if I was a rapper that would definitely count] It just so happens folks that I, being the brilliant man that I am, have accomplished what many generations of half-witted physicists (Galilshmeo, FrankEinstein, Fawking etc…) could not do. They only theorized about or outright dismissed the possibility of creating what I have created. That’s right; I possess the means to stop Rebecca Black’s parents from purchasing 'the bronze package' from producers’R’us. I can keep Lindsay Lohan out of rehab while simultaneously accidently pushing Paris Hilton under a bus 10 years ago. I can even stop Bush from winning the 2000 election (did I say winning I meant rigging)(yes I am the only one still making Bush jokes NEVER FORGET). I have built a time machine. Yes a time machine. I built it the only way I know how: with my own two bare hands, and instructions from Ikea. I dare say it is one of the manliest things ever created; it ranks up there with Abe Lincoln’s beard, Bach (cause Bach), and Chuck Norris’s Laser disc collection. Now with my new-found power I shall set out into the world and do good deeds and prevent many injustices in the space-time dysfunctium… after I attend to more pressing matters.

Before you all start making requests of tragedies I should prevent that have long since past -- BP oil spill (no biggy, they cleaned it up), Katrina (why is everyone so Gulf centered), Linkin Park’s latest album (I swear I’ll get to that one) -- I must prevent one of the most horrific and pathetic things ever witnessed by human eyes, heard by human ears, and felt by human hands. Britney Spears comeback tour must be stopped. In the words of the great Tosh, it’s just gotten sad. Britney if you’re reading this (which I know you aren’t because this is above a 2nd-grade reading level and your 5-year-old child probably hasn't taught you how to use the computer yet) Miley Cyrus has taken your place as Queen of the Undesirables, with Ke$ha in a close 2^nd. You, Britney, are no longer a factor. Even Rebecca Black sounds better than the garbage that spews forth from your mouth like it was the bowels of a pig. In fact, Britney, Ke$ha, Rebecca, and Miley -- they all must be stopped from poisoning the minds of young women and men. 

Please send me your prayers as I embark on a dangerous trip to 6 months ago before all of these no-talent-clowns were famous and proceed to make the present a better place. I will also take winning lottery numbers to your past self for a small fee (your first born child, or a 10 pound bag of M&Ms). Now I am off, if you wish to follow my journey please follow the link to my blog http://grimesbtimes.blogspot.com/  Together we shall do nothing, but I will do many great things on my way to being president of the world. I will revisit my past, talk about philosophy, and put all no-talent-clowns on blast for making Aliens pass by our planet like “Woah, Warnak we are never stopping there.” (known fact that Aliens name their children Warnak).  All this and more fantasticisms on my blog, the first post to be published on Monday April 11^th.

 Oh Yeah, If you find Michael tell him is new password is WEWEWESOEXCITED!

My adventure in ALEMANIA, la cuarta parte. --The Germans celebrate the beginning of Lent! Orrrrr Mardi Gras? The beginning(ish) of spring? the week? Sunday?

I always start out these posts really ambitiously, planning to cover all kinds of stuff, but then I end up spending an hour and a half rambling about a small encounter that really has no bearing on the general story arc that I’m focusing on.  

So to counter this unfortunate happenstance, (I didn’t really know what this word meant so I google-define:-ed it.  Apparently it’s a French film produced in 2000 featuring Audrey Tautou and Faudel – adjust your vocabulary accordingly) (hahaha "Faudel"  she should do a duet with Fergie/form a 1950s comedy duo: "Faudel & Fergie"! [For maximum effect, pronounce "Faudel" as "Foddle"]) [I’ve decided to just start sentences over when an extended interruption like this occurs; I promise it’s not just to up the word count] So to counter this unfortunate happenstance, I’m going to set my sights really low for this post.  That way I can be pleasantly surprised when I manage to cover a fraction of the actual topic at hand!  In this post I, Michael, will inform the reader of at least one thing that I did or saw or was assaulted by while within the borders of Germany.  

Happenstance is a French word? I think I've been pronouncing it wrong.

So we’re talking about cultural differences between Germany and America, specifically the differing attitudes about alcohol.  We covered children’s beers, and now I’m going to tell another story.

Story #2

While I was in Germany, I witnessed an event of epic proportions called Carneval.  It was a city-wide party, and it was ridiculous. It was on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday, so I’m fairly certain it was vaguely connected to Fat Tuesday, although I’m not sure if the Germans knew that.  Keep in mind as I begin to describe it that we were in Erfurt, which is a city of just about 200,000 people.  There are much bigger cities around Germany, and probably much more prominent celebrations throughout the year.  

When we got up that morning, we were aware that there was to be a parade later that day.  The magnitude of this incredible parade is what caught us off guard.  As we walked to church at about 9 that morning, we already started to see random families on the street, completely dressed up like it was a ridiculous German version of Halloween that you never grow out of.  Right after church, a group of us made our way to the plaza where the parade was to begin…

The streets already smelled of beer.  Once we reached the plaza, we noticed three things immediately:  

1. There were parade floats everywhere, and there were tons of people in them, yelling, eating, drinking, and yelling again. 
2. Every single person (there were a lot) in this huge plaza was dressed ridiculously
3. Many(most) of them were drunk. 

There were open bottles of alcohol everywhere.  I saw a half-full bottle of vodka sitting on the ground out in the open, like someone had gingerly set it down to give someone a big tipsy hug but absentmindedly left it there. 

German Mutant Ninja Turtles

Once the parade itself started, we were mesmerized.  Float after float of happy Germans rolled by, and people were going crazy.  I saw a man on a float holding a beer in one hand and throwing candy with the other.  You know how at baseball games, a lady will walk around and sell hot dogs and peanuts from this big box she has attached to her front?  There was one of those selling little tiny plastic bottles of liquor.  At first I assumed it was candy, but then I looked closer and realized my mistake.  

"Party" and "Fun" are regular parts of the German vocabulary.  THAT'S IT!  This is an ESL instructional video!

There were two kinds of floats:  musical ones, and drunk ones.

But seriously, the entire city was filled with drunken costumed Germans.  A wise man once likened it to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, except more family friendly (less nudity), no beads, and more public alcohol consumption.

The floats themselves and the costumed people in the parade were absolutely ridiculous, as you will see from these pictures.  After we watched the parade and danced and sang and participated in back-and-forth shouting of “Hallo!” between the floats and the observers for a while, we went inside a big tent which was labeled “Irish pub”.  Apparently this is where the more elderly Germans go for Carneval.  It was a huge tent with rows and rows of benches, and a stage up in the front, which was covered with instruments and other musical stuffs.  There was only one guy up on stage, however, and all he did was yell “hallo!” to the audience every now and then.  (A popular greeting apparently)  Most of the time he was just playing recorded music.  (He also wandered around the stage a lot because he didn’t have a chair.  My hypothesis is that he had just wandered up there earlier and started yelling and no one had bothered to interrupt his fun.)

Notice the fanny pack.  Also: She was embarrassingly drunk and did not speak a bit of English.

So imagine this: Old cheesy German folk songs are being blasted on big speakers.  The huge tent is filled with old intoxicated German people in ridiculous costumes singing along to these songs from their childhood that all feature accordions and sound like what lederhosen would sound like if it was an audible phenomenon.  It was made all the more better when they played “Sweet Caroline” though, as we made sure those Germans would not soon forget those obnoxiously loud and regularly dressed Americans who kept waving their arms in the air and imitating the brass in a horribly clumsy, dissonant way.  

He was judging us with those eyes. He is now my desktop background.

So judging from this story, you might say that the German attitude towards alcohol is ever so slightly different from ours.

My Time in TYSKLAND Part Drei (You're supposed to yell it, regardless of the language you're saying it in) More cultural differences! Hooray for what's different from us!

I’m not sure exactly how much mileage I’m going to get out of this whole “Germany” thing, but I’m just gonna keep rollin’.  (Why is ‘gonna’ not a word?  For the sake of informality and literary voice, you will have to pardon the non-words. [Not to mention the excess punctuation.]) 

So last post I talked about one of the major differences between German and American culture, probably the most well-known one: children’s playgrounds' design. (The conclusion we came to was that abstract thinking, aggressive behavior, and escapology/parkour training are the biggest priorities, displacing the boring American standbys “fun” and “safety”.)

Now that I’ve gotten that one out of the way, I’d like to talk about one of the more unexpected differences which, quite frankly, we were astonished to encounter.  I’m speaking (Woahhhh, just a sentence ago I was expressing a desire to talk about something, now I’m “speaking” already? I need to slow down a little bit!)  I’m speaking of the German culture’s general attitude towards alcohol.  (You might want to sit down for this one.)  

First off, the drinking age is 16 for beer and wine, and 18 for liquor.   Now that I’ve covered the basics, I’m going to approach this discussion as I approach every cultural analysis, intellectual debate, Q & A session, press conference, life-changing decision, family member, and justice of the peace: anecdotally. (I’m going to leave a minute/a blank space here to give time for that sentence to soak in/for my brain to recollect its marbles)

Storytime #1: 

Actually some of this is still exposition; I’m really bad at organizing stuff.

So you know how you always get water in American restaurants when you’re trying to be cheap?  Well in Germany you either let yourself thirst (I’m using it as a verb like “starve”) or you get beer.  It’s everywhere; very few restaurants do not sell any.  

New game/idea for blog post: start a post and then periodically put in random google images and make it relevant somehow. (That's not what I'm doing here, I promise.)

I didn’t realize exactly how “everywhere” (figuratively) the beer was until I ate at a restaurant named Tiffanys’ in Berlin. (There was no breakfast food, and not a trace of Audrey Hepburn or Deep Blue Something memorabilia.)  Unbeknownst (Holy cow that’s an amazingly spelled word) to me, *gulaschsuppe* in German is a direct translation to *Campbells chunky beef soup*.  So needless to say, the meal was not entirely satisfactory.  What made it really interesting was my beverage choice. So I was perusing the beer menu, (What a great sentence fragment) and I saw 2 options titled “Berliner Weisse”. One was labeled “rot”, and one was labeled “grün”.  This meant to me that there were two white/pale beers that were apparently made in Berlin, and that they came in two different colors.  I wanted to try something regional and unusual (like green beer), so I got that one.  

I immediately realized something was wrong when my beer came in a short stubby glass and had a straw in it.  I remember it saying something like “Berliner Kindl Weisse” (Which google translator gracefully turns into “Berlin white children”.)  There was also a picture of a beer mug and a child’s face peeking out over the top. (Which, now that I think about it, seems to be endorsing childhood intoxication; Why else would you climb into a big old beer mug? It's probably sticky.)  I tried to maintain my composure and ignore the snickering wait-staff as I slurped (I may’ve blown bubbles in it too) my half beer, half green soda, 100% delicious beverage.  

OMG THAT'S WHAT I HAD.

My apologies; Story time #2 about alcohol in Germany will have to wait for next week. I've already spent an inordinate amount of time researching children's beers and even more trying to figure out what font this text is in. (Georgia.) And why it's smaller than in other posts. (Voodoo.) 

Rest assured, The wait will be worth it. It, the story, will be worth the wait. (There will be actual story-relevant pictures from my trip!)

DEUTSCHLAND parte deux. Some obvious differences, interesting similarities, and unexpected variations between German and American culture. Or: If M.C. Escher and Josef Stalin were locked in a room and told to design the perfect jungle gym.

So I don’t really feel like taking the simple way out and chronologically going through my adventure in Germany.  Instead I’m just going to highlight some specific stuff that I saw and interesting things that happened.  Today I’m going to talk about some random and some not-so-random comparisons of German and American culture. I’d like to start with the less obvious random option.

On Wednesday and Thursday of our time in Germany, we stayed in Wittenberg, a city in eastern Germany where Martin Luther studied, taught, and preached for many years.  I am incredibly inept at judging the size of a city, but Wikipedia says it has a population of 50,000…so, yeah.  That’s how big it is.  We were in the city center, which was a beautiful area of streets with shops, restaurants and random canal-like things.  There was also a lot of green area around it and numerous Martin Luther monuments.  There was a river/drainage ditch in one part of the green area, and it was gross.  It smelled slightly of sewage, and looked pretty bad.  Whenever it went underground there was a cool stone entrance where it drained down, and it had beer bottles and trash all over it.  In case you didn’t catch it, this is similar to America, and it also has very little to do with culture. (Or maybe it does.  I don’t know.)  

The most awesome thing in this area that I’ve been attempting to get around to, however, was the playground.  It was totally unlike any conventional playground I’ve seen in America, and I’m so sorry that I have no pictures of it.  I will attempt to find somewhat vaguely similar pictures on Google images, use them, and pray that they are not copyrighted. (Aborted, there are none that will not give a false impression.)

It was a very hilly green area, and the playground was basically built on two hills and the lower valley around them. (haha, “valley”)  The hill in the center of the playground had a layered terrace-y thing around half of it, making it possible to climb up it?  Its purpose was unclear.  At the top of this hill was a bridge to the main playground structure.  It was a ridiculously long bridge and it was one of those bridges that is obviously safe, but manages to be unbelievably rickety.  Scariest experience of my life on a playground structure.   (Nevermind; scratch that, I still have nightmares about the slide in 1^st grade; that girl was vicious, and she knew how to use that windbreaker like a brutal weapon.)

*Tremble*    The "real" reason I hate the cold: memories...

The bridge connected to what appeared to be a conventionally shaped wooden playground.  Connected to this, however, was a long series of rectangular wooden poles, plastic ropes connecting them, and oddly shaped wooden blocks providing a small amount of space to walk on.  No firefighter poles, no tic-tac-toe game, no swings, no animal shapes anywhere; Just a rickety bridge and a lot of extremely dangerous, oddly spaced, and seemingly aimless and unorganized climbing equipment.  (And one lone slide on the other hill, completely separate from the rest of the playground.)  It was unclear for a while whether we were on a playground or had simply wandered into an abandoned, poorly-thought-out obstacle course.  (The architect must have written half the plan, scribbled over the entire blueprint, then gave it to the builders and insisted that they do it exactly as written.)  We were able to climb all over it, but this was only because we had longer, adultish legs, and we still only narrowly escaped death.  The obvious conclusion to be drawn here is that German children are raised from infancy to be agile, ruthless, and easily-entertained guerilla fighters.

Next week I’ll discuss more differences. :D

(Bonus: My favorite part of that day was when a friend and I raced down the slide and ran off, much to the obvious exasperation of an older German lady and her child.)  (Our immaturity was apparent, even to the < 8 year old)