I may be American, but I'm not an Ugly American. I try to be pleasant to everyone I encounter in my travels, whether it's a pretentious Italian mom or a filthy Spanish backpacker. Whenever somebody sitting near me tries to strike up a conversation, I take the time to reply, "Sorry, I don't speak whatever the hell that is."
Americans differ sharply by region. Their distinct personalities are hinted at by the answers they gave to a simple question from a TV journalist.
Q: Would you rather listen to Peter Gabriel or Phil Collins?
L.A. RESIDENT: Peter Gabriel, I think.
MID-AMERICA RESIDENT: Definitely Phil Collins.
N.Y. RESIDENT: Well, it depends. Do I want to be entertained or vomit?
ME: I am making a movie about skinny people who live in a lighthouse pushing logs off the world's highest waterfall.
IMOVIE: Make sure you turn your camera HORIZONTAL to film it!
When you are buying something and want to pay with exact change, don't ask me if I have a penny, nickel, dime or quarter, because I will lose more than that fishing all the crap out of my pocket.
Why I Like Sheep Better Than People
When you shave sheep all over you get sweaters. When you shave people all over you get New Jersey.
FIRST YEAR OF MARRIAGE
WIFE: I sure do like that necklace.
HUSBAND: Do you? Let me buy it for you, my dear.
SECOND YEAR OF MARRIAGE
WIFE: I sure do like that necklace.
HUSBAND: It is nice, isn’t it?
THIRD YEAR OF MARRIAGE
WIFE: I sure do like that necklace.
HUSBAND: Yeah, well, you like a lot of stuff.
Two men — one American and one German — are driving through Manhattan when an asteroid hits the car, crushing the American, setting his clothes on fire and vaporizing his hair.
AMERICAN: I ... I think I need a hospital.
GERMAN: Put it on the list for the next time we are here.
Thursday, October 10, 2019
Hamburg is a fun little coastal town with a lot of tourist attractions, so I visit at least once or twice a year. There are several fun hipster neighborhoods, the Elbphilharmonie is wonderful, there's a world-class attraction in the rooms full of tiny, dazzling scenes at Miniatur Wunderland, and all along the short coast are excellent fish restaurants mixed with stylish modern buildings that will appeal to any architecture fan.
The Reeperbahn has to be Germany's best adult neighborhood, with blocks and blocks of every sort of entertainment from restaurants to nightclubs to drag bars to just flat-out sex clubs of every persuasion.
Nearby Herbertstraße is so crowded with prostitutes that female tourists are warned against visiting for fear of starting a "turf war."
My husband Dieter, our friend Evelyn and I drove up one Friday last July to weekend at the Arcotel Rubin Hamburg. It's an okay hotel a few blocks from St. Georg, the city's rather small gay neighborhood. The first words the desk clerk said to us were, "We're sorry, but the air conditioning doesn't work."
Instantly my mood flipped from carefree tourist to cross-examining inquisitor. It was ninety-five degrees outside. Why would they wait until check-in to tell us this? Were they afraid -- rightly -- that if we'd been warned, we'd have stayed somewhere else? My blood pressure skyrocketed while my two German companions decided to share their thoughts.
Evelyn is a tall, ice-cold blonde with aquiline features. "That is fine," she snapped. "We are strong German stock."
Dieter is six foot nine and about a yard across. "That is not a problem," he agreed. "Germans are used to hardship."
I stared at them in disbelief before turning to the clerk. "I'm American," I said. "I need to speak to the manager."
The Reeperbahn has to be Germany's best adult neighborhood, with blocks and blocks of every sort of entertainment from restaurants to nightclubs to drag bars to just flat-out sex clubs of every persuasion.
Nearby Herbertstraße is so crowded with prostitutes that female tourists are warned against visiting for fear of starting a "turf war."
My husband Dieter, our friend Evelyn and I drove up one Friday last July to weekend at the Arcotel Rubin Hamburg. It's an okay hotel a few blocks from St. Georg, the city's rather small gay neighborhood. The first words the desk clerk said to us were, "We're sorry, but the air conditioning doesn't work."
Instantly my mood flipped from carefree tourist to cross-examining inquisitor. It was ninety-five degrees outside. Why would they wait until check-in to tell us this? Were they afraid -- rightly -- that if we'd been warned, we'd have stayed somewhere else? My blood pressure skyrocketed while my two German companions decided to share their thoughts.
Evelyn is a tall, ice-cold blonde with aquiline features. "That is fine," she snapped. "We are strong German stock."
Dieter is six foot nine and about a yard across. "That is not a problem," he agreed. "Germans are used to hardship."
I stared at them in disbelief before turning to the clerk. "I'm American," I said. "I need to speak to the manager."
Monday, October 7, 2019
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