Goodbye, Black Rabbit




















More bad news from the bunnies. Waboose, my black rabbit, died suddenly yesterday. This is a great shock, as up to that time he had never been sick and seemed healthy and strong. He was only three years old.

Waboose came to live with Wee and I when he was about 3 months old. He was in danger of being donated to the zoo as crocodile food, and for the price of 7€ I was able to save his life. The people I bought him from thought he was a female, and I was surprised to establish that he was a male after he came home to Wee. So he had to take a trip to the vet to be sterilized, because there are plenty of bunnies in the world who don't have good homes, and I didn't want my guys to contribute to that.




















Wee and Waboose's relationship was very rocky for about a month, because they had great difficulty establishing who was dominant. Wee was successful however, following up her initial reaction of peeing on Waboose with a long campaign of dominance. Over the years, Waboose tried to topple Wee's regime, but never succeeded. After their first month of living in separate cages, they independently decided to move into the big cage together, leaving one cage unoccupied. This was a surprise to their human, because up to that point they hadn't seemed to like each other, but it was also a welcome change, as it freed up a good amount of space.















Wee and Waboose were the best of friends until Wee's death 2 weeks ago. This seemed to be a terrible shock for Waboose and he started behaving differently, being a bit more scared than usual and not eating as many treats. Previously, he would eat many treats in rapid succession, often stealing them from Wee, but without her company, he would only eat one treat, then return to his house, refusing more. He seemed to be mourning and lonely. When his new wife, Rosie, arrived last week, he perked up, quickly dominating her and cuddling a lot with her. He even started to eat more treats again.















Then yesterday, after behaving normally in the morning, he started acting very strangely between 11 and 11:30 and was very weak. We started on our way to the vet, but Waboose died on the way.

Remember White Rabbit















Yesterday morning when we arrived home from Willy's Friday morning appointment, I noticed that Little Wee was lying strangely on the bunny rug. She didn't react to me at all, and upon closer inspection, I discovered that she'd passed away while we were out. Thinking back, she had been behaving differently in the past few days, like sitting in the corner and looking at the wall, rather than out into the room as usual. And she'd been sitting a lot in the bunny house, which is usually Waboose's domain, being the scaredy cat that he is.
Little Wee was only four years old. I'd had her since she was just a tiny baby bunny, and she grew into a pretty white rabbit.




















But at six months of age she came down with a case of tilt head, from which she never completely recovered. Sometimes it was better, and sometimes it got worse, but all in all, her quality of life was good, though she was the butt of many jokes. She always played and fought with Waboose, ate, drank, and was also always happy to meet new people, even if they did say mean things about her tilted head. This illness was probably the cause of her early death, because even with a good quality of life, the disease does shorten a bunny's life expectancy.















Wee leaves behind her human family and her bunny husband, Waboose. They didn't have any children, because Waboose was neutered as a young buck. Wee did try to have a baby with a previous boyfriend (Najimo), but that pregnancy resulted in a stillbirth.

Now we have to observe Waboose carefully, because he's never lived alone before. Before I saved him from a certain death in the jaws of a crocodile at the zoo, he had lived with his mom and siblings, then he always had Wee for company. Even when Wee was away for a matter of hours at the vet, he always showered her with attention when she returned. This could prove to be a very difficult period for Boose.




















Goodbye, Little Wee.

If looks could kill, I'd be a murderer.

I just saw my least favorite neighbor a few minutes ago, and it seems he's moving out. But even in moving out he's made me so upset that I am shaking. The trouble is, he parks his trashy, rusted out car right in a place where it's impossible to enter or exit my house. If he parked one meter farther in, it would be no problem. But no, this exceptionally clever brain surgeon of a man manages to park right in a place where it looks like maybe you can get past, but, no, you can't. Complicating this problem is that I and several of my neighbors have children whom they transport in strollers, we also have a neighbor who uses crutches all the time. For us it's an especially irritating conundrum, leading to yelling and very angry people.
On Sunday, after returning from a shopping trip at the supermarket in the train station, which is upsetting in itself because it's the only supermarket open on Sunday, and is therefore full with lots of, um, interesting characters, I could just barely squeeze through the entrance to my house with my bike because of this parking primadonna. I dawdled around near the door to the house, waiting to see who this person is, and sure enough, it was the usual suspect. Due to my trying trip to the supermarket, and my lack of anything to eat that morning, I flipped out, telling this guy that that's a stupid parking spot, that there are people here with strollers who need to go through, and that it doesn't matter if he's leaving in "just a minute" as he claimed, it's a stupid place and is just not acceptable.
And just now, I arrived back with my stroller, and who is parked in exactly the same place yet again? My genius of a neighbor. This time I just demanded that he park in a different place, which he did, and said no more, just giving him the dirtiest look I could muster. And boy, when I came in the apartment and caught a look at myself in the mirror, I frightened myself.
Then who was lingering around the yard just a moment ago? Two of my neighbors with their babies because they can't leave. I went out onto my balcony and suggested they take a nice full diaper and smear it on his windshield. I, unfortunately, don't have any on hand at the moment.

Chicago smells like chocolate!

Today while out for a walk along the Elbe in the summery March weather that we are having, I was listening to my favorite radio show, This American Life, on my headphones while a certain someone was taking a nap in his stroller. I was listening to the episode "In the Shadow of the City", and in the third act, a speaker started talking about a bridge in Chicago that smells like chocolate! This really made my day, imagining walking through town being trailed by the smell of chocolate...when they reported that someone in the city actually complained about this smell, causing an investigation into the chocolate factory which releases the cocoa powder, and ultimately leading to trouble for the chocolate factory due to fine particle pollution from cocoa. You can read more and see a picture of the chocolatey bridge here.

Here in Dresden Neustadt, we have a toothpaste factory that also causes certain streets to smell minty fresh sometimes, and at the most interesting times: occasionally in the morning, when you should have fresh minty breath anyway, once in a while later in the evening, which can really refresh you and wake you up better than a stiff cup of coffee if you've just been out for a heavy dinner. I used to live directly adjacent to this factory and I loved sometimes opening my windows to be met by a wall of minty freshness, I can understand the speaker on "This American Life" who said it was like 1000 little stabs to the heart to know that the chocolate smell would be gone in the future. But is this toothpaste factory perhaps the cause of some of the fine particle pollution that we have here? Could it be that a limit on the number of automobiles in this neighborhood would do very little to no good in reducing the fine particle pollution here, when the real problem is a toothpaste factory? Maybe they should just move the fine particle testing station away from its current location on a busy street to the park, as one city did, and the pollution would probably drop dramatically all by itself!

Here are a couple articles about the smelly chocolate factory:

An End to a Sweet Smell in Chicago

Chocolate Smell On EPA Hit List

"I'm not vegan, I'm an orthodox."




















Patrick F., 2007





















Frauenkirche, 2006

This is a real comment, and a real comment from the best day of my life. People say your wedding day is the best day of your life, but I disagree. Although I can't really say, as I haven't yet actually had my wedding day. But anyway, today was pretty good. I taught this morning, translated this noon, and the whole afternoon I prepared my exhibition. My art exhibition. I have never had an art exhibition before, and maybe your saying, "Sarah? She's not an artist, she's a teacher!" Okay, you're right, but I did study art as well as German and teaching, and I like to draw and paint and all of that, and finally, I had the opening of my first exhibition. So maybe now you're saying, "She studied art and never had an exhibition? What kind of studies are those?" Those are American studies, and as an art minor, you don't need to exhibit. But I must say, it was pretty fun, despite me being so nervous that my work was bad or uninteresting. To have many friends, acquaintances and students arrive to look at my work and socialize after hours and hours of solitary work was very gratifying. It is also a really great feeling to organize a full evening with readings, music, food and drinks and to have so many happy guests. So, thank you to everyone who came, and especially thank you to the people who helped me get everything ready , supported the exhibition and publicity, and helped with the entertainment this evening! If you couldn't come, you can still check it out until mid August!

Dear Students,
Please avoid using online translating machines. I know it seems like an easy way to get your English homework done quickly, but really, you just end up sounding silly. Please read this article if you have doubts about my advice:

In English

Mexico city - which Mexican Manuel Uribe, one of fettleibigsten humans of the world, has after five years for the first time its house in the northMexican city San Nicolas de loosely Garza left. In a steel bed with wheels Uribe was pulled by the roads, which he had so for a long time not been able to enter, because he had become heavy 550 kilograms and any longer move could not. He announced to create a donation to the assistance from over-weighty patients to. The trip to fresh air had become possible, because Uribe 205 Kilos abgespeckt and only 345 Kilos on the balance brings. In presence it gave itself its family with a radiating smile convinced to learn to go still before the end of the yearly again. It will remove further 100 kilograms among other things with the assistance of the foreign medical profession, in order to reach this. For the donation "Manuel Uribe" he asked for support from the entrepreneur shank the region and the population. "I would like to help those, which do not create it from own strength, because they do not have the financial means and also not the information", said Uribe. "the Fettleibigkeit is an illness and its treatment is expensive." Humans would have to learn, how they would have to nourish themselves, in order to be able to live healthy. Uribe, whose case admits country-wide is, is treated for one year with the support of the health authorities of the Federal State Nuevo Leon. Also it is treated by the Italian physician Giancarlo de Bernadini, who removed for it among other things fat bulge at the legs (dpa)

Translated using a copy and paste translator on the internet from the following German article:
http://www.sz-online.de/nachrichten/artikel.asp?id=1428513

Okay, if you don't speak any German, this can help you get a general idea of what this article is trying to say. But when you really read it, it just sounds crazy. You are constantly distracted by the strange formulations and this can't be taken seriously, though it's a serious article.

Sincerely, your teacher,


Sarah

I'm begging you, please don't take me so seriously.















"Home"

Eine Ausstellung von Sarah Reader
Fotografie, Zeichnungen

Ausstellungsdauer: 8.3.2007-16.8.2007
Vernissage: 8.3.2007 / 18 Uhr





www. fremdspracheninstitut-dresden.de

Könneritzstr. 31, 01067 Dresden

Mo-Do 8-19 Uhr
Fr 8-17 Uhr

Okay, you can take it seriously that I'm having an exhibition from March 8th to August 16th, and that the opening is on the 8th of March at 6 pm, and that it is at this school and all that, but this picture, well, I hate to be so overly clear and possibly insult your intelligence, but please don't take it so seriously. It's meant to be a bit ironic and sappy and funny. I mean come on, don't you laugh when you see a typical Bavarian saying clashed up against an American flag? Not to mention an American wearing a striking pink ensemble jaunting through the image?

This is a real, original photograph, I did not alter it at all. It's not a collage, I found this place exactly this way in Frankenmuth, Michigan, USA. But don't think I feel all patriotic or anything, this picture doesn't particularly warm my heart, I really just find it funny. I think it is a curious juxtaposition of what could be seen (and often is seen) as "typically German" by Americans, and, well, a truly typical scene from Smalltown, USA. That's all. This is not some statement like "let's all go to Oktoberfest!" or "God Bless the USA!". It's an observation of a somewhat strange scene, cliched as it may be, but again, not meant to be taken so seriously.

I guess I should have told this to the person at the shop where I wanted to leave some cards. I asked if I could put out some cards for my exhibition, and she wanted to see them. So, I showed her the card, featuring the above photograph, and her eyes got all wide, and she started shaking her head dramatically, and she said "No, no, sorry," quite emphatically. Huh. I was a bit dumbfounded, and went back outside where my friend was waiting with Willy, and my friend asked, "What's wrong? Why is your face red?" and I recounted this story. Oh well. I guess this is just my first experience as a misunderstood artist! Now I can be all dark and moody, because people just don't understand me. (Don't worry, you don't have to take that last sentence so seriously either.)

My Crazy Day at the Consulate




















Last Friday I had to take care of some paperwork at the consulate, and fortunately I could do this in Leipzig, which is just an hour away, as opposed to Berlin, which is 3 hours away. But even though I got to go to the little consulate and not the embassy, I got full star treatment!

First of all, the consulate is on some little tiny street in the middle of the city that the Leipzigers don't even know. I attempted getting help from various people on the street and at tram stops, to no avail. Most looked at me strangely, as if this street is not in Leipzig at all, but somewhere far, far away, like Bonn or Flensburg. But fortunately, one lady looked at my map, and said, "Well, it looks like it should be in that direction, near the city hall."

So I climbed into a tram and was on my merry way. Upon getting out of the tram, I felt dangerous, like I was jumping into waters unknown, which I really was, since I'd only visited Leipzig once before, and that time was with a group of students and our teacher. But, by following my trusty map which I printed from the internet I found the consulate. It was hard to miss, with all the fencing and police tape around it. I knew I had found the right place not by the street name or the address, but by the little American flag flying among a sea of fence, chain, and police. Stuff like this makes me feel much more like I am in danger, not like I'm safe, and so I approached the Portakabin housing a couple of police officers slowly. There was also one standing outside, and I asked if this was the consulate.

"Yes. Do you have an appointment?" the officer wanted to know.

"Well, I called, and was told to come between 2 and 4 pm today. "

"And what's your name?"

I told him, and he told an officer in the Portakabin, who in turn telephoned with the guards in the guard-house (who were strangely enough only about 5 meters away, he could've shouted). As soon as everything was cleared up, I was given further instructions.

"Okay, you have to go back out and around and into the middle, and I'll open the chain for you."

This was not some heavy protective chain, it was a red and white plastic chain, much more symbolic in its purpose than anything else. So, I got through the chain, and walked the few meters over to the guard-house, where I had to turn over my passport for inspection. One guard inspected, while the other androgynous guard held open the door for entrance, before the passport inspector guard had decided that I was not a threat. Basically, I could've run in and wreaked havoc had I wanted to. But no, I followed the rules, walking through the metal detector, first with stroller, then without, and letting my bag be scanned and searched, and finally turning over my cell phone, camera and MP3 player for safekeeping while I went inside. You'd think they were going to fly me to the US after all that. During my wait, I noticed that I got special treatment, as other visitors to the consulate also had to turn over bottles of water and all liquids, because I was with a baby (or what appeared to be a baby, haha) I got to keep all of my liquids! Not that they really came in handy, though I guess I could've doused the giant photos of George W. Bush, Dick Cheney and Condoleeza Rice which were hanging in the main building with scalding water from my thermos instead of using it to mix up a bottle of baby formula later. But that would've been too much trouble to waste on them, because then I would've had to get more boiled water somewhere else later, because acts of protest alone don't nourish a baby!

"Kriminalpolizei Peine, Schneider* ist mein Name..."












Yes, it's true, yesterday we were stopped by the German version of the FBI on our way from Leipzig to Lüneburg. As if the background of the journey itself isn't interesting enough, our drive increased in comedy tenfold as a black Mercedes passed us and flashed a hand-held, lit "Stop" sign out the window, and motioned for us to follow them off the Autobahn. Schneider's partner swiftly reached out the window and slapped a blue light on the roof of the car, and they continued to a gas station parking lot, with us obediently following. After all, we knew what this was all about.

"Good evening, FBI Peine, my name is Schneider," the incredibly television- detective-show-looking officer said. I'm talking Columbo quality here, this guy was incredible. Black leather bomber jacket, some sort of mid-eighties half-mullet and a shaggy walrus-style mustache. I nearly cracked up. Then he flashed his keychain (as pictured above) as ID. This time I really had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"I'll tell you what this is all about," Schneider said. "You have no tail lights. The back of your car is completely dark. Please turn on the car and I'll show you."

Of course we acted surprised, but unfortunately this is a routine problem with the old Ford Scorpio. The light switch is on the fritz and the dashboard lighting and tail lights go out sometimes. This was one of those times. The switch has been changed a few times, and a new one has been ordered yet again. So, Schneider showed us the problem and recommended we call roadside assistance for some help if we couldn't get help in the gas station. After all, as an FBI officer, he can't write any warnings or tickets, he's really out to get the bad guys. Since we knew what the problem was and that we couldn't get it fixed before a new switch came, we gave them a good head start and continued on our way. Amazingly, on the return trip from Lüneburg, my driver had the idea to hit the switch with his fist to see if it helps, and the lights suddenly went back on. After turning the car off, the lights didn't come back on, but by punching the switch again, they did! That's a much more cost-effective solution than ordering a new switch every 2-4 weeks.

But back to this keychain as ID thing. I guess in Germany this is enough, flashing your keychain as some sort of secret code saying "I am legitimate", but somehow in the USA that just wouldn't cut it. Either people would speed off laughing at you, or you'd be shot by someone who can't stand the police or anyone who dares to act like the police. Really, no one would believe it. This officer was a true work of art, and in that, he was convincing, but that, in addition to a keychain, would still not be enough in the United States.

Another part of me, despite the fact that I am so sceptical of the keychain, really wants one of these. On one hand, it seems so mysterious like I'm a double agent leading a secret life, and on the other hand, it would be a great conversation piece. Every time I got out my keys I could tell this story, and that would be incredibly pleasing.

*names have been changed to protect the Kriminalpolizei Peine and their fine work protecting us

"The worst case is hitting a moose from behind."

"Him can't eat no tater chips, him's just a baby!"

"This is the year of parties that cost more than I can afford."

My bathroom, a Gesamtkunstwerk

The work is going very slowly, but I am surely getting my bathroom painted with water scenes. The waves are finished, and the sea creatures are coming along nicely.



































To add to the flair, I also got a really great new shower curtain for Christmas!

Things I learned on Christmas vacation

1. American homes are full of delicious treats, against which I cannot defend myself. This is supported by the fact that during my vacation, I gained 5 kilograms.

2. German cars are really small, and American cars just keep getting bigger.

3. The term "SUV" means "sport utility vehicle". I prefer to call them "super useless vehicles" because they are big beyond the point of being sensible or useful, and are incredibly wasteful in terms of gas use, but...

4. ...gas in America is cheap! We filled up the car when it was empty for under $40. Compare that to a fill-up in Germany (with the same size gas tank) for around €80.

5. You really don't ever need to learn how to walk, as long as you can use your feet well enough to drive a car. America is designed so that you drive everywhere and walk as little as possible. You can even borrow a little motorized cart to drive around inside some stores, completely eliminating the need to walk!

A trip to Beaverton

The trouble all started when we didn't get our reserved seat in the airplane. This wouldn't have been such a big deal if we hadn't been travelling with a baby. You see, I'd called and reserved the seats with the baby basinette in the plane for us, and somehow they put us in a middle row with no basinette in sight, meaning we'd have to hold the baby for the entire flight. Anyway, the situation got resolved, but not before the head steward offered us the option of staying in Frankfurt and even told us "I don't want trouble for the next nine hours." I guess he meant from us, but it would have likely been from other passengers had we not gotten the right seats, because there would have been nine hours of screaming baby to listen to.

Anyway, we got to Detroit, and I suppose as punishment for bad behavior in Frankfurt, the airline lost one of our bags. The biggest one, full of treats for my family. After their service helpline proved entirely useless, they finally delivered the bag the evening after our arrival. The treats were smashed.

Up to our arrival in Beaverton, things were uneventful. We purchased drinks at the local shop, only to discover that they tasted okay, but were a bit flat. I had a look at the bottle: "Best if used by: Oct. 21 2006" No wonder they weren't the freshest.

Then we went to the supermarket to pick up some things for dinner. The jalapeno peppers were unusually expensive, and my travel companion said "Let's go to another store then!" I had to laugh as I reported that this was the only store in Beaverton.

And yesterday I had to get crazed with jealousy as I found a youthful salesgirl in a santa hat flirtatiously trying to sell my friendly travel companion some sweaters. Okay, so it is extremely unusual to come across a handsome, thin, blonde, leather-pants-wearing German in the Midland Mall, but come on, he was also pushing a stroller! Calm down, girls!

Finally, a funny thing happened when I purchased some trousers yesterday. At least I thought they were trousers. When I went to pay, I asked the cashier to tell me what the price was when she scanned them, because they were on a sale rack. My exact words were, "Can you tell me how much the trousers ring up when you scan them?" She stopped working, looked at me like I was from outer space, and I knew I had confused her. So I corrected myself and said, "The pants! How much are the pants?" And then she understood. So, for all you skeptics out there, Americans really don't understand British English.

Chinese food is great, German Chinese food is even greater.

A discussion in class the other day about the advantages and disadvantages of various Chinese restaurants got me fired up on this topic. At some restaurants you get a free soup during the lunch hour, at others they drown the food in garlic. At some your vegetarian dish mysteriously contains chicken, at others your friends have gotten ill. I have a favorite Chinese restaurant in the United States, it's Pi's Chinese, and it's already on my list of places to go when we leave the country for Christmas. But back to the subject of German Chinese, my favorite place here would have to be









And they aren't just my favorite because of the funny name, which in English graphically refers to a certain part of the male anatomy, but because they have really good food at decent prices. Plus, when you order chopsticks with your meal there, they serve your food with a bowl, which is authentically Chinese, according to my China-visiting sources. So they get four stars not only for good food, but also for a funny name and authenticity.

Incredibly enough, a short while ago I came across yet another Dresden Chinese restaurant with a name referring to a particular male body part in English, and I don't mean the word "Onkel" (that means "uncle").










To add to the comedy of the name of this restaurant is its location. It's not located on any old anonymous corner, it's on the corner next to the erotic pharmacy.





















With this post I really don't want to poke fun at the Chinese, or any other Asians, and their names. Admittedly some of our terms in American English can be a bit ridiculous and simple-minded, but sometimes even simple-minded things can brighten your day.












I hope they do! It would serve us right.

Tastes like my favorite sausage?!?












The above advertising poster has been irritating me for a good while. Better said, I hate it with a passion. Maybe it's just my vegetarian sensibility talking here, but I think even if I ate meat I would be incredibly annoyed by the use of a sausage as a phallic symbol. Does every heterosexual woman, or any other person attracted to men, get excited when she or he eats a sausage? Or does she or he think of eating sausage when kissing a man? Even as a vegetarian, I eat non-meat sausages composed of tofu and other things that have that approximate shape, like carrots and cucumbers, and at least for myself, I can give a resounding "no" to answer that question. Perhaps it's just a question of taste, and my taste says this whole campaign is disgusting.












Here's yet another example of this ad campaign. Maybe, just maybe, these ads are made to appeal to straight men. Should they think that if they should have the luck of bringing a woman home, all they need to do is serve her up some shrink-wrapped trash from the supermarket and she's all his for the night? With all of its suggestive imagery and text, I find this incredibly offensive.




















Fitting to the simplicity of the actual campaign, I came across a parody of these ads the other day on a walk about town. From the looks of it, it was made by an art student, and though it's not terribly inventive and the layout could be better, the baseness of it is the perfect answer to those perfectly horrifying Lieblingswurst advertisements. This artist has a statement! And there are some people around here who don't like his or her statement, for all the wrong reasons, I believe. Some of these posters have been destroyed. Was it done by concerned parents who don't want their children's innocent eyes to see a nude portrait? But why? This poster actually has a twofold value: not only is it a lesson in anatomy, but also in vocabulary! It's not just a parody that made me crack up while walking down the street, it's a little act of protest. Good work!

Must have bunny slippers!

A trip to the vet.

A woman brought a very limp duck into a veterinary surgeon. As
she laid her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his
stethoscope and listened to the bird's chest. After a moment or
two, the vet shook his head sadly and said, I'm so sorry, your
Duck has passed away."

The distressed owner wailed, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure. The duck is dead," he replied.

"How can you be so sure," she protested. "I mean, you haven't
done any testing on him or anything! . He might just be in a
coma or something."

The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the room, and
returned a few moments later with a black Labrador Retriever.

As the duck's owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his
hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and
sniffed the duck from top to bottom. He then looked at the vet
with sad eyes and shook his head.

The vet patted the dog and took it out, and returned a few
moments later with a cat. The cat jumped up on the table and
also sniffed delicately at the bird from head to foot. The cat
sat back on its haunches, shook its head, meowed softly and
strolled out of the room.

The vet looked at the woman and said, "I'm sorry, but as I said,
this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead duck."

Then the vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and
produced a bill, which he handed to the woman. The duck's owner,
still in shock, took the bill, "$150! she cried, $150 just to
tell me my duck is dead!!"

The vet shrugged. "I'm sorry. If you'd taken my word for it, the
bill would have been $20, but with the Lab Report and the Cat
Scan, it's now $150.00."

And then somebody came and stole the dead duck. Sounds like taking Garfield to the vet!

"It's too bad she's having a baby, she's so smart."

According to my sources, this declaration was made referring to me. I won't make any statements about the individual who said this particular sentence, because I don't really care to perform any acts of public defamation.

What I want to talk about is how little sense this little cobbled-together bit of the English language makes.

If it's unfortunate when smart people have babies, that would lead me to believe that it's fortunate for people who aren't smart, here we will use the term "dumb", to have babies. So let's just try this out:

"It's so great she's having a baby, she's so dumb."

Wow, what great logic. I really have to hand it to whoever said that sentence above about me, they sure are smart.

In addition, making a statement like "It's too bad she's having a baby, she's so smart" would lead me to believe that the speaker considers baby-havers to be less than intelligent, or in other words, dumb. Maybe this is a long shot, maybe I just have a strange way of understanding things, but does this mean the speaker considers his or her mom to be dumb? I would think so. Now that's pretty mean. It's not just because I love my mom that I say this, but I think she's pretty smart. And not just because she had me. She's witty, she's resourceful, and she has a great understanding of people.

Though you might not need brains to make the baby, you sure need them to bring one up. Wrangling your way through well-meaning advice from all corners and the various opinions of doctors and specialists is no easy task. And it's not like you can just sit around and watch TV all day while your kid just grows up, you need to interact with it, too, so that someday it will become a decent little being who can speak and make it's own decisions. All this all starts already in infancy. I'm only a few months into this new job of mine, and it can already be so stressful that I've nearly broken down a couple times. Maybe I should just stop being so smart and this would be a lot easier.

We love Le Tigre!

Jim Beam puked on my burger.

Back when I was still pregnant and my cravings could swing wildly from one end of the flavor spectrum to the other in a matter of seconds, we found one restaurant that was capable of satisfying my cravings for American food: Jim Beam's Bar here in Dresden-Neustadt. They have really good pub food, like giant burgers, piping hot fries, and spicy nachos. They even had a really excellent veggie burger, at least once. It was a big veggie patty, piled high with fresh tomatoes, lettuce, pickles and sauces on the side. One Sunday we returned to Beam's because I had a hankering for yet another of these mouth-watering burgers. Well, what I got was a bun with some cold lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and some sauce. I complained and said this wasn't what I ordered, then demanded to talk to the cook, who was supposedly the brain surgeon who wrote the menu. He should know what he put on his menu, then. He treated me badly, and made some very unappetizing pureed glob of vegetables that he seemed to then throw in a deep fryer, and subsequently on a bun. It looked like vomit. I ate some of it, and the fries, which at least were good. Then I proclaimed a boycott on that crappy place. And that cook is haunting me. I see him just about every time I leave the house, somewhere on the street, and I am always overcome with rage whenever I see him, he was such a jerk. I've now taken to boycotting other places he even sets foot in.

Just this past weekend, I had to boycott yet another place, to which I never should have gone in the first place: Burger King. They too have a veggie burger, and when I have a junk food craving or otherwise need something to eat fast, I like to get this as a value meal with fries and a drink. They denied me my value meal, claiming that the veggie burger is no longer available as a meal, just alone. This at a place where you can't buy a sandwich, or anything else for that matter, without the employees attempting to convince you to get a meal. They denied me my meal, and I denied them my order, continuing on my way hungry and in a rotten mood.

But yesterday we ate at a place at which my boycott would be vetoed even if I tried to apply one:







This place is great. They have excellent homemade Saxon-style food, friendly service, and if one of the menu items is out, they are honest and tell you, rather than trying to pass off something else as what you ordered. The first time we went there, I had the potatoes and herb quark, a delicious kind of cheese which is sort of like a mixture of cream cheese and sour cream. Mmmmm. I wanted this yesterday, but they were busy and it was out. So I ordered a farmer's breakfast, a sort of omelette with potatoes, onions, herbs and bacon. I asked them to leave off the bacon, but unfortunately, I got bacon. They took it back, excused themselves, and a few minutes later I received a freshly-made, bacon-free omelette. And it was delicious! We love the Diechl!

I love food.

Of course that's completely natural, you need food to live, so you'd better at least like it. But there's more to it than that for me, I love to cook it, I love to look at it, and I love to eat it. Plus, I think the kind of food person you are is important in a relationship. For example, do you like to prepare food for guests? Do you like to spend time at the table, having a long breakfast? Or do you just think that food is just one more thing to waste your time, so you don't bother spending much time on it? Food, along with pets and entertainment, can make or break a relationship, I think. Sure, there are other important things, but cat people and dog people don't mix, just like a person who loves to cut the rug and a person who won't set foot on a dance floor might not be so compatible.

Anyway, last week my love of food was given a great treat: a whole carload of fresh vegetables from the family garden. Not only I was pleased, but the bunnies received a sack full of fresh greens as well.















Been spending most their lives living in a bunny's paradise.

Some of the stuff I wouldn't normally buy, like two red beets, and other stuff was just especially delicious, like the tomatoes and new potatoes, because we all know how much better fresh garden vegetables taste than that flavorless stuff you get at the supermarket. So, I was challenged to prepare these delicious things to the best of their advantage, and wanted to try some new things as well.

First we had our regular tomato salad, using fresh tomatoes and onions, along with some feta cheese, fresh garlic, salt, pepper, oil and vinegar. Then I got creative, setting out on the task of preparing borscht, a delicious Russian soup. This is something I've only had one time in a restaurant, and was unsure if I could replicate the pleasing taste, but using a couple different recipes, I came up with my own special blend.



















This isn't my borscht, but this is kind of what it looks like.

So, I chopped up the 2 beets, 5 carrots or so, 4 or 5 new potatoes, an onion, and half a head of cabbage and sauted it all a bit in a big soup pot with a bit of olive oil. Then I threw in a liter and a half of vegetable broth, some salt and pepper, a few tablespoons of vinegar, and a couple of bay leaves. I cooked this all until the vegetables were tender but not mushy, then served it up with some chopped feta cheese on top and a dollop of sour cream. Normally this soup would contain meat, but you know me and my strange ways. The feta cheese is also untraditional, but gives the soup a satisfying kick.

I still had half a giant head of cabbage, and after a bit of research, discovered that coleslaw made from scratch is no brain surgery, so I whipped up a batch of that. All you have to do is chop up the cabbage, grate a handfull of carrots, mix it together and toss it with some vinegar, sugar, salt, and pepper, and you've got a delicious, though flatulence-inducing, salad!

Even after the soup and the coleslaw, and a somewhat unusual carrot casserole, there were still 2 big bowls of carrots lying around the kitchen, so I looked into making carrot salad. It seems that in Germany, sweet carrot salad is traditional. I've had this before and it's really good, but wanted to be untraditional and found a recipe by Madhur Jaffrey for spicy carrot salad. So I grated about half a kilogram of carrots, and then prepared the sauce. For this, you take 3 tablespoons of oil, heat it up and saute about a couple teaspoons of dry chili flakes, a chopped onion, and 3 cloves of garlic. Then add a couple tablespoons of vinegar, run that all through the food processor, and mix it up with the carrots. I added a bit more oil, because it didn't seem to be coating well, and a bit of salt and sugar, and this made a crazily spicy carrot salad that I ate for 2 meals in a row, it enthused me so much.

We still have a few ears of corn stolen from a field, so today my task is to think of a use for it. I'm considering making sweet corn cake or perhaps scalloped corn, both of which I haven't had in years, if I can find the time.

The Cat Came Back















In honor of Garfield's 10th disappearance on one of his many travels around Dresden and its surroundings, let's sing an appropriate English folk song by Harry Miller:

Old Mister Johnson had troubles of his own
He had a yellow cat which wouldn't leave its home;
He tried and he tried to give the cat away,
He gave it to a man goin' far, far away.

But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea

The man around the corner swore he'd kill the cat on sight,
He loaded up his shotgun with nails and dynamite;
He waited and he waited for the cat to come around,
Ninety seven pieces of the man is all they found.

But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea

He gave it to a little boy with a dollar note,
Told him for to take it up the river in a boat;
They tied a rope around its neck, it must have weighed a pound
Now they drag the river for a little boy that's drowned.

But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea

He gave it to a man going up in a balloon,
He told him for to take it to the man in the moon;
The balloon came down about ninety miles away,
Where he is now, well I dare not say.

But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea

He gave it to a man going way out West,
Told him for to take it to the one he loved the best;
First the train hit the curve, then it jumped the rail,
Not a soul was left behind to tell the gruesome tale.

But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea

The cat it had some company one night out in the yard,
Someone threw a boot-jack, and they threw it mighty hard;
It caught the cat behind the ear, she thought it rather slight,
When along came a brick-bat and knocked the cat out of sight

But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea

Away across the ocean they did send the cat at last,
Vessel only out a day and making water fast;
People all began to pray, the boat began to toss,
A great big gust of wind came by and every soul was lost.

But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea

On a telegraph wire, sparrows sitting in a bunch,
The cat was feeling hungry, thought she'd like 'em for a lunch;
Climbing softly up the pole, and when she reached the top,
Put her foot upon the electric wire, which tied her in a knot.

But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea

The cat was a possessor of a family of its own,
With seven little kittens till there came a cyclone;
Blew the houses all apart and tossed the cat around,
The air was full of kittens, and not a one was ever found.

But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea

The atom bomb fell just the other day,
The H-Bomb fell in the very same way;
Russia went, England went, and then the U.S.A.
The human race was finished without a chance to pray.

But the cat came back the very next day,
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
But the cat came back; it just couldn't stay away.
Away, away, yea, yea, yea

Don't worry, we got him back this time, too. And mom said he only has nine lives!

Strange Rock Formations




















Have you ever climbed up a more or less vertical sandstone cliff? Like a fly on the wall? Pressed close to the wall? With fingers and toes in narrow cracks and grooves? Searching and feeling for the next narrow ledge above you? As soon as the left hand has found a new grip, bringing the left foot behind it until the toes feel resistance? Then, after your body weight is supported on the left side, repeating this maneuver with the right hand and foot? Foot by foot, higher and higher up, ten or fifteen yards up, until you reach the top with a bit of space and time to catch your breath? And then, with the same tranquility and care, going up the next vertical cliff? You haven't tried anything like this? I warn the curious. (from "Als ich ein kleiner Junge war" by Erich Kästner, translated by me)

This text describes the very place, the Schrammsteine, where we were last hiking. No, that's not us in the picture, and fortunately for my mental well-being, we did not attempt anything like what is described in the text. We went up this way:




















Also a bit of a trek, but not quite as scary as just climbing a stone wall.















We had lunch and caught our breath up here.




















Then I nearly got stuck between some rocks.




















On the way down we ogled these climbers.

This was all a couple weeks ago. We had planned to go hiking every weekend, but had to take a break because of the unbearable heat wave. Hopefully the weather will cooperate and we can hit the trails again soon!

Whole Lotta Willy

Wanna tell you a story,
'Bout a baby I know
When it comes to cryin',
He steals the show
He ain't exactly quiet,
Ain't exactly small
Four thousand one hundred ninety,
You could say he's got it all!

Never had a baby,
Never had a baby like you!
Doin' all the things,
Doin' all the things you do!
Ain't no fairy story,
Ain't no skin and bone!
But ya give it all ya got,
Weighin' in at not even a stone!

REFRAIN
You're a whole lotta baby

You’re a whole lotta baby!
Whole lotta Willy!
Whole lotta Willy!
Whole lotta Willy!
And you're a whole lotta baby!
Yeah!

Oh honey, you can scream,
Scream and cry all night long!
Only one to cry,
Only one to cry on and on!
All through the nighttime,
And right around the clock!
Whoo! To my suprise,
Willy never stops!

REFRAIN
Willy’s a whole lotta baby!
Whole lotta baby!
Whole lotta Willy!
Whole lotta Willy!
Whole lotta Willy!
A whole lotta baby!
Yeah! Yeah!

SOLO

REFRAIN
Oh, you're a whole lotta baby!
Oh whole lotta baby!
Oh whole lotta Willy!
Oh whole lotta Willy!
You're a whole lotta Willy!
Whole lotta baby-bay-bay-bay-bay!
Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!
A whole lotta Willy!
Whole lotta baby!
Oh!

Oh whole lotta baby!

Do cats hunt cans?

Before being trapped in houses and city apartments, when tabby cats roamed the forests and the streets, marking their domains and fighting amongst themselves like mini tigers, how did they nourish themselves? Beef? Turkey liver? Seafood? Any of these aspic? I think not. They ate mice!

How did cat food manufacturers decide that cats like to eat seafood in gelèe? Or perhaps roast beef? And if they would prefer rare or well done? Nature seems to dictate that cats like their meals raw, like mince, but you don't find mince-flavored cat food, do you? You don't find that, just like you don't find mouse-flavored cat food. Or even bird-flavored cat food, except for chicken or turkey, which is too big for a cat to stalk and kill anyway.

Good things come in small packages, and Garfield got a small package this afternoon. He felt like a real cat today when he received his little box. Upon smelling it he went wild, as a real cat should.




















I'm sure you can picture what happened next.












As with the gladiators in ancient Rome, there were spectators to watch this brutal sport. But rather than being bloodthirsty supporters of the violent game, one spectator boycotted the event, and even claimed that the event organizers are "mean" and "cruel". This particular individual must be of the popular opinion that cats are natural canned food eaters who are unable to look after themselves, instead dependent on a third party to open their cans for them. If this were the case, wouldn't cats be long extinct? Anyway, were the creatures that are processed into canned food prepared in a friendlier way than a cat hunting a mouse? Either way they get dismembered and disemboweled and discombobulated. But that's the topic of a whole different blog.












Audience or not, nature took its course.




















Should we allow nature to take its course on a grander scale, breeding adorable, fresh, organic mice for Garfield to eat daily, or should we continue to serve him up smelly canned food that's full of chemicals and strange slaughterhouse leftovers? Not to mention this canned stuff gives him gas that can stink up a whole room in a matter of a fraction of a second. Or should we go a step further and create mouse-flavored cat food, in canned and dry varieties? Somehow I think cat-owning city dwellers would just wrinkle their noses at this choice which is not appetizing to humans, picking out instead some sort of liver pate in a cat shaped can, rather than giving their cat what it really wants: sweet mice!

Garfield was on holiday in Pirna.


















Someone is staying inside for a while.

Word on the street has it that the problem cat Garfield was out causing lots of trouble in the neighborhood last Friday, going into other people's apartments and even the school around the corner. Janitors chased him away, and finally, a teacher took him to her home. In Pirna. This is outside of Dresden, far away. Come on, if you find a cat that you can see has had an operation, would you just take it to your far away home? Or would you maybe think "Perhaps someone around here owns this cat which has had an expensive veterinary treatment."? Following an intense search effort by people in our house and neighborhood with help of the "Garfield ist weg!" signs, we had several tips as to the possible location of Garfield, and finally the teacher's attention was brought to the fact that she had stolen our cat, and she brought him home yesterday. Really, I think we're pretty lucky she took him, he was in good hands, as she is a cat owner herself. And she's an honest person, she did return him, she could have just kept him in his far away hideout, and we never would have known. Thank you friendly teacher who works around the corner!

If you have any information relating to the whereabouts of Garfield, please notify us by comment or email a.s.a.p. Anonymous tips also accepted.

O Tannenbaum

Yesterday a small group of us went hiking to Schrammstein in the Saxony Switzerland with little Willy. In the throes of our wanderlust, we adapted a new wanderlied:

O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
simmer unseren Willy down.
Er ist so upset jetzt,
dass er gleich einen puke absetzt!
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
simmer unseren Willy down.

and I just thought of a new verse:

O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
simmer unseren Willy down.
Er ist so sehr aufgeregt,
seine Eltern sind durchgedreht!
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
simmer unseren Willy down.

Actually, Willy remained quite calm on the hike, it was when we crossed the border into the Czech Republic for dinner that he freaked out. I think it was because of the translations on the menu that he got upset. At this restaurant, you could order "Chicken Gordon Blue" (and it was "Gordon Blue" in all 3 languages, Czech, German and English), or "Indiana Styled vegetables" (really Indian-style vegetables). But the best funny English we saw was in Decin while searching for a gas station that was open past 9 p.m. There was a shop called "Dog Ham"! So I guess someday if nobody needs English lessons in Germany any more, I could probably find a job just on the other side of the border...

Barefoot in the city?




















As a child, I loved to run outside directly following a rainstorm and splash in the puddles in the crisp, post-rainstorm air, barefoot naturally. As my age increased, my love of walking outside in the soft green grass in the summer with no shoes remained, and even sometimes I would relish the feeling of wet sand squishing between my toes at the beach. But this was all in the country, in places where going barefoot was acceptable and rather safe, excepting the occasional sharp rock that poked my foot. The rule of "no shirt, no shoes, no service" in public is common knowledge in the United States, and if you don't know it, it's posted on the doors of most convenience stores and other shops. And honestly, I don't know of anyone who would really want to walk around on hot, dirty pavement or into stores with no shoes...but here there seem to be plenty of people who incredibly do have a taste for walking around on hot, dirty pavement littered with broken glass. Is it religion? Is it some sort of test of will? I can't imagine that it's pleasurable, but it seems like each summer there are more and more people hitting the sidewalks and the gravelly paths in the park without shoes. And it's not like the sidewalks of Dresden-Neustadt are any cleaner or less hot than sidewalks elsewhere, it's likely that the opposite is true. Here's just a sample of some of the delicacies you can find on the sidewalks here: all forms of dog waste, broken glass, vomit, unfinished meals that people just drop, dirty diapers, prophylactics (used and unused), assorted fireworks, German flags... Plus, these people are not just hitting the streets shoeless, they venture into stores lacking footwear as well. Amazingly, they are not sent away, they are allowed to go about their shopping, tracking their foot and street germs everywhere. A former boss of mine back in Beaverton accosted a small child in a supermarket who was not wearing shoes, and forced the child's mother to put her in the shopping cart, because not only is it dangerous for a child to be walking around a supermarket with no shoes where perhaps some jar broke and there's still a tiny shard of glass on the floor just waiting for a tender little foot, it's dangerous for the supermarket as well because they could get sued for the injury to the child. Here people really do get injured on the sidewalks, even though they can see the giant shards of broken beer bottle on the sidewalk from the night before, but they never seem to learn. I've seen more than one person here on crutches with a bandaged foot from stepping on a piece of glass. Plus, don't feet turn to incredibly unappealing leather-like appendages when not protected by shoes? I guess I just don't get the whole barefoot in the city thing.
If you've made it this far into this blog entry, you can participate in a contest! My first Remember White Rabbit contest! Tell me who the person in the picture with this post is in a comment. If you're right, Little Wee the bunny might let you pet her tilted head.

More Garfield News...

No, we haven't just thought of a new way to torture Garfield. As you may remember from a previous post, Garfield had a hernia, induced by his toothless mother at birth. After consulting the veterinarian, we decided to go through with surgery, because without surgery, Garfield could die a terrible death with his intestines spilling out of his belly. So we chose the less painful route, hernia surgery. I think it was quite simple, just a little cut, tucking the intestines back in, and sewing Garfield's belly back together. He was able to come home the same afternoon, still drunk on anaesthesia. At the moment Garfield is confined to the kitchen, where he can hurt himself the least, limited to pacing around like this and colliding with the furniture. Maybe this weekend, after the collar is off, he can venture into other areas of the apartment, and perhaps even onto the balcony, where he can hiss at the much larger neighbor cats.

The Tables Have Turned




















Waboose used to only take on animals much larger than him, such as humans.
But now, after just a couple days of fear and irritation, Waboose has started venting his frustrations on little Garfield. I've known cats in my life who stalk deer, and scare the deer, I even read an article last week about a cat that chased a bear up a tree (and interestingly, all of these cats have had gold fur like Garfield), but now things are a little different. In the first days of Garfield's presence at our house, Waboose's keen bunny instincts told him "this animal = danger!" But now, his attack bunny ways have prevailed, leading to aggression against the little cat. It's really quite cute. If Garfield comes within about one foot of Waboose, Waboose charges and grunts. Garfield tends to back away slowly from Waboose, or run away quickly, depending on how surprised he is, all the while hissing and puffing out his soft kitty fur. Especially adorable is when Waboose creeps up behind Garfield, sniffing the tip of his tail. Garfield notices only after this has been occuring for a good amount of time, and upon noticing, springs up, runs away, and from a safe distance, turns back hissing fiercely. The best action must have happened this afternoon, however. Waboose chased Garfield in circles on the rug in the living room! This is getting better every day.















Wee finds all of this very curious.
















Waboose stalks Garfield...














...Garfield hisses angrily.










Garfield goes bunny hunting.

Kitty!, Part II














Kitty, whose official name is Garfield, is now home in Dresden. Unlike his half brother who moved to Leipzig, he did not vomit in the car on the way, much to our relief. He did, however, urinate in the bunny cage upon discovering it. Fortunately, the bunnies weren't home at the time, they were lounging on the rug in the living room. Their introduction was prior to this event, and it wasn't much better. Wee reacted coolly, just looking at the new addition to the family with her crooked head, while Waboose immediately fled to the nearest sheltered corner. Wee is taking the new addition very well, following him around and sniffing him when he least expects it. Garfield hisses at the bunny when he notices her attention. He's more interested in Waboose, because Waboose is rather high-strung and stamps his foot if Garfield even looks in his direction. The two haven't come much closer than a few feet apart. Wee has already ventured nose-to-nose with the cat, which doesn't seem to bother her as much as it bothers him.

















Wee and Garfield seem to get along already!













Here you can see crazy Uncle Waboose hiding under the sofa.

As seems to be a trend with the animals at my house, Garfield has a medical condition. He has a hernia, probably caused by his toothless mother gnawing off his umbilical cord shortly after his birth. This condition can be very dangerous for a cat, but the good news is, this can be repaired. According to what I found in my research on the internet, it shouldn't even be too expensive. So we'll see what the good Dr. Fischer says sometime this week.

Rock'n'roll baby















Research shows that babies recognize music after birth which was played before their birth outside the womb. In addition, babies in some intensive care units are played rock music to calm them because the drum beat is like a mother's heartbeat. Using this knowledge and my raw nerves yesterday evening due to a certain crying baby at my house, we rocked to some AC/DC yesterday evening. Sure enough, after hearing "Big Balls", "Girl's Got Rhythm (Backseat Rhythm)", and "Whole Lotta Rosie" and dancing along to it, baby Willy was out like a light. I don't know if I could sleep to AC/DC, but it did the trick for Willy. At the moment, true to his Michigan roots, he's listening to the Raconteurs, and it seems to be quite pleasing even to a wakeful Willy. But of course he's predisposed to Jack White's music, he was at a White Stripes concert back in October when he was probably only about the size of a walnut or so.

Degenerate Toys

When two people have a child, friends and acquaintances are often led astray by the best of intentions and bestow upon the child degenerate toys. Degenerate toys are those toys which do not reflect a reasonable system of values and which will ultimately lead the unknowing child down a lifelong path of trials and tribulations. With this list, we would like to spare baby Wilhelm these trials and tribulations. If any of these degenerate toys are found within a 50 meter radius of Willy, they will be immediately seized and destroyed most completely.

-Police-related playthings: Any figures, be they in human or animal likeness or in the likeness of any mode of transportation with any police markings of any color and sort and in any language are unacceptable.

-Winnie the Pooh and friends: This bear and his friends should be so extremely cute that it has the opposite effect, plus he can't spell. This is a bad influence.

-Dogs: We don't like dogs.

-Anything baby blue or pink: We don't feel the need to declare Willy's gender or fashion sense with either of these colors.

-Things that make noise: Anything that generates a noise for no reason. For example, stuffed animals which speak, vehicles with engine or honking noises, percussion instruments.


Acceptable Playthings

While there are playthings that can lead little Willy down the false path in life, there are also acceptable playthings which can help to shape him into a sensible young man. For example:

-Motorcycles: Fast and fun, plus they promote motor development.

-Real cars: These are the size of a sedan, minimum. American models preferred. Hydraulics optional.

-Leather clothes: Only black, pants and jackets. No fringe, no cowboy style.

-Kitties and bunnies: These animals are superior to all others. But please only likenesses, we have enough of the real thing.