No one knew the idiosyncrasies of Americans and our limited understanding of our own government better than H. L. Mencken (1880–1956), one of the great American essayists, polemicists and social critics. In observance of National Barbecue Day, I offer you his ironic contribution toward improving our appreciation of July 4 beyond mere flag waving and pretty fireworks. The excerpt below is taken from his work, The American Language, printed in 1921. Its relevance to American society only grows over time.

1 [The following is my own translation, but I have had the aid of suggestions from various other scholars. It must be obvious that more than one section of the original is now quite unintelligible to the average American of the sort using the Common Speech. What would he make, for example, of such a sentence as this one: “He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures”? Or of this: “He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the legislative powers, incapable of annihilation, have returned to the people at large for their exercise.” Such Johnsonian periods are quite beyond his comprehension, and no doubt the fact is at least partly to blame for the neglect upon which the Declaration has fallen in recent years. When, during the Wilson-Palmer saturnalia of oppressions, specialists in liberty began protesting that the Declaration plainly gave the people the right to alter the goverment under which they lived and even to abolish it altogether, they encountered the utmost incredulity. On more than one occasion, in fact, such an exegete was tarred and feathered by the shocked members of the American Legion, even after the Declaration had been read to them. What ailed them was that they could not understand its eighteenth century English. I make the suggestion that its circulation among such patriotic men, translated into the language they use every day, would serve to prevent, or, at all events, to diminish that sort of terrorism.]

2 When things get so balled up that the people of a country have to cut loose from some other country, and go it on their own hook, without asking no permission from nobody, excepting maybe God Almighty, then they ought to let everybody know why they done it, so that everybody can see they are on the level, and not trying to put nothing over on nobody.

3 All we got to say on this proposition is this: first, you and me is as good as anybody else, and maybe a damn sight better; second, nobody ain’t got no right to take away none of our rights; third, every man has got a right to live, to come and go as he pleases, and to have a good time however he likes, so long as he don’t interfere with nobody else. That any government that don’t give a man these rights ain’t worth a damn; also, people ought to choose the kind of goverment they want themselves, and nobody else ought to have no say in the matter. That whenever any goverment don’t do this, then the people have got a right to can it and put in one that will take care of their interests. Of course, that don’t mean having a revolution every day like them South American coons and yellow-bellies and Bolsheviki, or every time some job-holder does something he ain’t got no business to do. It is better to stand a little graft, etc., than to have revolutions all the time, like them coons and Bolsheviki, and any man that wasn’t a anarchist or one of them I. W. W.’s would say the same. But when things get so bad that a man ain’t hardly got no rights at all no more, but you might almost call him a slave, then everybody ought to get together and throw the grafters out, and put in new ones who won’t carry on so high and steal so much, and then watch them. This is the proposition the people of these Colonies is up against, and they have got tired of it, and won’t stand it no more. The administration of the present King, George III, has been rotten from the start, and when anybody kicked about it he always tried to get away with it by strong-arm work. Here is some of the rough stuff he has pulled:

4 He vetoed bills in the Legislature that everybody was in favor of, and hardly nobody was against.

5 He wouldn’t allow no law to be passed without it was first put up to him, and then he stuck it in his pocket and let on he forgot about it, and didn’t pay no attention to no kicks.

6 When people went to work and gone to him and asked him to put through a law about this or that, he give them their choice: either they had to shut down the Legislature and let him pass it all by him-self, or they couldn’t have it at all.

7 He made the Legislature meet at one-horse thank-towns out in the alfalfa belt, so that hardly nobody could get there and most ofthe leaders would stay home and let him go to work and do things as he pleased.

8 He give the Legislature the air, and sent the members home every time they stood up to him and give him a call-down.

9 When a Legislature was busted up he wouldn’t allow no new one to be elected, so that there wasn’t nobody left to run things, but anybody could walk in and do whatever they pleased.

10 He tried to scare people outen moving into these States, and made it so hard for a wop or one of them poor kikes to get his papers that he would rather stay home and not try it, and then, when he come in, he wouldn’t let him have no land, and so he either went home again or never come.

11 He monkeyed with the courts, and didn’t hire enough judges to do the work, and so a person had to wait so long for his case to come up that he got sick of waiting, and went home, and so never got what was coming to him.

12 He got the judges under his thumb by turning them out when they done anything he didn’t like, or holding up their salaries, so that they had to cough up or not get no money.

13 He made a lot of new jobs, and give them to loafers that nobody knowed nothing about, and the poor people had to pay the bill, whether they wanted to or not.

14 Without no war going on, he kept an army loafing around the country, no matter how much people kicked about it.

15 He let the army run things to suit theirself and never paid no attention whatsoever to nobody which didn’t wear no uniform.

16 He let grafters run loose, from God knows where, and give them the say in everything, and let them put over such things as the following:

17 Making poor people board and lodge a lot of soldiers they ain’t got no use for, and don’t want to see loafing around.

18 When the soldiers kill a man, framing it up so that they would get off.

19 Interfering with business.

20 Making us pay taxes without asking us whether we thought the things we had to pay taxes for was something that was worth paying taxes for or not.

21 When a man was arrested and asked for a jury trial, not letting him have no jury trial.

22 Chasing men out of the country, without being guilty of nothing, and trying them somewheres else for what they done here.

23 In countries that border on us, he put in bum goverments, and then tried to spread them out, so that by and by they would take in this country too, or make our own goverment as bum as they was. He never paid no attention whatever to the Constitution, but he went to work and repealed laws that everybody was satisfied with and hardly nobody was against, and tried to fix the goverment so that he could do whatever he pleased.

24 He busted up the Legislatures and let on he could do all the work better by himself.

25 Now he washes his hands of us and even declares war on us, so we don’t owe him nothing, and whatever authority he ever had he ain’t got no more.

26 He has burned down towns, shot down people like dogs, and raised hell against us out on the ocean.

27 He hired whole regiments of Dutch, etc., to fight us, and told them they could have anything they wanted if they could take it away from us, and sicked these Dutch, etc., on us without paying no attention whatever to international law.

28 He grabbed our own people when he found them in ships on the ocean, and shoved guns into their hands, and made them fight against us, no matter how much they didn’t want to.

29 He stirred up the Indians, and give them arms ammunition, and told them to go to it, and they have killed men, women and children, and don’t care which.

30 Every time he has went to work and pulled any of these things, we have went to work and put in a kick, but every time we have went to work and put in a kick he has went to work and did it again. When a man keeps on handing out such rough stuff all the time, all you can say is that he ain’t got no class and ain’t fitten to have no authority over people who have got any rights, and he ought to be kicked out.

31 When we complained to the English we didn’t get no more satisfaction. Almost every day we warned them that the politicians over there was doing things to us that they didn’t have no right to do. We kept on reminding them who we were, and what we was doing here, and how we come to come here. We asked them to get us a square deal, and told them that if this thing kept on we’d have to do something about it and maybe they wouldn’t like it. But the more we talked, the more they didn’t pay no attention to us. Therefore, if they ain’t for us they must be agin us, and we are ready to give them the fight of their lives, or to shake hands when it is over.

32 Therefore be it resolved, That we, the representatives of the people of the United States of America, in Congress assembled, hereby declare as follows: That the United States, which was the United Colonies in former times, is now free and independent, and ought to be; that we have throwed out the English Kings and don’t want to have nothing to do with him no more, and are not in England no more; and that,being as we are now free and independent, we can do anything that free and independent parties can do, especially declare war, make peace, sign treaties, go into business, etc. And we swear on the Bible on this proposition, one and all, and agree to stick to it no matter what happens, whether we win or we lose, and whether we get away with it or get the worst of it, no matter whether we lose all our property by it or even get hung for it.

Friday morning after dropping Lloyd off at the childcare center, I made my usual visit to the bakery to get an Apfeltasche (apple turnover). I was informed by the young lady behind the counter that I could get three Apfeltaschen for the price of two as well as an Amerikaner for free. What is an Amerikaner? I now present to you…

Sweet and round – just like us.

It’s a soft, iced cookie that leaves a chemical aftertaste. I stopped buying them soon after I first came to Germany, when the novelty of ordering an “American” wore off. But here I stood in the bakery now, not only being offered one for free, but a discount on three apple turnovers to boot. Such deals rarely exist in Germany; if a German wants to buy only one of something, they usually want to buy only one of something. I wanted to buy only one apple turnover, but if I bought three of them, I’d only pay for two and get another pastry I don’t even like absolutely free. The decision was a no-brainer, i.e. a decision that can be made only by someone with no brain. The young lady packed everything up and sent me on my way with a full bag of empty satisfaction.

Barack Obama was in Dresden last Thursday and Friday for 16 hours on an unofficial visit. “Unofficial” means barricading the entire Old Town for two days at an overall cost of around €40 million. His stop here was more of a layover between two important visits to Cairo and Paris. Nevertheless, the president’s visit has been media-buzz fodder in these parts since it was announced earlier this spring. Katrin and I lived in Berlin and then Mainz when Bush visited those cities. Both times severe restrictions of movement and at times violent protests of tens of thousands of angry Europeans made the experience annoying. On this, the first visit of any American president to Dresden, the security was just as tight, but the atmosphere was one of excitement.

Best thing to happen to this town since the “Dime a brat” night of ’83

Walking home from the bakery, I saw a tram heading toward me. A sticker reading “Welcome Mr. President” spanned its windshield.

Punctual and hospitable

Odd, I thought, considering Obama’s not only not going to see the stickers, but probably not even any trams during his sojourn. But the locals weren’t going to let a little detail like the absence of the guest ruin their party in his honor. Beginning the day of his arrival and running long after he’d departed, the welcome festivities were more for the hosts anyway, a consolation for not getting to see the American president in person. Activities included such catoonishly “American” pastimes as cheerleading, mechanical bull riding and, what else, Elvis impersonators. I can’t imagine a festival at home without them.

All of the press and some of the public were busy chasing reports of Obama sightings here or there like children on a celebrity snipe hunt. One local paper featured a so-called online “Obama-Ticker,” which wasn’t a ticker at all but merely a pop-up window that provided the latest rumors on the prez’s whereabouts when you refreshed it. Meanwhile, the politicians were busy politicing. From Chancellor Merkel all the way down to local bottom-feeders like Saxony’s Minister President and Dresden’s mayor, everyone positioned and posed in this election year to be seen next to the man of the (16) hour(s). Even the pizza guy got in on it:

Free Bring with Buy of €20 or more!

After Obama’s cavalcade moved on, and his bed sheets either were submitted to the city’s museum or auctioned off on eBay, after the mechanical bulls, Elvises, cheerleaders and other American stereotypes were sent back to the Zirkus, after the last Denglish-riddled advertisement disappeared and the barricades were taken down, allowing the city to breathe again, it was up to the papers to make sense of what just happened. Always a bad idea.

Bigtalk about nothing

Most papers large and small, smoking a cigarette in post-presidential bliss, reflected that the “eyes of the world” were upon their city and thus, by logical extension, on them. The mayor, ready for her jump to Broadway from the high school auditorium stage, declared that global politics itself was coming to her jurisdiction, no doubt for a what-would-you-do-Helma tête-à-tête.

The Sächsische Zeitung, Saxony’s largest populist rag, made a rare break from its policy of featuring spring flowers, seasonal vegetables or children enjoying ice cream on its front page to dedicate four full pages to Obama’s sixteen-hour visit. Considering roughly eight of those were spent sleeping in a five-star hotel – and I assume local photographers weren’t permitted pajama exclusives – that frees up one page for every two hours of his stay, not even counting the refresh-clicking “Online-Ticker” coverage. And what came from the long-winded, incisive analysis of Saxony’s crack journalists? Nothing that faithful subscribers didn’t already know: Obama was here; the public didn’t see him. The headline of one article even teased the president about his pronunciation of Merkel as “Mörkel.” Ha ha. The irony in this is that the name Barack contains the phonetic bane of every German: the American “r.” Since the beginning of Obama’s presidential campaign, German radio and television media types have been flexing and arching their tongues like yoga pros to say “Barack” like Barack says “Barack.” Inevitably, the results either miss the mark entirely or are exaggerated like Ed Sullivan saying “really good show” in slow motion. Ha ha.

Ultimately, what the press and politicians seemed to miss but the citizens mostly understood was that nothing happened. A world figure came to admire their beautiful city; people used the occasion to enjoy themselves; then it was over. Maybe this or that political party will get a few more votes, maybe Dresden will see a boost in tourism. But in trying to make something bigger out of what this visit really was, you’re only going to get a full bag of empty satisfaction for €40 million.

And an Amerikaner for free.

It was perhaps understandable that, when I clicked on the link to watch a live stream of the presidential inauguration last night, I thought I’d been redirected to the Superbowl halftime show preview. Only when the cameras broke their doting gaze from various celebrities, VIPs and other swollen opportunists to give us a brief glimpse of George W. Bush – looking ever the awkward pubescent at a grown-up party – did I realize I’d come to the right place. I planned to watch CNN International’s broadcast, but they opted to forgo the event, choosing instead to provide in-depth analysis of Michelle Obama’s clothing interspersed with infomercials for Dubai, Rolex and … CNN. I switched to euronews.

At some point among all the posing and praying that was going on, a young, handsome, well-spoken man interrupted the carnival to offer a few thoughtful words about sacrifice and personal responsibility. The revelers were momentarily still while we watched public role model P. Diddy puff with civic pride, and everycitizen Oprah was caught in a vulnerable moment of duly spontaneous tear-shedding. The partying then resumed, and just like that, the Oaf of Office had been supplanted by an oath of office. And while I couldn’t help but get caught up in the inspiriting words of Obama (made easier since I live in a country whose own politicians couldn’t arouse passion on a Hawaiian honeymoon), I was surprised to sense also a twinge of sadness at the departing of one of the most misguided, incompetent individuals ever to be given his own Boeing jet at taxpayer expense. There stood that affable ninny at the door of Marine One, turning one more time to face the public with his stock smirk and vacant sparkle – I half expected him to wave finger ‘Vs’ above his head before retreating from view forever.

He became president of the United States of Amnesia when I first arrived in Germany, and so I felt we were kindred spirits embarking upon similar struggles: I with adapting to a foreign culture and he with adapting to reality. Now, as I watched him board the helicopter, I felt as if I were losing a partner in my adventure; I remain here in Germany, still trying to understand some of the most basic aspects of its culture. But George has already returned to his faraway land, where simplicity reigns: black is black, white is white, and no one takes none too kindly to no grey. Where I’ve at least learned not to attempt striking up a conversation with someone in an elevator, George doesn’t seem to have learned anything. Here he is in his farewell speech, 15 January 2009:

On the absence of attacks in the US since 11 September 2001 thanks to his policies:

“There is legitimate debate about many of these decisions. But there can be little debate about the results.”

Spoken like a true silver-spoon brat used to getting his way. “Gosh, professor. I got an A on the exam. Does it really matter how?”

And here again in the same speech:

America did nothing to seek or deserve this conflict.

In all fairness, he did once admit to not reading newspapers. I just thought he was kidding. “Hey-hey, we’re just the most powerful country in the world minding our own business. What’s the problem?”

Well George, you’ve left me to figure out the world on my own. I should have been paying more attention while you were still here. You made everything seem so simple.

***Update: Here is a recording of his last weekly radio address.

I never believed I’d see the day when the voices of secular, multicultural, inquisitive urbanites would again prevail over religious, white, frightened ruralists in the US, but I’m sure that’s somehow connected to my lack of faith in general. Because of the at least six-hour time difference between my home country and Germany, bad news in America usually doesn’t get to me until the next day. Most of the time this is limited to trivial matters, like sports: the Reds lose again, Ohio State is embarrassed in the national championship, Ohio State is embarrassed in the national championship, Ohio State is embarrassed on national TV etc. Thus I was fully prepared to wake up this morning, as I have the last two elections while living here, to yet another baffling victory for brutishness (McCain) and incompetence (Palin … in spades). So imagine me spitting out my coffee when I read the headlines. And imagine my relief when I realized I wouldn’t have to do this:

…if I lived in the US, that is.

I admit, it’s difficult not to get caught up in the hopefulness and expectation in the wake of Obama’s victory, especially after watching this:

But I find it disconcerting that it took two terms of a man not even qualified to manage a local Pottery Barn before many of us saw he shouldn’t have been our president even once. Bush has lowered our standard for a ‘good’ politician to such depths that we get goose bumps and teary eyes when we’re confronted with one who possesses what should be the basic qualities of any holder of high office: superior intelligence and rhetorical skills, a preference for diplomacy, a willingness to seek counsel, an abhorrence of black-and-white simplifications, the wisdom to make sound decisions. These qualities should form the gate through which any presidential candidate must pass before the serious vetting begins. As it is, they are entirely absent in most election cycles and fawned over on their rare appearances. Why so many Americans vote for people who remind them of their reg’lar-guy neighbor or favorite action-movie hero, I’ll never understand. What does mowing down Vietnamese in a war or wolves from a helicopter have to do with wise and just governing?

And so while I am glad Obama won, I am no fan of him or any politician – political ‘groupies’ only further cheapen an already tawdry democratic process. I expect no miracles from him. In my mind he has merely passed the entry requirements for presidency: He thinks.

Color me elitist.

Boo!

A number of things have been haunting me this month.

• Suck it up. I hurt my knee mighty fine last month while working at this year’s grape harvest. But [heroic look toward the horizon] they needed me, so I pushed on. Now my knee isn’t hurting me anymore – it’s freakin’ killin’ me! I’ve called a doctor, but the appointment is still a way off. The worst part is I didn’t even get a lousy medal or nothing for ‘bravery in the face of adversity.’ I mean, sheesh!
• Child-care centers are simply over-sized petri dishes for developing the latest in childhood sicknesses. Since Lloyd started going full-time on October first, he has spent more days at home than with his co-toddlers. Some boys collect rocks. Others collect bugs. Ours collects viruses.
• So-called ‘childhood’ illnesses are nothing more than illnesses you’ve never had because you haven’t hung out with 16 other babies lately. Now that Lloyd shares pre-slobbered toys at the childhood-disease-petri-dish-care-center on a daily basis and then comes home and sneezes on us, Katrin and I have become unwilling participants in his immune-system-strengthening regimen. Colds, ear infections, fevers, 24-hour flus, frazzled nerves – our doctor has written so many sick notes for our family, his wife is beginning to suspect an affair. Why am I getting all these childhood sicknesses over again anyway? Didn’t I learn anything the first time?
• Friend-discounts are bad business. A year ago a German friend of ours asked me to translate his published book into English. I made him a decent offer, but he replied his independent publisher couldn’t possibly afford that. Aw, shucks, what’s several thousand euros between friends, right? The original plan was to do the job over the three winter months – at a time when I had few other jobs and was desperate to escape a screaming newborn. His publisher hemmed. His publisher hawed. By July I was writing e-mails warning that if they procrastinated much more, I’d have to bail. September is my most lucrative month, and this project was cramping my style. They called my bluff, and I flinched. Heck, I couldn’t say no to a friend. Now here comes the part where you toss up your hands and walk out of the cinema because that would never happen in real life: When they finally sent me the file to translate just recently, it was accompanied by an e-mail informing me they were on a very tight schedule and needed it next month. Tell ‘em to bite it! you implore me? Make ‘em squirm! Say it’s too late! Look out, the monster’s behind you! I signed the contract. I should have my provides-goods-and-services-in-exchange-for-money license permanently revoked.
• Every silver lining has its cloud. A month ago I applied for an English teaching position at a local college that I really wanted. I got the job. Whoopee. Now, on top of having to translate a 200-page book in less time than it would take me to read it, I have to prepare for, teach and grade about 20 teaching hours a week. Maybe I can plan lessons while laid up in bed with one of Lloyd’s take-home biohazards.
• Democracy. While it hasn’t kept me out of finer restaurants or relegated me to the backs of buses, the burden of sharing our current president’s surname these eight long years has certainly made me an easy and frequent target of the handful of witless wisecracks one would expect to find in any hobby comedian’s uninspired repertoire. And just when I thought I – not to mention the Office of President – couldn’t suffer any more insulting a humiliation than to be associated with that ignoramus, McCain chooses as his Number 2 (and she does stink) the most anti-intellectual blather-bag this side of, well … Bush. And those two could actually win! Why? ‘Socialism.’ Suddenly, people who could sooner tell you how many Cheesecake Factories are in the tri-state area than how many members make up the US Senate are experts on the inherent evils of a staggeringly complex economic and social theory.

Boo!

Sunshine Week is a national initiative to open a dialogue about the importance of open government and freedom of information. Participants include print, broadcast and online news media, civic groups, libraries, non-profits, schools and others interested in the public’s right to know.

At the end of 2005, Katrin and I visited friends living in East Jerusalem – the Palestinian side regarded as part of the West Bank. During our stay we traveled primarily within the occupied territory, visiting the towns of Hebron, Bethlehem, Jericho, Ramallah, Taybeh, Nablus and Zababdeh. I took a lot of notes on our trip, which I hoped to flesh out later. That never happened, but I recently found something I’d written about the day we spent with a family in Zababdeh, in the north of the West Bank. Zababdeh is one of the few Palestinian towns with a Christian majority. I was surprised to learn through anecdotal and physical evidence that, although most of the citizens are not Muslim, the Israeli government treats them with the same brand of contempt as we saw in other towns like Hebron and Bethlehem, leading me to conclude that, as much as religion, race plays a significant role in Israeli-Palestinian relations.

We visit Reverend F. and his wife R., a young, Christian couple with a little son living in the small West Bank town of Zababdeh. Their house looks new. It is spacious; the walls filled with pictures and religious plaques, the rooms filled with tastefully modest furniture. A piano stands in one corner. The TV is on and equipped with satellite reception. As their young son, P., watches a Jackie Chan movie, the six of us engage in a polite chat about the church as well as current politics. Reverend F. has to leave for an appointment. He says goodbye and takes his son with him.

R. has prepared an enormous and delicious dinner for us. She tells us more about her church, we talk about where we all come from, we laugh hard at jokes. It feels all very suburban, very middle-class.

But it’s far from it.

Reverend F. is a Palestinian. R. is Jordanian. Their house is only rented. In three months she will have to re-apply for her temporary residence visa, something she has to do every few months for permission to stay with her husband and two-year-old son. “Jordan, Palestine, I don’t care where I live, as long as I’m with my family,” she says, her emerald-green eyes betraying concern. For this is not the remark of someone content with the luxury of living here or there but rather of someone for whom neither may be a possibility. Her applications to reside in Zababdeh, in the Palestinian area, have been denied before, not by the Palestinian National Authority, but by the Israeli government. In those previous times, she has had to move back to Jordan, without her husband and son, until the Israeli government decided to let here return – a wait that has taken as long as eight months.

Moving the family to Jordan is not easy either. Reverend F., a minister of the Episcopal Church, can not choose where to serve; that is decided by the local bishop sitting in East Jerusalem, who has shown no indication of moving him anywhere. And if he is moved, there’s no guarantee it would be a place where R. could join him. “We can’t live like this forever,” she says while sipping tea from the comfort of an oversized armchair. The striking contrast between the gravity of her words and the simple luxury of her surroundings is in this moment as incomprehensible for me as any real-world situation is for the student of its theory. The reality of R.’s life is made all the more unfathomable as we sit around a large, round table eating a wonderfully cooked meal in a dining room that could be found in any American home. The conversation is light; we share stories, compliment the cooking and laugh.

The reality, however, is never far away – right outside of their front door, in fact. A day-long rain has made the front yard a muddy swamp. The car struggles and slides its way onto an equally muddy road lined with decrepit houses and shops. Villagers step carefully among the holes and deep tire tracks, trying to avoid getting wet as much as possible. Zababdeh’s largest, and seemingly sole, industry is olive oil. Groves of olive trees can be seen everywhere. Palestinians, however, are not permitted to sell their goods to Israeli businesses, so there are no prospects of supporting, much less expanding, their meager economies.

R. takes us to the church Pastor F. serves. It is a simple building in the middle of town. Next to it is a smaller building used as a community and education center. The church is very active in the community. The backside of it serves as a clinic, which provides medical services for the locals as inexpensively as possible. As we walk into the church, Katrin and I notice it is in complete disarray. The pews are askew, chips of paint and stone litter the floor, even the small organ sits at an awkward angle to the wall. “The Israeli army,” R. says, seeing our confused looks. “They did this to our church.” She tells us about a day not long ago when soldiers appeared here with weapons and bulldozers. With few words – more orders than explanations – they commandeered the church to use as a lookout post from which they could observe a dormitory building not far away. “The dorm was empty,” R. explained. “There was no one to watch.” The soldiers rearranged the pews and moved the organ “to have something to lean against.” A bulldozer was called in to enter the recently built dorm. As it passed the church, it dislodged some of the bricks, leaving minor but considerably expensive structural damage. “We have no means to repair this,” she says, pointing to a corner missing several bricks.

She then takes us down to the dormitory, a five-story building recently constructed to house students of the local college. It is completely unusable. Where balconies once jutted out are now only crude holes and jagged metal beams. The rooms are exposed to the elements; bullet holes mark the walls of several rooms. “They found no one,” R. explains. “They simply shot to destroy our property.” Neither the small college nor the village have the money to repair the structures. Is there any chance of receiving compensation from the Israeli government? R. looks at the remains of the dorm and pile of rubble before it. “They never pay,” she says. “They only destroy and leave.”

Being way way over here in Germany often leaves me feeling remote from the goings-on in my home country. I compensate for this by spending (what my wife considers) an exceptional amount of time on the Internet pouring over US newspapers and blogs. Because this is a presidential year, I’ve been spending even more time online trying to figure out which contestant nauseates me the least. (PS – A belated thank you to Giuliani for dropping out. Now I no longer have to worry about your face popping up on my screen while eating.) And I thought splitting hairs was difficult. Attempting to root out the fine distinctions among the White-House wannabes requires a lot of effort and wastes a lot of precious moments with my kid. Howard Zinn, author of “A People’s History of the United States,” tells me it’s all for naught. Read this excellent article, and spend the next eight months getting some fresh air instead.

Do you religion but evolution? If so, you’re not alone; in fact, you’ll have plenty of company this weekend. That’s when religious and scientific folk from around the country come together in a big snuggle fest they call Evolution Weekend. These people have had enough of monkey trials, justa-theories, creation museums and other such national embarrassments. Their objectives are to create sincere dialogue about the relation between science and religion and to reassure religious types that evolution don’t mean no one no harm. The evidence supporting evolution is overwhelming, they say. Denying evolution – and therefore our God-given power of reason – does God and ourselves a grave injustice. Scientific theories appeal to the mind, and religion is designed “to transform hearts.” We feel a moment coming on.

The Typing Chimps think it’s a bad idea to cross-speciate Genesis with genetics, but maybe that’s just sour grapes – we wish we had a soul too. Guess we’ll be spending another lonely weekend at home.

Today my son became an Amurikin.

His passport/passeport/pasaporte arrived in the mail this morning, completing what has to have been the easiest bureaucratic transaction I’ve experienced since hanging my hat in this country. Of course, we had to drive to the American Consulate in Berlin to do it. There probably aren’t enough rocket scientists in the world to understand why the local German immigration office couldn’t provide me with a residence permit in under a month and without killing an acre of rain forest in the process while Lloyd and I can get our US passports in just a week and a half. And they sent our paperwork to the US first!

On the other hand, I don’t recall being interrogated and strip searched before entering the German immigration office, whereas gaining safe passage into the American fortress required negotiating a labyrinth that was part JFK Airport, part opening theme to Get Smart. Katrin and I wanted to photograph the moment, but the US government doesn’t want images of consulate waiting rooms to fall into the hands of evil-doin’ turrurists. To be fair, I was relieved of my cell phone and camera at the gate by a very friendly though mammoth guard. And no camera was necessary to permanently capture the image of this bulk-o-hulk goo-gooing at Lloyd, who wisely decided to giggle. Equally friendly personnel sped us through streamlined paperwork, and before you can say Bitte füllen Sie diese Formulare in dreifacher Ausfertigung aus, we were swearing with raised right hands that Lloyd was good people.

Once we were reunited with our phones and camera on our way out, I wanted to commemorate Lloyd’s Americanization with a picture in front of the consulate building, you know, in case he ever wonders why he just got a draft notice from Uncle Sam. Well, son, way back in 2008 your mother and I thought it would be a good idea to…. As I posed with our newly christened son at the top of the steps, a German cop loafed into action, telling Katrin that photographing the American Consulate was strengstens verboten. We both expected this, but I still protested on principle. It’s a public building, I argued. It’s outside; I could be a mere diversion for ten turrurists with cameras across the street, behind the bushes, peeking out of manholes. Delete zee fotos or zair vill be trahble his look told me. Very well.

Foto Cop pooped on my parade. But he’s not to blame. It’s not his decision to defend a large building in a large city from the prying eyes of the public. No, that order came from my country, the United States of Hysteria. Exaggerating? How else do you explain charging a few policemen with making an entire building invisible when we can’t even provide our citizens at home adequate safety? Have the Bad Guys never heard of Google Earth? Close your eyes…

I guess the cop wasn’t able to shoot the satellite out of the sky.

And our car was also too fast:

*Achtung!*

Even Mexico and Canada are now off-limits to non-passport-holding Americans who want to see what life is like outside the Kane compound. Apply for yours today!