Soccer!

Why is it soooo surprising that Americans can get excited by the sport everyone else calls football? Every time any news source mentions the US team, it's always qualified by, "But, you know, Americans will never love it the way Europeans/South Americans/anyone else does."

Judging by what I have seen in Prague in the games against the UK and Slovenia, it's simply not true. Of course - it seems to make more sense to be rowdy if you're in a bar in Europe versus one in say, Buloxi, Mississippi - because you are much more likely to encounter people who actually support the opponent.

The UK game was played on a Saturday night, which I spent in a beer garden in the neighborhood park, Riegrovy Sady. There the benches were full with guys draped in American flags like Rocky, others with Uncle Sam hats, getting in chanting wars with the inebriated Brits and even holding their own against them.

As soon as the UK fans started with, "You're not singing anymore" their goalkeeper let by an embarrassment of a ball into the net. And everyone was excited! I shouldn't have to explain that - of course we were.

One thing I liked about the American crowd is that even the sorority girls in sundresses get into it. There seems to be a stigma in Europe about girls who play, or who are interested in, soccer. From what I'm told it runs along the same lines of the stereotype about girls who play softball in the US. Anyway, as someone who started playing the game at the age of six at the insistence of my high school soccer coach of a dad, I thoroughly reject this idea.

I saw the last minutes of the game against Slovenia in the main square of Prague, where study abroad students, English teachers, and whoever else had turned into a red, white and blue mob. I heard the anger when the ref took away Maurice Edu's perfectly good goal in the 86th minute and prevented the US from getting the win. Beer cups were thrown down, slurs were yelled.

I would say that the one thing that's really missing from the US soccer team is a star. A star who is so famous that he could get first name status like Pele or Ronaldo and little kids would put up posters of him on their walls. The only player who I think even comes close to that is a female player - Mia Hamm. When I was playing as a kid, all the girls would fight over who got to have her number (9) on their jersey. Who can do that for the US men?

Right now - nobody. But that won't stop me from screaming for blood when I go watch tomorrow's game against Ghana - who booted us out of the 2006 world cup. Vengeance is ours -- USA!
USA!

This mother has claws!

In my first few weeks here, Prague confounds me. It's not that I don't like it - after all there is the weird coincidence that there is a PKP (Polish rail) office right in my apartment building. No, it's just too full of things that make you go, "huh?" Here are a few so far...

- Next to the royal botanic gardens, overlooking the river and with a beautiful view of the city, sits a giant metronome. It is bright orange, rusty and creaking, and the ground beneath it is littered with glass from beer bottles. What is it counting time for? Why orange? Why did it have to sully that view?

- If you take a metro and bus for 30 minutes outside of Prague, you arrive in the hills of Northern Vietnam. There is a whole village called Sapa complete with shops, restaurants, a school, hairdressers and God knows what else. Good luck communicating unless you speak Czech or Vietnamese*.

- Dutch coffee shops attract a bizarre crowd: hippies drinking huge steins of beer while jamming to Hank Williams Jr.

- Speaking of substances, on Saturday, there was a "Million Marijuana March" that went past my house, people yelling, Jamaican and pirate flags flying, music blaring. It's not only strange that high people would get so excited - it's strange that they are marching because marijuana is legal here.

- Today I happened to watch the very last place competitor in the Prague marathon finish as I was walking around town. The guy wasn't feeble, elderly or out of shape. He was running backward. He had been doing that for at least seven hours.

Living the surreal life in Prague must have inspired Kafka - as for me, I'll stick to the inspiration from the best margaritas I've had on this continent - from Las Adelitas down the street.

* In the '80s when it was easy to move between Communist countries a bunch of Vietnamese people came to Prague. Nowadays there is a 2nd and 3rd generation, which is becoming more and more successful. Their parents own the night shops; they are becoming real estate dealers and other professionals. It's interesting because there are very few immigrants in other places in central Europe (although some people count gypsies).

Trying really hard to be positive. Take that, EU!

As I'm now applying to live in my third EU country, it's just too easy to whine about the bureaucratic nonsense, feeling like a puny worthless peon against the wily, impenetrable forces that yell at you on the phone while simultaneously losing your paperwork. In practice, it doesn't make you feel existential angst - although if France is anything like Belgium it sure explains a lot. No; it makes you very, very, angry. So in lieu of adding more fuel to the already brightly burning fire, I want to think about some nice things that happened as I worked on paperwork so far throughout my life.

My favorite story comes from when I was applying for my Belgian visa in Warsaw. I had to get my fingerprints done for an FBI background check. After getting hilariously lost on my taxi ride to the wrong address that I found on the criminal bureau's (apparently never updated) website, I finally arrived. I was greeted by a little old man who was 80 if he was a day. He was wearing a suit that he had clearly had to dust off after not wearing it for years, and greeted me enthusiastically in Polish. I explained in a bizarre mix of Polish and English that I needed the fingerprints to send to the FBI, and I could see the man's eyes widen in excitement. Somehow I had made this guy's day - the G-Men would see his work! He was so happy that he even accompanied me on the tram to the train station to see me off.

Honestly I have no such happy stories about my current struggle. Maybe I'll just think about how much easier taxes are over here...

Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure time. -Borges

Here's a dance you should know

Last weekend, I had the privilege to attend a real falutin', hootin', hollerin,' countryside Flemish birthday BBQ. Not firing your gun into the air in celebration? But surely Europeans aren't country the way Southerners are!, you might say. So I thought, too, until the country music started twanging from the speakers and people actually started line dancing to In Zaire by Johnny Wakelin. There was even a song about Indians where at one point enthusiastic revelers clapped their hand over their mouth and made the "woo woo woo!" Indian noise. I was mystified. I was jealous, even. They never taught me these songs in redneck public school. "But this comes from America!" everyone told me - the lyrics had just been changed into Dutch!

Not again, I thought.

Case in point: International Women's Day, which people were shocked I had never heard of because it came from America. As I discovered, Women's Day is celebrated on March 8th and consists of all women workers getting flowers at the office. It's kind of an unofficial second Valentine's Day where men are guilt tripped into buying more stuff for the ladies. Because it's targeted specifically toward women workers, my first impression was that it had socialist or communist roots (which it did). After that it kind of made sense that people from South America, China and Central and Eastern Europe were the ones who had kept celebrating it. But I'm not so surprised it was dropped in the US: "Socialist" is a bad word these days, plus to be politically correct we'd have to have a men's day too. And a transgender day. Oh, the politically correct possibilities are endless.

In the end, of course I was completely wrong about the songs heard at the Flemish hoedown. They were totally American. Just check out the Hucklebuck and I dare you to stay in your chair and not dance along with Norton and Ralph.

How the Saulpaugh girl lost her accent

I feel like a Garcia girl...recently a friend of mine told me that I have "significantly lost my American accent after coming to Belgium." Never mind that I was in Poland for a year before that. Even at work, the Canadians I hear on the phone confuse me with an Austrian girl on our team (she's a far cry from the Governator of California, but still!).

Is it a good thing or bad thing that I now seem to be fluent in "International European English"? It's already become second nature to avoid obscure idioms and slang, mostly out of sheer laziness, but does that have the effect of making me a lazier thinker overall? And as a former coworker once told me, does living as an English speaking expat strip you of your personality until you fluently speak the local language? As someone who will soon make making a living as an in-house writer, I've gotta think about it.

When I first went to Poland, I made myself a list of common mistakes that, no matter how long I stayed abroad, I would not make. This mission has already failed, but nonetheless, here they are, in all their grammar Nazi glory:

1. Saying "Make the picture" instead of "take the picture". Once, I even said I was going to "make the bus tickets" in front of my translator friend. Man that was embarrassing.

2. Forgetting articles such as "the" "and" & "a". This one only happened in Poland, where they don't use articles. Flemish has articles, so they seem to do better with it here.

3. Saying "How it is in English?" instead of "How do you say it in English?" or "What it is in English?"

4. One for Belgium: directly translating the word abonnement to "subscription." If you go to the gym, it's a membership. If it's an event for work or a class, you sign up. If it's a yearly train or bus ticket, it's a pass.

5. Incorrect use of "does": "What he does?" instead of "What does he do?"

6. Answering "fine" to "What's up?" or "Nothing" to "How's it going?". Actually, I was guilty of this one in the US, too... mostly based on being an overall awkward person.

7. Saying prepositions like "on" at the wrong times, like "I was on the party" instead of "at". Prepositions are so hard to learn in a language that's not your own, so I will cut everyone some slack. In other words, please don't ask me the correct ones in French...

8. Saying "kitchen" instead of "cuisine", and other borrowed words. In English, it sounds fancy to say cuisine in terms of type of food. Kitchen is the room in your house.

9. Confusing "funny" and "fun" and "bored" and "boring"

10. Saying "take" a beer or meal instead of "have" a beer. This one is my all time favorite since it suggests that my friends are asking me to go around stealing beer from the tap at pubs.

So, who wants to go take a beer tonight?

No, not from my fridge.