Breakin the law

Whenever I see this phrase, the voices of Beavis and Butthead automatically jump into my head. I guess that says something about me, hm.

By writing in English I'm breaking the language pledge. Don't tell anyone, okay?

Today is day ten of German language camp, day nine of only speaking German with other people, and the fourth of July. The German language school does not observe the fourth of July (other than the obligatory strawberry and blueberry fruit salad served with dinner) so we had class today. I was up until 2:30am translating Kafka and even after I understood every word I still didn't understand what it was about.

Today is not a good day at Deutsche camp. My suitemates are graduate students who speak at the speed of light and I speculate that they avoid talking to me, not because I'm a soprano (thought that's a valid reason) but because they know I can't keep up.
Let me backtrack for a moment and say that I've never felt instantly acclimated in any social situation since high school. I've always felt a little too smart but not smart enough, a little too tall but not thin enough, you get the picture. You would think that going to a total immersion language camp, this would be the ultimate equalizer.
Alas, in vain.
There are still the girls who get up a whole hour earlier than you so that when they go to breakfast at 7am, their hair is in the right place and their makeup is perfect and even though the humidity is killer, they don't look like they're sweating. In my case, these are also the girls who have lived in Germany for the last year and have come back speaking so fluidly (though with terrible Ameri-Deutsch accents) that you can't get past "Na, wie geht's?" before they lose you in the dust. I am not one of these girls.
I was up until 2:30am translating Kafka and did not get up early and put makeup on. I sort of figure that we're here in the business of learning the language (obviously evidenced by my flagrant breaking of the rules) and not in the business of picking up other students at the weekend Tanzparties. But I could be wrong because there still seems to be quite a lot of that. You would think the appeal of falling into a bed barely big enough for one (let alone two) in the throes of passion would have worn off by now.

Friday night was the Language School faculty party. A small group of us from the Deutsche for Singers were asked to provide some entertainment. I thought it was going to be a small group of teachers but it ended up being all of the language schools' faculty and administration. There was lots of beer and wine and yummy food and everyone was all dolled up like it was a Hamptons clambake. I find it amusing that the German phrase for 'made up' is 'geschminkt.'
As becomes a singer, I was sufficiently 'geschminkt' and in a dress and heels with the necessary hair fanging and whatnot. While standing in the bar line, I ran into a professor with whom I had eaten lunch that afternoon and dinner the night before. He asked me, in English, what school I taught in. When I pointed to my Deutsche Schule pin, he looked really confused and asked if I was a TA or something and I said, "Nein, ich bin Saengerin." And it still took him another solid minute of looking at me to figure out who I was. Wash, rinse, repeat with other professors. Needless to say, I consumed mass quantities of free Gewuerztraminer.

I go to class in jeans and a t-shirt because it's comfortable. I put my hair in a ponytail because it's godawful hot and I know the humidity will make it misbehave as soon as I step out the door - all the Louisiana girls can back me up on that one. I don't wear makeup because it melts off my face and besides, sunscreen and makeup together feels like pan-cake and why in the name of all that is holy am I so hard to recognize when I look like a glamourpuss instead of a college students?

It's not a good day at Deutsche camp. Happy 4th to everyone who got the day off, drink an Abita for the Southern transplant, will you?