Somewhere between Frankfurt, Johannesburg....and Spanky’s

after a long day of deep cleaning and packing, it was time to get out of the little apartment that is my home and reward myself with something cool. So I grabbed my Nadine Gordimer book that I have been trying to finish for months, and walked around the corner to Spanky’s Roadhouse where they had cider on special. I am not a huge cider lover, but it was on special, so I decided to try it. Usually the only time I drink cider is in Frankfurt, which is well-known for it. In Frankfurt, however, it is known as Apfelwein (apple wine) and in the summer, it is drunk like water. Frankfurt has always been a transit point for me—between the US and other points in Germany, within Germany itself, or on the way to other destinations—South Africa, Namibia, Prague. So apple wine has become a ritual for me in Frankfurt. This cider, although from California, tasted exactly like the apple wine—my body was transported to a muggy summer day in Frankfurt while reading my book about post-Apartheid South Africa, which took my mind back to Clifton Avenue in Pretoria and all of the tension that still exists there. Had I been in South Africa yesterday, on a lazy afternoon with Kerstin, Pieter and Jan watching the Bollywood movie on SABC 3 (which Pieter would complain about being boring and stupid) and drinking gin and tonics, we would have retired to an afternoon nap and awoke to build a grand fire to braai boerwors and corn on the cob. Nawa would be at our feet under the cheap plastic garden table, hoping to grab any bits of food that fell from our paper plates. One of our friends from work, sitting on the kitchen steps, would try and get her to drink beer (Windhoek Lager, of course), to which she would oblige, before I would start yelling at them and banish Nawa to the living room for the evening. I would usually play “American Pie,” which was always a novelty to the Germs.
For a few moments, I was somewhere between Frankfurt and Johannesburg and Spanky’s, which is just ueber American.

Yesterday’s deep cleaning also involved a LOT of laundry, so Nawa and I walked over to the DU Laundrette to get quarters. Turns out it was Greek Week at DU so the grassy area between the law school and Sturn Hall was filled with a bunch of fraternity and sorority people doing something which I couldn’t really figure out. Nawa has the potential to be quite a chick magnet. Although she is full-grown, she has kept her girlish looks and according to outsiders, is “soooooo cute!” So in an instant, I was surrounded by about six blonde bulimics in oversized sunglasses and undersized shorts and tops. Nawa just flipped over on her back and soaked up the attention. A frat guy walked over and asked what kind of dog she was, and not wanting to explain Nawa’s weird genetic makeup, just said she was a South African breed, to which he responded, “Duuuuuude dog, you’re from South Africa!” While Nawa could probably bask in the attention for hours, my tolerance for the Greek system is low, and it was time to go.

I hate it when you’re somewhere and someone is having a shit-fit on their cell phone. Seriously, we do not need to hear about your roommate drama. Please scream at your mother over the phone outside of Starbucks.

Why do people wear tube socks with shorts? I can accept it if there is a good reason, but otherwise, it kinda looks silly. And I thought it had been declared that nylons with sandals was a bad thing, unless this decision has been changed, in which case, I was not informed.