A few months ago, I stopped studying German because I felt like it wasn't really going anywhere.
Why do I need to know the word for curtain? I don't and probably never will, so why am I learning this?
I also felt kind of bad because I was spending more time studying a language than I was the Bible.
Then after talking it over with a fellow Christian polyglot-enthusiast, I realized:
WHY NOT BOTH?
I am proud to report that tonight I read Genesis 1 in German, and it was so freaking cool.
I read the Luther Bible 1912 version and also the children's book version, which was very amusing with its comic sans font, Microsoft Paint illustrations, and droll phrasing such as "Sea creatures and fish and birds were next on God's list."
I learned a lot, and I feel like this is such a better way to learn because it combines my love for learning in both language and content.
Besides, if and when I do speak with other Germans, I would probably want to talk to them more about Gott (God) than Vorhänge (curtains).
Alles ist Spaß,
TWS
Monday, October 26, 2015
Monday, October 12, 2015
Quantum Stockings
Here is a real life math problem.
WeLoveColors.com has flat rate shipping.
Ergo, it matters not if you buy one pair or twelve pairs of leggings/tights/thigh-highs.
Shipping is $5.
.
(that meant period)
So the more you buy, the more you save on shipping.
But guys, listen to me.
THEY HAVE SO MANY COLORS.
Like, this isn't your walk-into-Wal-Mart-and-they-only-have-brown-grey-and-black-so-I-guess-I'll-just-get-one-of-each situation.
I could get every single color of the rainbow plus different shades and patterns and I'm about to lose my ever-loving mind because having so many options is overwhelming and complicated.
And when things get overwhelming and complicated, I tend to pull out the old spreadsheets and try to devise a way to make them not so.
But this situation appears unquantifiable.
My best solution is:
8x + 5 = Stocking budget?
WHAT IS MY STOCKING BUDGET?
IS IT THE SAME AS A TIGHT BUDGET?
OMG THAT WAS A PUN.
Maybe I should just do process of elimination.
I'd never wear hot pink tights.
Or white ones.
Or anything purple.
Super. Now I only have 41 to choose from.
41(8) + 5 = $333
-_________________________-
There are probably other things I could be doing with my time.
TWS
WeLoveColors.com has flat rate shipping.
Ergo, it matters not if you buy one pair or twelve pairs of leggings/tights/thigh-highs.
Shipping is $5.
.
(that meant period)
So the more you buy, the more you save on shipping.
But guys, listen to me.
THEY HAVE SO MANY COLORS.
Like, this isn't your walk-into-Wal-Mart-and-they-only-have-brown-grey-and-black-so-I-guess-I'll-just-get-one-of-each situation.
I could get every single color of the rainbow plus different shades and patterns and I'm about to lose my ever-loving mind because having so many options is overwhelming and complicated.
And when things get overwhelming and complicated, I tend to pull out the old spreadsheets and try to devise a way to make them not so.
But this situation appears unquantifiable.
My best solution is:
8x + 5 = Stocking budget?
WHAT IS MY STOCKING BUDGET?
IS IT THE SAME AS A TIGHT BUDGET?
OMG THAT WAS A PUN.
Maybe I should just do process of elimination.
I'd never wear hot pink tights.
Or white ones.
Or anything purple.
Super. Now I only have 41 to choose from.
41(8) + 5 = $333
-_________________________-
There are probably other things I could be doing with my time.
TWS
Friday, October 9, 2015
Blue Hydrangeas
This is a story about the best waiter in the world.
The Best Waiter in the World
Once upon a time, my husband and I went out to dinner.
I think this was last fall around the time we got engaged, but that detail isn't irrelevant.
We went to Cheddar's.
I remember we went on an odd night. Like a Tuesday, or a Thursday.
It wasn't very crowded, but it also wasn't very sparse.
We were seated to our table quickly, but without haste.
And the best waiter in the world came to our table.
He was tall.
He had light brown hair, or maybe it was blonde, cut so short that it was hard to tell.
He wore a black shirt tucked into black pants with a black belt and black shoes.
He wore glasses, but I didn't get a good look at his eyes.
Then again, I wasn't trying to make eye contact with a stranger.
I was just trying to order food.
He came over to our table and asked for our drink order.
He took our order by writing it down instead of trying to memorize it like a tool.
He didn't go on and on about specials, or try to flirt with my husband/fiance/boyfriend.
He didn't introduce himself and say he'd "be taking care of" us that evening.
He took our orders and walked away quickly.
He didn't saunter.
He didn't visit the other tables in our area.
He took our order back to the kitchen with the diligence of a marine.
While our food was cooking, he came by our table to replace Mike's glass.
He did not bring a noisy pitcher full of ice to try and fill the glass.
He had noticed it from a far, took away the old, and replaced it with the new.
He did not interrupt our conversation.
He did not ask if we "were okay".
He left as quickly as he had come.
Our food was done shortly after, and he brought the dishes to us instead of having some stranger bring out the dishes to us, get them all confused and forget stuff.
He asked if we needed anything else.
"Enjoy your meal."
And then he WENT. THE HECK. AWAY.
Mike and I then continued to have a very pleasant experience.
He replaced our glasses as he had before, never interrupting our conversation.
He brought the check out at the perfect time.
Wasn't too early that we felt like we were being booted.
Wasn't too late that we felt we were waiting on him.
When he brought the check, he didn't bring it to Mike, assuming the man always pays.
He put it face down on the middle of the table and walked away to get us to-go boxes.
When I looked at the check, I reflected on how great a dinner it was.
It was quiet. I got to enjoy the company I came with.
I felt like I had had an actual service with my meal instead of a forced relationship with the waiter.
And in an ironic plot twist, I actually felt like I had a deeper connection with the waiter.
Like he understood me.
He understood that I didn't need to be babysat like other restaurant-going Americans.
He understood that I wanted to have a conversation with my date instead of my waiter.
He understood the perfect timing and elegance of wait-staffing.
Just for that, I then I felt like I should tip him tremendously more.
But then I realized, no.
He is an excellent waiter.
He is the best waiter in the world.
But he is what all waiters and waitresses should be.
Respectful, humble, accommodating.
Instead of gregarious, overbearing, flirtatious.
It was just that I had gotten so used to the annoying antics of all the other waiters and waitresses that I had forgotten what good, honest wait-staffing looked and felt like.
Many might consider his behavior brusque, uncaring, and aloof, but I would disagree.
I think people put too much value in verbal communication.
We were indeed "taken care of" without ever needing to exchange a word.
I'd argue that in the service industry, actions speak so, so much louder than words.
In the many times we have returned to Cheddar's, we have never been as fortunate to be seated at his section in the nights that we see him working.
I'll look over and feel slightly envious of the customers of his that get that quick, servitudinous nod of his when my view is blocked by my large, lip-sticked waitress asking me if I'm "feeling up for dessert tonight".
I gave him a tip, but he gave me hope.
Chivalrous wait-staffing is not dead.
It's just rare.
Alarmingly rare.
For reasons unknown to me,
TWS
Old Money; Lana Del Rey
The Best Waiter in the World
Once upon a time, my husband and I went out to dinner.
I think this was last fall around the time we got engaged, but that detail isn't irrelevant.
We went to Cheddar's.
I remember we went on an odd night. Like a Tuesday, or a Thursday.
It wasn't very crowded, but it also wasn't very sparse.
We were seated to our table quickly, but without haste.
And the best waiter in the world came to our table.
He was tall.
He had light brown hair, or maybe it was blonde, cut so short that it was hard to tell.
He wore a black shirt tucked into black pants with a black belt and black shoes.
He wore glasses, but I didn't get a good look at his eyes.
Then again, I wasn't trying to make eye contact with a stranger.
I was just trying to order food.
He came over to our table and asked for our drink order.
He took our order by writing it down instead of trying to memorize it like a tool.
He didn't go on and on about specials, or try to flirt with my husband/fiance/boyfriend.
He didn't introduce himself and say he'd "be taking care of" us that evening.
He took our orders and walked away quickly.
He didn't saunter.
He didn't visit the other tables in our area.
He took our order back to the kitchen with the diligence of a marine.
While our food was cooking, he came by our table to replace Mike's glass.
He did not bring a noisy pitcher full of ice to try and fill the glass.
He had noticed it from a far, took away the old, and replaced it with the new.
He did not interrupt our conversation.
He did not ask if we "were okay".
He left as quickly as he had come.
Our food was done shortly after, and he brought the dishes to us instead of having some stranger bring out the dishes to us, get them all confused and forget stuff.
He asked if we needed anything else.
"Enjoy your meal."
And then he WENT. THE HECK. AWAY.
Mike and I then continued to have a very pleasant experience.
He replaced our glasses as he had before, never interrupting our conversation.
He brought the check out at the perfect time.
Wasn't too early that we felt like we were being booted.
Wasn't too late that we felt we were waiting on him.
When he brought the check, he didn't bring it to Mike, assuming the man always pays.
He put it face down on the middle of the table and walked away to get us to-go boxes.
When I looked at the check, I reflected on how great a dinner it was.
It was quiet. I got to enjoy the company I came with.
I felt like I had had an actual service with my meal instead of a forced relationship with the waiter.
And in an ironic plot twist, I actually felt like I had a deeper connection with the waiter.
Like he understood me.
He understood that I didn't need to be babysat like other restaurant-going Americans.
He understood that I wanted to have a conversation with my date instead of my waiter.
He understood the perfect timing and elegance of wait-staffing.
Just for that, I then I felt like I should tip him tremendously more.
But then I realized, no.
He is an excellent waiter.
He is the best waiter in the world.
But he is what all waiters and waitresses should be.
Respectful, humble, accommodating.
Instead of gregarious, overbearing, flirtatious.
It was just that I had gotten so used to the annoying antics of all the other waiters and waitresses that I had forgotten what good, honest wait-staffing looked and felt like.
Many might consider his behavior brusque, uncaring, and aloof, but I would disagree.
I think people put too much value in verbal communication.
We were indeed "taken care of" without ever needing to exchange a word.
I'd argue that in the service industry, actions speak so, so much louder than words.
In the many times we have returned to Cheddar's, we have never been as fortunate to be seated at his section in the nights that we see him working.
I'll look over and feel slightly envious of the customers of his that get that quick, servitudinous nod of his when my view is blocked by my large, lip-sticked waitress asking me if I'm "feeling up for dessert tonight".
I gave him a tip, but he gave me hope.
Chivalrous wait-staffing is not dead.
It's just rare.
Alarmingly rare.
For reasons unknown to me,
TWS
Old Money; Lana Del Rey
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