Letter of Thanks.

Dear Küchenschaben (cockroaches),

Though most of you are lying on your backs, dead, or in the last ''leg twitching stage'' you bugs go through before death, I wish to thank you. You have done what failed appliances, dirty fridge, and Indian food smudged walls have been unable to do. And let us not discount the horrible smell of bad Indian-cooking stench that pervades my apartment, which can be one of the factors why you moved in, in the first place.

You see, me and you (or is it you and I?) made quite the team. With you showing up underfoot (and under shoe) and me with my incredible talents of mixing just the write amount of fiction to support tendrils of truth, we achieved something neither of us thought possible.

You see, my letters to the landlord seemed to really have upset him too. He has agreed to completely furnish a new kitchen on my behalf. I wish I could say on our behalf, but that would be overdoing the fiction just a tad. I guess that irrascible landlord wants to spray the kitchen with certain chemicals that cockroaches, such as yourself, find quite disagreeable. A side of cyfluthrin with those breadcrumbs just might make you end up stairing at the ceiling as the lights go out. But I empathize, as vodka and Ouzu seem to be doing the same to me lately.

But before those lights finally dim, do you mind doing one more favor for me? Can you show up in the bathroom?

Mit Freundlichen Grußen,
MoSteal

Sharin´ the pain.

My little pretties.

In life if you can share the love, than you can share the pain. Today is your turn to share my pain, afterall, I have been sharin my love with you for many weeks now. The wisdom tooth extraction surgery was a success. All four are out. The right side they did first. The crunch was sickening, but they both popped out with little problems and no real pain. The left side made me sweat. It also made me want to scream like a little girl, but I held fast in true manlike fashion. For some reason, the novacaine didnt take so well on the left side, unfortunetly for me, it was also the side the two wisdom teeth were deepest lodged into the jaw and had to be drilled out. Holy bejeezus-- that was the longest half hour of my life.

So now I am back at lab, where I can share the pain with them too. Also, my computer, so I can keep my mind off of mouth and concentrate on something fun. Like putting random bids on ebay with the known expectation of being out bid later.

Letter(s) of Apology.

Dear anonymous,

I think it very selfish of me of what I have done to your poor soul. You have given much time and effort into your comments, and then proceeded to comment on your comments when no one else has come forth in a due and respectable manner, to give credit to your very agreeable and humble nature. You give wise advice (about Koreans and washable parts) and thoughtful fables complete with virtuous morals (see story of one Terry and two wall-eating girls).

But I do have some advice to remedy both of our situations--my guilt and the respect that is your fair due. It is high time, Anonymous, that you start your own blog. I believe you have contemplated this yourself, gave yourself a few nudges, but something was always in the way. Probably another porn website. Trust me, I know what you are going through. But the obstacles are few and the rewards great. I am guessing write off the bat you will have a pretty good fan base and we all know that you always have something to say. Now it is time to put it in hexcode for the eventual neuronal stimuluation deep into our brains. It will also give me opportunities to impart my own advice and morals to your follies and success. I await to here your pen name and blog title.

My second letter of apology goes to the glass fish. It turns out they did not eat the ghost shrimp. In fact I found all four ghost shrimp on one plant--eating all its leaves. It turns out the shrimp looking carcases I picked up off the bottom of the tank were nothing more than molts. Detective Terry never claimed he was a crime scene investigator--only a super sleuth. A settlement is currently being worked out between the glass fish and Detective Terry, otherwise they sue for defamation of character. Installation of cave-like hiding places is currently in order.

On the not so fun front, tomorrow I have four wisdom teeth ripped out of my mouth. No more (tooth) stowaways for me. You do the job you were evolutionary designed for, or its a bloody hike out. I might make a necklace of them when I`m done. This is sure to impress the ladies--along with four toothless sockets. Nothing but ice cream and soup for the next couple of days for me--and lots of ibuprofen.

Karoake and Murder, in one weekend.

Lone Surviving Shrimp

Mug Shot: Suspect in double homicide

Saturday night the german lab students invited me along for a party on the outskirts of town. It was Niko's (another grad student) new pad with his girlfriend. I brought wine and most others brought bread and salt--a german and russian tradition. He then fed us some food and I had the most amazing Kartofelsalat (potato salad) I have ever had. We then all adjourned to the TV room to play some Nintendo Wii. That was quite fun. I am pretty sick of the first person shooter games that keep popping up every year and it is good Nintendo showed some innovation. Playing tennis on the Wii was great and my arm was actually sore for awhile. After this everyone had had enough drinks to think they could sing, including me. We played karoake on a game system that scored you and another person. And you know what? Most of the germans were beating me. That is not really surprising--but they were even beating me on the English songs! Some of the favorites were Leonard Skynard (Sweet Home Alabama especially) and Neunundneunzig Luft ballons.

While Detective Terry was embarresing himself singing last night, there was a double homicide in the fish tank. Two ghost shrimp were found lying on the gravel bed eaten and mutilated beyond recognition. Interviews with the two glass fish were a waste of time. They are not cooperating with authorities and I fear the neons are scared or just happy that it wasn't them. The lone surviving shrimp is holding up well. He seems to flaunt his single status in the tank by ignoring all other fish and concentrating on the grooming of plants. Perhaps this is how he chooses to mourn. He also spends more time on the sides of the tank--perhaps wishing he could escape or just enjoying the new crop of algae. I'm afraid the food chain is alive and well in my tank.

Kuechenschaben und Ouzo

Picture above: This is the Five star roach hotel that was formerly underneath my kitchen sink. Not pictured is the several year old newspapers and rotten food remains that were the penthouses, for the well-to-do roaches that could afford it. On the left is pure unadulterated roach scat. Towards the wall are several cockroaches running for their lives. Cleaning this up with nothing but my bare hands, a sponge, and soapy water is on my top five list of disgusting things I've had to do. Especially when you wipe up what seems to be a dead cock roach, but instead starts running up your arm. For the words that were said, it was a good thing no small children were present. What lies there now is a soft and fluffy, poisonous layer of borax. Gute Appetit, meiner Kuechenschaben.

The war of the Kuechenschaben (cockroaches) seems to be slightly going in my favor. I still find lots of cockroaches, but they are no longer alive. They are usually lying in the middle of the kitchen floor, covered in a dusty layer of borax (that I put under the countertops and sink), and lying on their back. One or two legs are usually slightly twitching. Death by borax induced dehydration. I wrote a letter to the landlord asking him to come fumigate this place or give me free rent. Neither of which I know will happen, but its fun to try. I'll let you know what happens.

Ouzo. The drink should be outlawed for the effects it has on its participants. You see Ouzo, as explained in one of my early posts, is a suspension of oil in water. The oil being anise extract. This can be described as nanoparticles free floating in solution--or the ouzo effect. Since I work in a pharmaceutical drug delivery research lab, about half of the graduate students research work is making nanoparticles for drug delivery. Hence Ouzo is the official alcoholic drink of the laboratory.

This week was the annual group meeting, where all 15-20 graduate students and post-docs give a seminar on their data for the past year. I gave a presentation on my thesis data and the three research ideas I was told to think up. At the end of each persons seminar, we are forcefully commanded to be critical of each other. This is so holes in our data can be fixed before we give a real research seminar and so more collaborations can exist between group members. On the whole, it was an interesting experience. One thing they do different is, instead of clapping hands, they knock their knuckles against their desks for applause.

At the end of the three days of seminar, my boss, Dr. Kissel takes us all out to dinner and drinks at his expense. This is were I learned the second and most important Ouzo effect. I have never seen a group of 15 people get so off the wall crazy in my life. These germans dont ever seem to fill up on beer or ouzo. The goal this year, like every year, is to break last years number of ouzo shots. Last year it was 96. This year it broke 12. But no one can remember the exact number, as everyones memory is a little hazy.

The effects of Ouzo: Off the wall shouting across the table. If I sat at one end of the table, at the other end, someone would alway be screaming "Herr Steele!, why arent you drinking more Ouzo?". This was nine times out of ten, Herr Dr. Kissel. So I would scream back, "Herr Kissel, because you will not buy me any!" At this point he would order another 15 shots and made sure two went for me.

We were eating in a small Greecian restaurant called the Lokomotive. The place basically got taken over with our loud obnoxious research group, as I told one of the graduate students that I can polka, jokingly. Somehow this caused great laughter, spread to all parts of the table, and before I knew it I was being forced to prove I knew how. The Grecian restaurant owner even had some polka. So before I knew it I was dancing polka with another graduate student named Olivia. Then tango with Nina, and onto salsa with Nadia. All to polka musik. After much laughter, the whole group erupted with people doing tango, swing, polka, and salsa to polka style music.

The Grecian restaurant got wrecked. Art fell from the walls, tables were turned over, wine glasses were broken, and ouzo shots were thrown across the table. but the owner didnt care!--he just tried to move stuff out of the way. And Dr. Kissel laughed at it all, and of course, ordered more Ouzo. They tried to teach me some german beer drinking songs, but I mostly just hummed along. At the end of the night, about three of the graduates students couldnt walk straight enough to make it home and had to be escorted. A group of five of us took turns carrying one of the graduates students home. As we walked/carried her back, she kept screaming about how tomorrow she was going to lose ten pounds, and "Wouldnt it be easier to carry me then?" We agreed.

The aquarium I got is up and running almost perfectly. The plants are even blooming and putting on new leaves. They all looked like they were going to die a week ago, until I stocked the tank with fish. I got two glass fish, four neons, and two small yellow fish, but I forget their names. I also got four small ghost shrimp that are bottom feeders. They keep the tank free of algae and are by far the funnest things to watch. They methodically groom each plant leaf in microscopic detail with there very tiny 'pincher' arms. Sometimes the other fish just follow the shrimp. I think they are wondering if they can eat it or not. One of the shrimps has also disappeared under mysterious circimstances. The glass fish blame the neons and vice versa. Detective Terry is still investigating. In my investigations I have learned that one of the sources of the ghost shrimp is the freshwater streams and rivers of the midwest. I'm not sure how this is going to solve the case though.

This week I also started my Volkshochschule to be able to speak the german language. The class mostly consists of turkish, persians, and some russians. There is also one american girl in there that is a senior exchange student from Cheboygan, Wisconsin. Small world huh? The interesting thing about the course is the instructor never uses your native language, just keeps talking german--and when you dont understand her--she draws a picture on a chalkboard and the lesson turns into a game of pictionary. When you finally understand, she rolls on to the next lesson. What is great is that most of the participants DON'T speak english, so I am forced to speak german to the turkish and russians during the breaks to try and find out more about them. It is a fun and fast way to learn a language. Today we had dialogues on ordering bread and vegatables from the market and had to act out a seen in front of the class with partners. All in all it was pretty amusing.

A friend sent me an email with a quote I have never heard before. I liked it so much, I reprint it here for you. Thanks S.A.!

"Be Kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle."
-Plato

of course you know, this means war.

If one were to peep in on me, right now, in my lab, one might wonder why am I greasing the top rim of a plastic bowl with hand lotion. In fact three hours ago, if I would have been watching my own behavior now, I might have thoughts about my clear lack of sanity, or I just need a girlfriend.

About three hours before bowl greasing, I went shopping. With generally good spirits I get off work tonight and goto the store to pack my house with groceries to cook in my new super-duper 1000W oven/grill/microwave (it came today!). I even splurged on paper plates and forks. Upon cooking fabulous american made freshetta pizza, I hear a crunch under foot. I look under and see remnant of former bug. I dont give it much thought. Goto the bathroom, clean shoe and floor with some toilet paper. On with my gourmet meal. Then out of the corner of my eye I see another bug flitter on the floor. This time I get a good look before it too meets the fate of its brother, that fate being "Reebok 10.0 Bug Compactor©". Even, though this crunch was a little louder and more satisfying than the last bug crunch, I feel a pit of despair welling up inside me. Oh no. Not them. Anything. But. Them. Why not centipedes? I got comfortable living with them, knowing they are blind and can never come after me.

Cockroaches. Not even regular cockroaches but german cockroaches!. Latin name Blattela germanica. The hardest to get rid of. The out reproduce any other cockroaches, mainly cause the female does not forage and eat as much when laying eggs, so poisons and other stick trap methods are less effective.

So tomorrow I sterilize the house and silicone caulk everything but the bottom door gap. Tonight I came to lab to make some homemade/labmade cockroach traps. These mainly being finely powdered sodium borate and my greased bowl as I was describing earlier. A fine layer of borax is like walking on razor blades to cockroaches. It is electrostatically attracted to them, and fine borax crystals get stuck in their exoskelton joints, swallowed internally as it cleans itself and dies of dehydration in few days.

The second line of death is the Vegas cockroach trap. Grease a bowl or jar rim with petroleum jelly (so they can't get out), put in some organic matter (like bread) and watch them fall in and scream, "I've fallin' and I cant get up!". Only no first alert for them, just a drowning death in the water below. But I have no petroleum jelly, so my small trial sample of Nivea creme (in fancy cursive) will have to do. You can rest ease knowing the cockroaches have soft and fresh smelling feet, in their last struggling moments of life. I know I will.

I'll let you know who wins the first battle in the next few days. Should you not hear from me, you know who won the war.

My new pad

My spacious bathroom.

The four-star kitchen. No stove. Dirty fridge.
Super-duper 220V microwave/grill/oven coming soon.

The ultimate living/bedroom.
Oh where o' where should my big screen go?

Dear minnesotans,

I was telling the students here in Germany about how you just received two feet of snow. They were wondering what you do with it all. Sometimes, it gets as much as 1-2 inches of snow here.

Personally, I used to love those days when it snows so much that all the schools close down. It is something special in there air. Unless you drive for a living, then I'm sure it is eight hours of stress and swearing. But that is what my brother Bruce does anyway when he drives all day--I'm sure the swearing just gets a little louder on days like today. He tries to keep stress free by oogling women. I know, I rode to Chicago once with him and learned all about the great viewing angles of semis and when and where the chicken coops are. And how every trucker secretly just wants to roll over a car--just once. Bruce also likes to take on bridges--you should ask him about that.

So I moved into my new apartment last night. I had all sorts of great ideas for it--then I realized those ideas cost money--and here they withhold your check for six weeks--while the apt people wanted 3 months rent up front. So things are wee tight and decking out the bachelor pad isnt high on the list. not if I want to eat anyway. i had forgotten how much crap a apt needs. plates, silverware, pots, glasses, toilette paper (stolen from lab), bed, blankets, rugs, cleaning crap, pictures.......the list goes on and on and is something I never gave a thought about it until having to start from absolutely nothing. Today I ordered about six things from ebay to try and save money. There is something just so much fun about things arriving in the mail for me (hint, hint).

I read my nieces letter today--it was cute--she gave me candy for Valentines day--I just have come to america to get it.

So I have taken up cursive handwriting once again. all letters written to me will now be replied in cursive. You can think of it as a suduko puzzle when you are trying to read my handwriting. i heard they are gradually excluding cursive handwriting in MN schools to teach more typing skills, so I take it upon myself to keep up the dying art.

If you dont have my address, give me an email and I will send it to you.

I leave you with this parting thought I found on my bag of german tortilla ships:

"Die mexikanisch pommes frites!"

which translates to "The mexican french fries!"

Hmmm, mexican french fries--who knew?