Back to the Blog...

It's been a while since I've been here. I couldn't even remember how to find the site, and when I did find the site I couldn't remember the password to log in.

But one of my photojournalist brethren found the site on accident, and thought enough of it to call me about the page. And he got me thinking about writing again.

I did scroll down and read some of my past posts, and thought of editing them down, but I've decided to keep them as they are even though I think I could improve them quite a bit..

Thanks, Bob B. for getting me back on track. And here's the re-boot of the blog.

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

To see the city better!

It sounds so simple, but it took me a long time to learn this lesson. It's something I learned accidentally. On a roady to San Francisco a few years ago I cabbed Fisherman's Wharf and needed to get back to my hotel near Union Square. It was early and I was in no hurry and after crab and Irish Coffee, I thought I could use a little exercise, although I was not expecting to walk all the way back to the hotel.

It's amazing how much you can miss sitting in a taxi. I discovered noise and fun and Italian food in North Beach. I love a good Tiki bar and, oddly, I found one on Broadway amongst all the Italian restaurants.

I abstained from the rummyfruityicy goodness, and continued on, up Grant through Chinatown. It's amazing how just by crossing one street (like The Chicken), you can cross into what seems to be a  different city. Cross Broadway at Grant and it's as if the aroma of Italian fare cannot pass across the street and is replaced by Chinese.  Every store was open. As in North Beach, every bar was packed and lively. Old men played erhus (I googled it... so can you) out on the sidewalk. Tourists laughed and bought cheap souvenirs. It was a loud crowded feast for the senses that only cost me a little effort, and I would have missed completely had I been in a car. It was a long but effortless walk all the way back to the hotel.

During last week's tip to San Fran I made the same walk, this time round trip. In North Beach I found a sign advertising San Francisco's Best Happy Hour, and who am I to argue with Bacon-Wrapped Tater-Tots and $3 PBR? Would I have stopped at The Boardroom had I cabbed for crab on Fisherman's Wharf? No way. But then I would have missed out on a bar full of nice people that gave me never ending grief about the Dodgers (G'nats were sweeping the Dodgers on T.V.) then wished me safe travels and a pleasant trip.

The walking lesson is one I have tried to repeat wherever I go, and I have seen so much that I would have otherwise missed. Moving at walking speed, I have more time to see details, like the beauty of light in windows.


Putting one foot in front of the other may not be the speediest way around, but slowing down allows me to discover the interesting in the ordinary, and give me a chance to have fun with my camera.

Shouldn't the photographer be posting some photos?

Of course he should!

Okay, so I've been busy. And I know, it's an excuse everyone uses.

But KTLA keeps giving me plenty of hours. And I've been working on a volunteer photo project for the local community theater. And I've been shooting for a photo agency. AND I've been editing down and fixing the 3000+ frames from the RIAS trip to Germany, Czech Republic and Belgium.

But I'm done shooting for the theater and now editing.

And I'm no longer shooting for the agency. Yelling at celebraties was just not my idea of fun. It was not paparazzi work, but the paps were always lurking in the shadows. I've spent my entire career trying to get people to ignore me while I get photos to tell their story, so yelling at stars to look straight into my lens was a huge change in the way I work. And there is no story telling involved with red carpet work. It was just not what I want to do.

The owner of the agncy never spoke to me directly until he sent a note saying that he liked my work and should I change my mind, his door would always be open. So I must have done something right.

So here's some snaps from a few red carpets, with photos of the theater project coming soon.

I'm going to try to post more often (my resolution for the new year was to post weekly. The year ain't over yet...)

Dave Koechner at the Paul premiere at Grauman's Chinese.

Steven Tyler at the NBA All-Star game red carpet. And why to sporting events need a red carpet?

Uma Thurman at my last red carpet, for the premiere of her movie Ceremony.

Maria Menounos at the NBA All-Star game red carpet... and when did sporting events require red carpets?

I will get back to the original topic of this blog eventually...

This blog was intended to be about travel.

But lately my travel has consisted of the 54-mile round trip to Hollywood, with the exception of one trip to Sandy Eggo to see a friend just after I got axed, and lately a bunch of trips to Bakersfield.

Don't groan too loud about travel to Bakersfield. It is the hometown.

This blog was intended to be about travel.


But lately my trtavel has consisted solely of the 54 mile round tript to Hollywood, with the exception of one trip to Sandy Eggo to see a friend just after I got axed, and lately a bunch of trips to Bakersfield.


Don't let me catch you groaning about going to Bakersfield. It is the hometown.


But I'm not happy about the reason for going there.


It's been a while since I've posted, so let's recap, shall we?


And before you read on, please know that until November, my life was pretty drama-free.

It feels like God just keeps pooping on my head. To review: dumped by CNN, and two weeks later I spun my Mu$tang -- fre$h rain + oil + curb X Amer'can Muscle, Hor$epower and Torque (can you hear me grunting?) = a bu$ted rim, bad alignment, a bent axel and a bent brake rotor... and $1700 on my credit card. And while I 'm glad to collect a check, freelancing at KTLA is not the most fun I've ever had at work. The people are incredibly nice, but there is an attitude of "we're just filling the gaps between the commercials. " You've probably figured out by now that I can't work that way. I care way too much and take way too much pride in my work to play that game. The reporters I'm working with sure appreciate my work ethic, though, and I think that's why they keep putting me on the schedule five days a week. I do work that many other shooters/editors are willing to do.

And now for the latest storm cloud: just after New Year's Day my dad went to the hospital. Didn't know it at the time, but he had a mild heart attack. But his health was bad to begin with -- he smoked for 46 years, drank too much for too long, had diabetes from contact with Agent Orange (I didn't even know that you could get diabetes that way until reading over his Vet's Administration paper work a few days ago), and the blocked artery was just the first slip down a slick slope. 

After almost two weeks, his condition started to stabilize, but just as I was making plans for him to be moved from the hospital to a care facility, his condition crashed, and he had to be put on a ventilator. He spent almost ten days in a near-coma until his body just could not take the ventilator any more. Knowing my Dad's personality, I know he would not be happy with  what was even his best, highly unlikely prognosis. So I gave him a fighting chance and time to pull through, but ultimately, as my sister said, I let the decision be between him and God. I'm not a terribly religious person -- I believe but really have no place for organized religion -- but my sister was right. I made the decision to not connect him to any more tubes and machines.

My Old Man tried to be a cat, and he successfully punched out nine times; Here's the count: two combat injuries in Viet Nam (yes, that makes him a double Purple Heart recipient and a bona-fide American hero), one case of Malaria contracted in Viet Nam, Three major motorcycle accidents (really, couldn't he have learned from the first two?) one trip to a Vegas hospital last year for a 10-day stay for various medical problems and one more week-long stint at the Los Angeles VA hospital for another very serious diabetes problem. That's eight, and life number nine came to a quit close at 11:04 Sunday night. 

Kenneth Jackson Hart was only 65. But like Indiana Jones once said, "It's not the years, it's the milage."

My sister and one of my dad's close friends were with him just after he was removed from the ventilator. He hung on for almost six hours, until my sister finally said "You know my dad. He doesn't want us to be here when he goes. He's waiting for us to leave." So they left. 

And he passed 15 minutes later.

A few years ago he gave me with verbal instructions that upon his demise he was to have all the customary rites that vets are given: burial at a national cemetery with the full military service and a headstone and plot that the government provides. But the rest of his affairs were not in order, so I have been dealing with that. While I wish he had taken better care of his records and papers, I am not complaining. It's the least I can do, and I am proud to be able to do it.

I had not planned on discussing this here. I'm not a big fan of airing my personal issues in public. But I asked you to drop by once in a while and then I quit posting. You deserve an explanation.

And although I have not been on the road, I still have plenaty of stories. And although I know life will never be exactly like it was pre-November 2010. it will improve. I will find more fulfilling work where the stories are not rain-puddle shallow, and where my news judgment is valued, and puts me back on the road on a regular basis. (How much do I miss traveling? I'm even missing the TSA!) I know I need to keep looking, which is easy. The hard part is being patient. But believing that things will turn around keeps me going.

So pop back in soon. Fresh posts are coming, I promise

Well, THAT was a long month!

Beg pardon for not filing for a while...

But to say things have changed in the last 30 days would be an understatement!

But we are making things work. Having six weeks of vacation banked sure helped!

Having friends to drop resumes places, or edit a resume, or give me advice or just send nice notes has helped even more.

Less than a day after my sacking I heard from a former co-worker, who now works at KTLA. He wanted a resume, which he delivered to the Operations Manager there. Two days later I was in the Ops Manager's office, and was on the schedule the next week as a per diem hire, and have been getting four or five days a week since then. Working in local again was not in my future plans, but everyone there is SO nice, and they seem to be happy to have me there. They will get my 100% effort, and it's keeping me busy while I look for the next network gig or until I decide to make the investment for a gear package.

Another freelance shooter, after hearing of my situation, has offered me her extra work and, more importantly, use of her camera package when she is not using it.

And The Boy has been keeping me busy, too. D Casey Hart is officially an actor. While I was in Germany, he auditioned for a part in The Canyon Theatre Guild's production of A Christmas Carol. He got the part of "young Scrooge" and worked hard at it. So we all volunteered and helped build sets and work behind the curtain, and I borrowed a camera from a friend and taped the show a few times for the director (anybody with a Macbook pro with Final Cut that I can borrow for editing?). I helped Casey and the young actress in his scene work on their characters and their motivation and how to avoid traps actors fall into when they are "acting" as opposed to being in character... junk I learned oh-so-many years ago that I though I would never use again.

The show's run has just ended -- 21 shows! -- but we don't get much of a break. Before ACC even opened, he auditioned for the next show, Willy Wonka.

Willy Wonka  is a musical.

Look... I love The Boy, but let's be honest; he's got my sense of rhythm and is almost as tone deaf. And 90 kids auditioned, most with real head shots and CD's that their budding Dina Lohan parents had paid thousands of dollars.

The Boy sang Happy Birthday, acapella.

And unlike the 80 kids that went home with their expensive head shots and CDs, D. Casey got a part.

Okay, the part is in the ensemble. But it's a part, something most of the kids didn't get.

And I am NOT turning into Kit Culkin. After the first week of rehersals we quit sitting in the theater. I made sure Casey knew what he was supposed to do and what what was expected of him: this is not theater day camp. It's a real show with actors and a director who, while volunteers, are taking this seriously. He did what he was supposed to do and more. He never missed his cues. He always made his quick costume changes in time. When the other kids in the show were brats, he stood out by doing the opposite, and by shutting his mouth and listening when he was supposed to by projecting and taking direction and being a proper actor.

All of this is good for me, too. Keeping busy keeps my mind off of how CNN ended. It keeps me from thinking about the pain and the hurt that comes with putting in so much work and effort and time, of going so far above and beyond what was expected of me and doing so much more than what was put out by some others in the same job category, and still getting bounced... for being sacked for reasons that are completely untrue.

So I keep busy. And I keep telling myself that Everything Happens For A Reason. God or Jehovah or Buddha or whatever we call our higher power has a plan. The plan doesn't often just drop from the sky (and oh, how I wish it did); we have to go and find the plan. As much as I loved working at CNN, there is something better out there for me. And I'm not a complete idiot; I know that, with the current bureau management (Fred Grullon excluded), I had gone as far as I could go at CNN, and was somewhat lucky to get as far as I did.

So perhaps I needed the push.

So until the plan is discovered, we've made a few sacrifices; no more gym membership, fewer meals away from home, more brown-bagging at work. I've had to bite the bullet and upgrade my cell to a smart phone to get e-mails anywhere (that's already paid for itself, by the way).

Hopefully I'll run into many of you in the field soon, or see you in person. Until then, keep in touch and I'll try to update this space more often.

The Silver Lining

Let's be real; being unemployed sucks. It's only taken me five days, or only three working days, to figure that out.

But here's something that doesn't suck. I am in awe about how many people have reached out to me since Thursdsay. Some of you have posted on Facebook, others through e-mail, and some have called  even if it ment searching for a phone number.

Friends old and new, from here at home and accross the country.

And You've sent messages of sorrow and support. Some of you have sent phone numbers for me to call about other work. Some of you have asked for resumes to deliver to the right people. I'm quite out of practice for resume writing, and one friend stepped up to do just that, making me seem a lot more exciting than I really am.

I've saved your notes.

And no matter what you have said, posted, or offered, you are all precious to me. I never expected to be in this position, and I could never imagine this reaction from you all. An example: the blog that was really just so my family and non-teevee friends to hear what I was doing, and was only knows to my friends on Facebook, has recieved more hits than I have Facebook friends.

I don't know how that math works, but I think it's cool.

So I'm looking. I've already sent resumes, made calls, am researching buying and/or renting and/or leasing gear, although I would rather be staff somewhere.

And I'm trying to not think about the bad and instead counting my blessing: we are far from panic mode; we are in good health; and as I've learned this week, I am rich with fantastic friends.

Thank you all, every one of you, and if you are sitting next to a non-facebook friend, please pass this along to them, too.

And please, keep sending those ideas, contacts and notes.

p.s. I'm not sure how I feel about this yet, but there is a move to have a little get-together here in El Lay... to have an adult beverage and complain/cry/laugh. Probably after Thanksgiving weekend. Stay tuned

Good bye, CNN

Bet you didn't see that coming.

And to be honest, neither did I.

But CNN and I have parted ways.

I didn't get to say "bye" to many people, and most of the people are facebook friends anyway, so I'll say "bye" here.

Bye! It was a gas working with you and getting to know you. Your professionalism and dedication taught me so much. Like soldiers in a fox hole, we suffered and complained and commiserated and coordinated and  achieved so much more than we could have alone.

Your trust in me brought out the best in me both professionally and personally. Your trust in me and my abilities taught me to trust myself. The more you allowed me to be part of the process, the more I felt I could contribute.

And that trust allowed me to grow professionally. I came to CNN expected to point a camera. I think that I am leaving as the well-rounded journalist that is in demand today: I have been allowed to shoot, edit, produce, and write and with the exception of learning how to spell, I like to think I have excelled.

You have taught me to keep trying: you would think that after almost 15 years I could not be surprised by my co-workers ability to pull rabbits out of hats. You would be wrong. Even right up to my last assignment, I marveled at what CNN's producers and reporters could come up with -- interviews and information that others could not.

I learned that you can rent anything, and that every restaurant has food to go. And never give an intern cash and tell him to by beverages for the group.

And most importantly, I have made friends. Not "work friends" for real friends. I will miss working with you, I will miss traveling with you, and I will miss the opportunities of sharing an adult beverage or two with you.

Keep in touch at Facebook or xtimxhart@aol.com.

And please, friends, if you hear of any work, let me know.

The other right...

I know, I am way behind on stories of the trip to Germany. We'll get to those later, after The Company stops abusing me. But I'll start this story in Germany...

One of my fellow Fellows, a Director from D.C. named Bob Golombic, was telling the group that over the years he had learned that most photogs, during live broadcasts, lose all sense of direction. He often tells photographers to "pan right," and then, as the photog is moving left, calmly says "the other right, please."

Two weeks later, I'm following The Tea Party Express across Nevada as they begin their tour of the U.S. before the midterm elections. This trip started with 4am live shots Monday morning in Reno, then driving Monday afternoon/night to another rally four and a half hours away in Elko. Then 4am live shots Tuesday morning, and a drive to Ely (200 miles, in theory) and La Vegas (another 440 miles) and rallies in both cities.

Leaving Elko yesterday, I consulted Google maps on my blackberry--drive 42 miles on I-80 to Wells and exit toward Ely.

So I turned onto the freeway, and about 50 miles later realized I had not seen the exit for Ely.
I turned around, thinking I had just missed it.

No Ely exit.

So I pull over and double-check my directions. And I can't figure out how I am this lost. Then I realize that I was supposed to turn RIGHT to get on the freeway.

I have gone the other right. I am 50 miles in the wrong direction. I need to do my best Kevin Harvick impersonation to meet the three Tea Party busses in Ely. Three and a half hours into a drive that was supposed to take two and a half hours I drive up on the tiny town of Ely, and I see a 25 mph speed limit sign and a Nevada Highway Patrol car. But I stopped speeding an hour ago, so I'm not worried. But before I even get by him, he hits his lights, then drives  behind me. I pull over, he comes to my window and asked why I'm going so fast. "I didn't think I was going too fast. I saw the 25 mph sign and was slowing down."

"There is a 35 miles per hour sign before that. You were doing 45."

Time to play stupid (pretty easy for me at this point). "Well, I'm more than a little lost, and I didn't see that sign. But I did know I was coming up on a town and needed to slow down, and was slowing down."

Mr. Trooper wanted to know why I was in Ely--I'm guessing he could see the gear in the back of the car, even if he didn't know which company I work for. "Actually, I'm hoping you can help me with that. I'm supposed to meet the Tea Party busses, and I don't know where the rally is. Do you know?"

He laughed. "It's a small town. Drive four blocks and you'll see the park. And you've got plenty of time. The busses are stuck behind some road construction traffic. I'll just give you a warning about the speed. Drive safely."

By the way, North Central Nevada is awesome. A beautiful drive. Not many places to stop, but the scenery is outstanding. But I didn't have any time for pictures. You'll just have to take my word for it. Trust me, just like the Nevada Highway Patrolman did.

A new day; a new country

At last, a hotel with more than one computer!

Yesterday morning, our host and guide Rainer (that's RAY-ner... not ray-NEAR) reminded us that our trip was paid for by the RIAS Berlin Kommission (google it) by holding up his sign and saying RAIS is leaving Berlin.

"And we are all sad to be doing so!" I yelled from the back of the bus.

And two things are true: 1) Even though all thirteen of us are missing home, and were looking forward to Dresden and Prague and are still looking forward to Brussels tomorrow, we enjoyed Berlin so much.

And 2) Even at this age, the troublemakes still sit in the back of the bus.

Yes, a bus. And not a short bus, either. Europe's buses are so much nicer. Made by Mercedes Benz! We pulled out of Berlin at about 9:30 and headed south for Dresden... about 2 hours by fancy bus. Very green, is Germany. A few rolling hills, a few groups of old houses, farms growing... corn? (I've flown 10 hours to be in Iowa?) and big windmills. Okay, I know my Bakersfield friends are thinking "So what? we have windmills in Tehachapi." Which is what I thought. Until I saw one behind a house. Like, MILES behind a house. And it still dwarfed the house! Germans know how to build windmills!


(Oh, and German's know how to build solar, too. In a country that is gray and cloudy most of the year, in the next few years they will have installed enough solar panals to equal the energy output of three nuke plants.)


We got to Dresden, checked into a lovely, posh hotel that sits amid centuries-old buildings, then left to tour a Volkswagen plant.

The Dresden plant--in what was communist East German--is state of the art. Four floors, it is built with glass wallss You  can see the whole hi-tech process from the street. They build custom-ordered Volkswagen Phaetons by hand, in a factory with wooden floors and indirect lighting, using special overhead units to move the cars from the holding area to the assmebly line, and the line moves each car on a special platform on the wooden floor in a circle like a giant rotating sushi bar, built buy Germany's best in white overalls. My "normal" traveling companions were impressed. Gearhead that I am, I was geeked.


Then a walking tour of a giant church, and the exteriors of some of tha many giant German palaces in Dresden. Here's the odd thing. All of these old buildings are mostly brown, except for some odd parts that are just jet black! At first, you think "Jeez, would it hurt them to clean ALL of the building, and not must leave some random stones dirty?" But all of these buildings were destroyed by incindiary bombs at the end of WWII, and most sat as ruins during the communist era of the DDR. When they were rebuilt, the remaining sandstone pieces were numbered Most of the "centuries old" buildings in Dresden are only about 20 years old, on the average. The ramaining stones were numbered, and the salvageable parts were used in the reconstruction. Stained by fire, the black stones stand out against the new sandstone. To see the old, baroque palaces and churches, made with 85% new stone tells alot about how far the former East Germany has come, and a constent reminder of the cost of war.

Then, this morning, back on the "bus" (this ain't no Grayhound) to Prague. The few hills turned to rolling hills. Castles and churches dotted the mountain tops. And as we entered Prague, centuries old buildings appeared. But the bus could not make it into the city center; we had to drag our luggage the last 1/2 mile. And what an old hotel: a new hotel in an old building (kind of like the Padre, you Bakersfield peeps) but with an attitude... pictures later.


We went to Radio Free Europe, then on to dinner and walking through the small, narrow streets of Prague, including seeing the Astrological Clock, and popping into an Absinth bar... oh, so much more to tell you, but there is a guy waiting for this computer and he's starting to look really mad.


Don't want to create an internation incident....

Auf Wiedersehen, Berlin

So much has happened since the last time I have posted. Sorry, but there are so few hours and only one computer in the lobby of the Relexa hotel, and that computer is in demand.

I will post stories from the last four days later. But I must tell you about tonight.

We were all invited to The Reichstag (Germany's parlement building) for a celebration of the 20th anniversary of Germany's unification. I thought we were just going to be on the large grassy area in front of the building -- like being on the mall outside the U.S. capitol.

Wrong. When our short bus (go ahead, make your jokes) stopped, we showed our tickets and were led to our... seats? That was unexpected. And so were he ropes holding the "regular" Berliners back. Then Philip Murphy sat in front of us. I didn't know this at the time, but I quickly learned the Mr. Murphy is the U.S. Ambassador to Germany. When he found out who we were, he quickly greated each of us, and posed for a picture (that will be posted when I get home).

Alright... this night is pretty cool... Sitting with the big wigs... in front of the Reichstag.

Then the real VIP's came in: former Chancellor Helmut Kohl (Chancelor during the fall of the wall and German unification) and current Chancellor Angela Merkel. Both with seats no better than ours.

Although I did not recieve a standing ovation, nor flowers like Herr Kohl. But when Kohl's eyes teared, so did ours (more on that later)

Then there was music from  the German Justin Bieber and a large orchestera, a choir, a speach in German that ended with a quote from the German national anthem that, when spoken, let directly into the anthem (I know this because our guide translated for me)

And after the national anthem, the European Union anthem, better know as Beethoven's "Ode to Joy", with fireworks.

I thought we were done, but no! We walked into the Reichstag, to the third floor, for a small reception with dignitaries... a much smaller crowd than outside... free food and drink (making us newsies so happy), and we even chatted with the Embassador from Bangledesh. Oh, and we were about 10 feet from Chancellors Kohl and Merkel. Go ahead, try to be that close to Presidents Obama or Bush or Bush II and see how fast the Secret Service jumps on you.

The whole night I expected someone to point to me and say "Aye! zat iz unt redneck from Oildale! He doesn't belong here! Get him!"

But I was there... and here, in Berlin for a week, on both sides of the line of cobble stones that mark what was once the Berlin wall. I have stood on the East side of that line, in a place that I years ago, during my adult life, I would have been killed for standing in. I have seen the long scar that marked the difference between freedom and oppression. And I have met a whole lot of people who are so happy to be free Berliners.

The people... Eight days, and I've yet to meet a single rude, cross Berliner. Actually, when a Berliner hears you speak English, it seems to be an invitation for a longer conversation. "Do you have the time?" becomes a 15 minute conversation when you answer in English"I'm sorry, I don't speak German."

People like RIAS Berlin Kommishin Board member Hildegard Bousein, who sat next
 to me during tonight's event at The Reichstag. Just as Chancellor Kohl was being honored, as we all sat just a few paces from what was once the wall that surrounded the Western half of Berlin, Hildergard told me a story. In 1981, she went to work at the Reichstag, then just offices as the West German capitol was in Bonn. Her office was in the back of the building, about five feet from the wall, so she had an view of that wall every hour of every daz. But every day, she and some of her co-workers would take their lunch and walk about 100 yards to the wall in front of the Brandenburg gate, a famous symbol of Germany that stood on the wrong side of the wall, to eat "and think of what could be."

I can't type that without getting a lump in my throat, as it was clear that in 1981, "what could be" was not even imaginable.

And yet there we sat, among the free Germans, in front of a building with the large inscription "Dem Deutschn Volke" -- for the people. Not imaginable, but real.

It was a heck of a way to end our week in Berlin. And even though we still have stops in Dresden, Prague, Brussels and Brugges before we leave for home, I hate to leave this city. I have made so many friends, and have so many more stories that I will tell you later.

But for now, Auf Weidersehen, Berlin. I hope to see you again.

"Ve must interupt your eating so zat ve maz eat some more"

Today's schedule: Breakfast followed by coffe cake and sweet cream interrupted by lunch and then dessert.

They must think we Americans are too skinny.

But besides eat, we have met various big shots in the German government, toured the Reichstag and the Berlin Jewish cultural center, toured the city by bus and the Spree river by boat, and even enjoyed some odd culture.

First, I would love to tell you about our engaging conversations. Except, I can't. It's all off the record. Sorry.

But I can tell you that everyone is just the opposite of the stereotypical dour, dull terse German we are all familiar with from watching too manz WWII movies. Everyone is warm and friendly. A woman asked me a question on the street yesterday. When I said I only speak English, she talked to me for half and hour. Another local asked me for the time, and when I had the same lame mono-lingual response, talked to me for another 15 minutes.

That would SO not happen in El Lay!

Something else, too. Germans are well aware of the pain their country has caused the world over the past 90 years or so. Reminders are everywhere. There are monuments to remember innocent victims of war, and a Jewish memorial that takes up an entire city block. And there are monuments to the pain they have caused their own people: just outside our hotel is one wall of a railroad station bombed during WWII, and many of the historical buildings and museums are scarred with thousands of 64 year-old bullet hole, and many of the enterior walls of the Reichstag still wear the graffiti of victorious Soviet soldiers, all preserved as a reminder of the cost of war.

But it's not all so serious.

Last night we had the option of going to an opera. When I called home and said I was goin to the opera, there was a long pause, and then Susan said "I'm sorry, I think we have a bad connection. It sounded like you said you were going to the opera."

Yep, the Oildale redneck at the opera. And not what any of us expected. A modern interpretation of Don Pasquel. Italian opera sung in German, with English subtitles digitally rendered on the seatback in front of you, featuring a 6"5' transvestite, the biggest disco ball you've ever seen, and something at the end of the first act that, because my mom is reading this blog, I can not describe to you here.

It may be the only opera I ever see, and it was a blast!

After the show we all went to dinner (yes, eating again) and as we were leaving we ran into the lead soprano, who was also having dinner! So nice and so friendlz, and so ... American! Imagine that... Italian opera preformed in German by a woman from Atlanta.

People are waiting for the only computer in the lobby, and I don't want to be the ugly american, so I must jump! More later!