Better Living Through German Medicine

Two German imports, courtesy Juliane Graf (for a small sample of her exploits, travails, and photos, read all about our west coast trek in August's posts), that I couldn't resist forwarding. The first (taken mere weeks ago, though the aesthetic looks like it could easily predate the collapse of the Berlin Wall), above, is an erectile dysfunction ad from a Leipzig train station that Juliane translates to ""Erectile dysfunctions? A small step to the doctor, a big step for our love life." The web site? Translation: www.heroes-of-love-com. I find something a bit disturbing about the two pictured krauts being heroes of much anything, least of all the bedroom. But somehow envisioning the woman in erotica store pleather (possibly Viking?) gear and the man wearing buttless lederhosen seems oddly accurate, so, you know, maybe. Maybe.

Our second friend from Deutschland is the doctor with an all-too-flexible elbow in the central German town of Erfurt (where Juliane recently obtained her masters from The University of Erfurt, attended by such slouches as Martin Luther). Strangely enough, this fellow is beckoning (admonishing?) from the window of a mattress shop. Imagining a customer seeing this and thinking, "Why, yes, his arm is spinning spectacularly! I must purchase one of these mattresses!" brings me joy. Thinking of the Viking and lederhosen couple going through that thought process, not only brings me joy, but really needs to happen. Come on, Germany, renew my faith in comedy.

The View from 603

O Charlotte! I sat among your concrete for nine hours! I ate of your meatloaf sandwich and butterscotch cake! I answered your questions and let you put your shit on top of my shit while looking at your program book to figure out where anybody with the decency to not be me was sitting! I steered table 603 straight and true! And what did you give me in return, Charlotte?

You gave me that prized booty: costumed adults.

In some cases you gave me booty in the ass sense, but I really didn't ask for that, Charlotte. Seriously.

The responses of convention-going children to these costumed adults was often less joy than fear and dismay, at best shock. No wonder I get along so well with kids. They know disturbingly strange when they see it. Sample the stunned dismay of this little girl when confronted with two (admittedly decently suited up) Spider People:
Like all humans pursuing some ideal, there were those that committed fully, and those that phoned it in. Who ya gonna call? Not the lady who just threw on a cape and called it a day. Come on lady, bring it!
But, then again, this lady brought it way too much... to the delight of eager photographers and the turned stomach of this documentarian who temporarily wished he hadn't just eaten a meatloaf sandwich.
To be completely honest, the meatloaf sandwich was amazing (I know it sounds revolting, but it was amazing, trust me), and graciously provided by the perpetually kind Rob Venditti of Top Shelf. The sandwiches and cake were made by Rob's mother and she is to be thanked. My thanks to her? She did not have to see that chain mail rump in person. Consider us even!