Today I must confess nervousness. I noticed a stain on my first-ever pair of jeans to be reserved for semi-formal occasions. And I threw a quiet hissyfit on Calle Feria. I started to get flustered that I couldn´t even care for pants. Which somehow lead to a train of thought that I was uncomfortable with the idea of returning to America.
And Pam Wess asked me, ¨Why go to Europe when you can go to Disneyworld and see it all in a day?¨
I´m not sure what the root of it is, a stain, a sense of responsibility, or something else ahead. I suppose the closest I get to understanding is that coming home sort of signifies that things have permenantly changed, or that I´ll have to face that. It´s easy to feel constant dramatic and purposeful change when you´re on the move. And I guess I´ll have to try and stop moving.
I´ll be forced to stop moving as I checked my balance. Holding steady at 2k. 2k I need to pay first and last months rent, and airfare to my next habitation and student debt. Despite canceling arrangements for a 5 day trek in the Sahara I still party and come home like a pro.
I spent the day pantless. So I booked bus tickets, checked hostels, and contacted some British Organizations about science education and outreach. Not for potential jobs, but I realized that I didn´t have a great grasp on what the majority of city-dwelling Americans thought of science, and I had an even more restricted idea of what the British thought. And how they go about changing it. A few information packets down my gizzard and I find that it´s sort of the same, but I doubt they share a similar curious sense of abandonment and apocalyptic fallout.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
The Lack of Pictures Might Make You Believe I'm Back in the USA Already
I think I've solved the major mystery of what the foreigners to to pass the time before partying. The French Facebook, the Americans have a movie marathon of How I Met Your Mother and Forgetting Sarah Marshall (their obvious good taste is applauded), and the Germans sit in the kitchen, surrounded by contemptible eyes and hushed tones. But maybe that's just because I'm interrupting them.
I'm transcribing my notes from articles I've read and I apparently thought that the comment “sloppy seconds after reproductive output not bad” would be perfectly clear.
I got a response from my long-posted Ok Cupid profile (Disfigured69), but my reply of, “Your skin looks of average quality. I like that, and the Government.” didn’t get a reply just yet.
I had a different type of good time today, cooking my own meals, working, watching some BBC online, and scarcely an interaction as the aforementioned Germans are not as polite as their countrymen and because the drizzle has shut everything down again. Not the kind of culture I'd like to become naturalized in. I like it sloppy wet.
As a large part of vacation, spontaneous is spent planning the next bit. Amidst negotiations for camel treks I realized that I'd like to plan very large, longer and more involved trips. I'm sad that I'm hopping over a large section of these countries, when I could be shunt-piking for a month and a half across India or a similarly large country (Former Soviet nations, China, and African nations need not apply). That's what I really loved about visiting Australia and to a larger extent New Zealand. I do enjoy what I'm doing now, as it's what I wanted, and had time and money for but that's the next goal: Save 3k at least, study, plan, grab a tolerable friend or two and road trip.
Nobody else thinks of R. Pat when they hear "sloppy wet?" AM I ALONE HERE?
I'm transcribing my notes from articles I've read and I apparently thought that the comment “sloppy seconds after reproductive output not bad” would be perfectly clear.
I got a response from my long-posted Ok Cupid profile (Disfigured69), but my reply of, “Your skin looks of average quality. I like that, and the Government.” didn’t get a reply just yet.
I had a different type of good time today, cooking my own meals, working, watching some BBC online, and scarcely an interaction as the aforementioned Germans are not as polite as their countrymen and because the drizzle has shut everything down again. Not the kind of culture I'd like to become naturalized in. I like it sloppy wet.
As a large part of vacation, spontaneous is spent planning the next bit. Amidst negotiations for camel treks I realized that I'd like to plan very large, longer and more involved trips. I'm sad that I'm hopping over a large section of these countries, when I could be shunt-piking for a month and a half across India or a similarly large country (Former Soviet nations, China, and African nations need not apply). That's what I really loved about visiting Australia and to a larger extent New Zealand. I do enjoy what I'm doing now, as it's what I wanted, and had time and money for but that's the next goal: Save 3k at least, study, plan, grab a tolerable friend or two and road trip.
Nobody else thinks of R. Pat when they hear "sloppy wet?" AM I ALONE HERE?
Years of Google Image Search Practice
Why is there not a deodorant that smells of fire? I came back from the flamenco show smelling of it. I love it.
One thing I haven’t adjusted to is the Spanish sense of breaking up a day. Noon and everything is still closed, things begin to swing around 3pm, but then abruptly stop until 7pm and there’s a lull again from 9-10pm where the night life begins for the early bird crowd. I keep wondering what locals do in the meantime?
Grab your friend from Portland, Oregon and watch Going the Distance it seems. I’ve come to find out that this small artistic city of many bridges attracts gobs of Oregonians. Yuki, Rachel, Jennifer and Joseph are a few of them, most are UO graduates. Not all of them came over as a pregnancy pact, but quickly met. Am I alarmed, or disgusted? It hasn’t ruined any mysteries, but it does make me feel as if I went the safest route. I begin to think about what Americans look for in the world at large, aside from underground gambling.
Out on my own I visited Fotomata to see some photographs. I was sitting in the Plaza De Torros and wondered what good was it to see a Bullfighting Arena, without a bullfight. I doubt I’d enjoy seeing it, but the circular arena isn‘t grand without a throng.
Yesterday was the first day that I’ve relaxed on this trip. I sat on the balcony, eating a Napolitana for a few hours, talked with people in the late afternoon, and as the sun went down I got some work in and even wrote a sketch. And in the greatest tradition of comedy I asked myself, “Is this funny, or just weird?”
And if you ever find yourself on a long trip, or need to pass the time for other reasons I pose the following question:
If you could speak and understand every language on earth, but your vocabulary and accents are all based off of one movie, which movie would it be? You may not be able to order food, but you can ask “Did he come in your mouth?” if you choose Closer, and mind you this affects how you say things. So if you chose Beauty and the Beast some of your say, Punjabi phrases would be sung in the approximate voice of the Beast. A smart route is to take a Woody Allen movie, as it packs in a great deal of words per minute, but you’ll always be whiny.
I ended the night at La Carboneria, watching a flamenco show. Sometimes all you hear is the wailing, and you really notice how much the Moors influenced the Iberian cultures. Speaking of, plans are set for the last leg of the trip. I cross the straight of Gibralter, head to Marrakech, see the desert, fly to Geneva, hike the Alps, then London - JFK by way of Munich.
Today is another rainy day and paradoxically the water is shut off. Because this place is built to be cool, it's frigid right now. Or maybe that's just the warm welcome I get when I say 'Que tal?' in the Wazzup voice.
Okay, one last thing, I'm watching Rachel from Portland who works here speak to Angie. Rachel doesn't know a word of Spanish, and is trying to tell Angie that she'll be back around 4. It's stereotypical. Rachel has worked here for six months. I suppose I just couldn't imagine living in a very foreign place just to 'live.' Maybe if she owned a motorcycle I would be more understanding.
Ultimately when I am an immigrant, I want to have loads of qualifications that can be ignored.
One thing I haven’t adjusted to is the Spanish sense of breaking up a day. Noon and everything is still closed, things begin to swing around 3pm, but then abruptly stop until 7pm and there’s a lull again from 9-10pm where the night life begins for the early bird crowd. I keep wondering what locals do in the meantime?
Grab your friend from Portland, Oregon and watch Going the Distance it seems. I’ve come to find out that this small artistic city of many bridges attracts gobs of Oregonians. Yuki, Rachel, Jennifer and Joseph are a few of them, most are UO graduates. Not all of them came over as a pregnancy pact, but quickly met. Am I alarmed, or disgusted? It hasn’t ruined any mysteries, but it does make me feel as if I went the safest route. I begin to think about what Americans look for in the world at large, aside from underground gambling.
Out on my own I visited Fotomata to see some photographs. I was sitting in the Plaza De Torros and wondered what good was it to see a Bullfighting Arena, without a bullfight. I doubt I’d enjoy seeing it, but the circular arena isn‘t grand without a throng.
Yesterday was the first day that I’ve relaxed on this trip. I sat on the balcony, eating a Napolitana for a few hours, talked with people in the late afternoon, and as the sun went down I got some work in and even wrote a sketch. And in the greatest tradition of comedy I asked myself, “Is this funny, or just weird?”
And if you ever find yourself on a long trip, or need to pass the time for other reasons I pose the following question:
If you could speak and understand every language on earth, but your vocabulary and accents are all based off of one movie, which movie would it be? You may not be able to order food, but you can ask “Did he come in your mouth?” if you choose Closer, and mind you this affects how you say things. So if you chose Beauty and the Beast some of your say, Punjabi phrases would be sung in the approximate voice of the Beast. A smart route is to take a Woody Allen movie, as it packs in a great deal of words per minute, but you’ll always be whiny.
I ended the night at La Carboneria, watching a flamenco show. Sometimes all you hear is the wailing, and you really notice how much the Moors influenced the Iberian cultures. Speaking of, plans are set for the last leg of the trip. I cross the straight of Gibralter, head to Marrakech, see the desert, fly to Geneva, hike the Alps, then London - JFK by way of Munich.
Today is another rainy day and paradoxically the water is shut off. Because this place is built to be cool, it's frigid right now. Or maybe that's just the warm welcome I get when I say 'Que tal?' in the Wazzup voice.
Okay, one last thing, I'm watching Rachel from Portland who works here speak to Angie. Rachel doesn't know a word of Spanish, and is trying to tell Angie that she'll be back around 4. It's stereotypical. Rachel has worked here for six months. I suppose I just couldn't imagine living in a very foreign place just to 'live.' Maybe if she owned a motorcycle I would be more understanding.
Ultimately when I am an immigrant, I want to have loads of qualifications that can be ignored.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Mexico
Spainards have the audacity of hope to call KFC, ¨Kentucky Fried Chicken Restaurant¨. Cowards.
It was pouring rain yesterday. Which almost felt like a snow day, as people were huddled in thier empty stores. I walked around the river and saw some taggers at work, right opposite a homeless camp. For some reason too, I look like I speak English.
I also bought in and tried to party like a Spainard. Which meant the party started like an American one ends, around 1am with a bunch of people posing for pictures and sighing. And surprisingly it never changed. 2am is too early to go clubbing, so we bar-hopped. Eventually, around 3am we headed toward the club, which was just a bunch of people talking to low volume music. One sloppy kiss from Enrique on my nape ended the night.
In future plans, I go to the bullfighting arean today, and throw away all plans for Portugal. Why Lisbon when I could go to Marrakesch? I will be free!
It was pouring rain yesterday. Which almost felt like a snow day, as people were huddled in thier empty stores. I walked around the river and saw some taggers at work, right opposite a homeless camp. For some reason too, I look like I speak English.
I also bought in and tried to party like a Spainard. Which meant the party started like an American one ends, around 1am with a bunch of people posing for pictures and sighing. And surprisingly it never changed. 2am is too early to go clubbing, so we bar-hopped. Eventually, around 3am we headed toward the club, which was just a bunch of people talking to low volume music. One sloppy kiss from Enrique on my nape ended the night.
In future plans, I go to the bullfighting arean today, and throw away all plans for Portugal. Why Lisbon when I could go to Marrakesch? I will be free!
Friday, November 26, 2010
NO8DO ¨No me ha dejado¨
I think I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Latin cultures. I think it has a lot to do with growing up in the West. For us, Mexico, or down south, is always a glorious option.
More specifically, I don´t know if it´s the courtyards, the sideburns, the smell of the pervasive Sevillan orange trees, the semi-tropical birds, or the huge fuck-off Moorish doors, but I´m more than pleased. However! beignets, churros are not. I don´t care what you do to them.
Sevilla is a nice small city. Now, I´m a few weeks away from a culminating post of life lessons. Regardless, in my admiration for this city and others from the trip so far I can´t but help and think that two years ago I had a strict idea of what I needed out of a location. I looked back on what made me happy in college, and I said, I must keep those. Not a stupid idea when you apply it to yourself, but when you insist a place must provide, you set yourself up for disappointment and vagrancy. As time goes on, restrictions peel away, and it´s not a sign of indecisiveness.
¨Restrictions peel away¨ would have had a link to a clip from Up in the Air, but here´s the bit I wanted:
You know, honestly, by the time you're 34, all the
physical requirements just go out the window.
Like you secretly pray
that he'll be taller than you.
Not an asshole would be nice. Just someone who
enjoys my company, comes from a good family.
You don't think about that
when you're younger.
I don't know...
someone who wants kids.
Likes kids. Wants kids
Healthy enough to play with his kids.
Please let him earn more money
than I do.
You might not understand that now,
but believe me, you will one day.
Otherwise that's a recipe for disaster.
And hopefully some hair on his head.
But I mean even that's not
a deal breaker these days.
A nice smile.
Yeah, a nice smile.
Nice smile just might do it.
Wow, that was depressing.
And if we´re on the subject (I sound like Samantha) I have had a few quotes floating in my head this whole trip but two keep popping up. On the phone I asked Veronica is she minded that there weren´t too many like-minded theater people working in New Orleans. Her response was immediately, ¨We don´t care.¨ Which goes along nicely with the previous discussion.
And my favorite, from Bob Schneider during a conversation about my Organic Chemistry final, ¨You have the amazing opportunity to fuck up your whole life. Chances like this don´t come around often.¨ Which always makes me smile.
And Sevilla, I walked around parks, ate tapas, saw some graffiti (eh), plenty of Jesus paintings, went to two museums, two markets (miles of navity scenes), and went dancing.
Tomorrow is some work. Ah, and I watched Chloe, dubbed. Which suited it quite well. Oh Liam.....
More specifically, I don´t know if it´s the courtyards, the sideburns, the smell of the pervasive Sevillan orange trees, the semi-tropical birds, or the huge fuck-off Moorish doors, but I´m more than pleased. However! beignets, churros are not. I don´t care what you do to them.
Sevilla is a nice small city. Now, I´m a few weeks away from a culminating post of life lessons. Regardless, in my admiration for this city and others from the trip so far I can´t but help and think that two years ago I had a strict idea of what I needed out of a location. I looked back on what made me happy in college, and I said, I must keep those. Not a stupid idea when you apply it to yourself, but when you insist a place must provide, you set yourself up for disappointment and vagrancy. As time goes on, restrictions peel away, and it´s not a sign of indecisiveness.
¨Restrictions peel away¨ would have had a link to a clip from Up in the Air, but here´s the bit I wanted:
You know, honestly, by the time you're 34, all the
physical requirements just go out the window.
Like you secretly pray
that he'll be taller than you.
Not an asshole would be nice. Just someone who
enjoys my company, comes from a good family.
You don't think about that
when you're younger.
I don't know...
someone who wants kids.
Likes kids. Wants kids
Healthy enough to play with his kids.
Please let him earn more money
than I do.
You might not understand that now,
but believe me, you will one day.
Otherwise that's a recipe for disaster.
And hopefully some hair on his head.
But I mean even that's not
a deal breaker these days.
A nice smile.
Yeah, a nice smile.
Nice smile just might do it.
Wow, that was depressing.
And if we´re on the subject (I sound like Samantha) I have had a few quotes floating in my head this whole trip but two keep popping up. On the phone I asked Veronica is she minded that there weren´t too many like-minded theater people working in New Orleans. Her response was immediately, ¨We don´t care.¨ Which goes along nicely with the previous discussion.
And my favorite, from Bob Schneider during a conversation about my Organic Chemistry final, ¨You have the amazing opportunity to fuck up your whole life. Chances like this don´t come around often.¨ Which always makes me smile.
And Sevilla, I walked around parks, ate tapas, saw some graffiti (eh), plenty of Jesus paintings, went to two museums, two markets (miles of navity scenes), and went dancing.
Tomorrow is some work. Ah, and I watched Chloe, dubbed. Which suited it quite well. Oh Liam.....
Traditions
Yesterday was a day of transit. My frist snow of the season was in Paris. And during the trip I started to think about tradition, more specifically, things I´ve never stopped doing.
Like fibbing. It´s funny, if not frustrating for some. It is nice to see the reaction from a person when I say that I´ve lived my life in Vanuatu, on Efate, where I eventually left, came to Europe to go to a lecture at Kohn. Not too far off, you have to stick near the truth, or else you have a man sitting next to you for the 2 hour train trip to Sevilla, interrupting your viewing of Love Happens (RACHEL!), trying to brush up his Russian with you.
I also had my best ´try to frighten a passenger in the adjacent train´. I looked at her, and did a double take. She did to, then I got pissed, shoved my watch to the window and pointed at it and then made the sign for money. She got flustered. Either I just made a woman flee France, or I had met my match, I can´t tell which.
I few things kept coming into my mind. And one of them was that I was planning to go to Costa Rica alone in High School. Looking back on that I´m fairly proud, that I would have just gone for it. I had it planned, but the tickets fell through. I did go, eventually, with my class. I was happy that I was doing it now. Proud.
I am also very happy to be surrounded by Iberian style, it has a constant wiff of the 70s. It reminds me of Mexico, Costa Rica, and Brazil. It has this smell to it to, maybe it´s called detergant. And I´m really excited. I also have a small power trip, as I´m having all of my Spanish snap back to me, and I´m talking to anyone.
Anyone not always being a good idea. Such as Mike from London at 2am, who just left his wife and kids, is going to try and convince the 18 year old he slept with to leave her husband. He even produced e-mails. My god. I avoided going sightseeing with him today. Go Mike, go on.
I also don´t need anything more than a t-shirt right now, which is pleasant.
It was an odd experience calling home to wish a Happy Thanksgiving. Although plans are now in effect that I may go to the family reunion in my Luftwaffe uniform, riding my brother, who will be dressed as a plane. Not sure how Grandad will take it. Fondle me, I suppose.
Like fibbing. It´s funny, if not frustrating for some. It is nice to see the reaction from a person when I say that I´ve lived my life in Vanuatu, on Efate, where I eventually left, came to Europe to go to a lecture at Kohn. Not too far off, you have to stick near the truth, or else you have a man sitting next to you for the 2 hour train trip to Sevilla, interrupting your viewing of Love Happens (RACHEL!), trying to brush up his Russian with you.
I also had my best ´try to frighten a passenger in the adjacent train´. I looked at her, and did a double take. She did to, then I got pissed, shoved my watch to the window and pointed at it and then made the sign for money. She got flustered. Either I just made a woman flee France, or I had met my match, I can´t tell which.
I few things kept coming into my mind. And one of them was that I was planning to go to Costa Rica alone in High School. Looking back on that I´m fairly proud, that I would have just gone for it. I had it planned, but the tickets fell through. I did go, eventually, with my class. I was happy that I was doing it now. Proud.
I am also very happy to be surrounded by Iberian style, it has a constant wiff of the 70s. It reminds me of Mexico, Costa Rica, and Brazil. It has this smell to it to, maybe it´s called detergant. And I´m really excited. I also have a small power trip, as I´m having all of my Spanish snap back to me, and I´m talking to anyone.
Anyone not always being a good idea. Such as Mike from London at 2am, who just left his wife and kids, is going to try and convince the 18 year old he slept with to leave her husband. He even produced e-mails. My god. I avoided going sightseeing with him today. Go Mike, go on.
I also don´t need anything more than a t-shirt right now, which is pleasant.
It was an odd experience calling home to wish a Happy Thanksgiving. Although plans are now in effect that I may go to the family reunion in my Luftwaffe uniform, riding my brother, who will be dressed as a plane. Not sure how Grandad will take it. Fondle me, I suppose.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Someone just said 'Human Centipede'
Dear reader,
Paris, France. I am open and ready to be surprised, but not delusional. I know that I don't care much for French anything, save for a few movies. I get into Paris, get settled down along the banks of the upper Seine, and what do I do? I plan a night of a French movie, some Jazz in an Medieval cellar, and then some canard with a sample of escargot.
I got so giddy with the silly idea of going to a French action movie (the poster and name looked as much) and not understanding a thing. My perpetual need to view any and all movies is astounding, you mention. That is true. I was initially disappointed to notice the movie is in English! Filmed in America, but do not fret. Though the film wasn't in French, it was incomprehensible in a similar French manner. It was about an old tire that started blowing up things with its mind, whilst 'audience members' were watching from a hill top, being poisoned so the show could end, plenty of t and a. And even some p woven into a few bs.
This takes second place as the worst movie I have ever seen (He's Just Not That Into You still reigns). Speaking of reigning, Reign of Fire is still awesome. This movie really had my mind working on conversion rates and why I was alive. I remember a similar effect from HJNTIY (a smooth acronym), except my anger turned toward the human race, wishing we all repent, and losing all taste and sense of touch for a week.
I was guessing at the restaurant, but I figured 'The Petition" wasn't how you asked for the check. If you're curious, the duck was delicious, with carmelized onions, patatas bravadas with basil, and a lemon/rum drink (which did do something for the flavor, but cost a sandwich itself). And escargot, well, the garlic taste was all I could describe, but the texture caused taste hallucinations; that I was gnawing the dripping remnants of whale boogers from the inside of a heated tire. The garlic did help though.
Jazz is relaxing. That's about all I can say. Sometimes you get sleepy, but most other times you latch onto one instrument, and admire the players skill (hopefully). But you knew that without going to Paris, didn't you?
Today I saw all the major sights (on the Hitler monument tour, but people are reluctant to help me stage similar photographs), hiked around Montmarte (where they filmed Amelie, you love that movie, who doesn't), saw the peddlars, the comb-overs, was smacked by an unnecessary number of petitioners for the mute and deaf (I gave once in the train station, but have since been smacked in the arm and face-rubbed by 13 so far), and completed a promise.
SPACE TO BE OCCUPIED.
Noon. Paris. Today. Pont Neuf. You come alone. You walk to the middle of that bridge. You take off your jacket. Face east.
Unfortunately, due to construction, I had to face west. LOOK AT THE JACKET THOUGH. And if you enhance on my watch, you'll see it was done 5 minutes to noon. Of course, there is no picture, because the blog is rejecting it. Well, you'll see it, soon enough.
Did you know that Pont Neuf is decorated with the drunk faces of Henry IVs friends?
I am omitting pictures of different locks on the lovers bridge. One had a pacifier on it, which made me pumped for the next Twilight movie, you didn't read the books? One lock as a combination lock, which according to tradition, makes their relationship seem tepid at best.
In Global news, I have been told that the Wolf family Xmas Extravaganza will be Greek themed. I swear to god I'm wearing a toga, and though I am outmatched in the ruining a social engagement department, I will ruin my own little niche, and do my best to alienate myself and everyone around me. A true family tradition. The only way it could backfire is that everyone by chance wears togas, then what Dear Reader? They already bought a keg.
I have a flight to Madrid tomorrow afternoon. If I cannot catch a connecting train, I may be crashing with a friend of a friend. Hrm?
Oh, today I also met a teacher from Nova Scotia who is in Paris to watch his son figure skate in an international competition (he placed fourth for the Olympic trials). I asked the man what he taught. I thought he said Home-Ec. We had a nigh ten minute conversation before we realized that I wasn't talking about math. He said 'all math' which is confusing.
And sleeping in hostels, at its best is like bunking on a submarine. At worst it is Ibrahim, the Perpetual, in London spending two hours pacing to and from the bathroom and removing an baffling number of thin-thin layers. And what seemed like seven pairs of identical shoes. Upside down cake? Why's it upside down? (that article used to say that boobs are frequently referred to as 'Upside-Down cakes' something I endorse still).
Paris, France. I am open and ready to be surprised, but not delusional. I know that I don't care much for French anything, save for a few movies. I get into Paris, get settled down along the banks of the upper Seine, and what do I do? I plan a night of a French movie, some Jazz in an Medieval cellar, and then some canard with a sample of escargot.
I got so giddy with the silly idea of going to a French action movie (the poster and name looked as much) and not understanding a thing. My perpetual need to view any and all movies is astounding, you mention. That is true. I was initially disappointed to notice the movie is in English! Filmed in America, but do not fret. Though the film wasn't in French, it was incomprehensible in a similar French manner. It was about an old tire that started blowing up things with its mind, whilst 'audience members' were watching from a hill top, being poisoned so the show could end, plenty of t and a. And even some p woven into a few bs.
This takes second place as the worst movie I have ever seen (He's Just Not That Into You still reigns). Speaking of reigning, Reign of Fire is still awesome. This movie really had my mind working on conversion rates and why I was alive. I remember a similar effect from HJNTIY (a smooth acronym), except my anger turned toward the human race, wishing we all repent, and losing all taste and sense of touch for a week.
I was guessing at the restaurant, but I figured 'The Petition" wasn't how you asked for the check. If you're curious, the duck was delicious, with carmelized onions, patatas bravadas with basil, and a lemon/rum drink (which did do something for the flavor, but cost a sandwich itself). And escargot, well, the garlic taste was all I could describe, but the texture caused taste hallucinations; that I was gnawing the dripping remnants of whale boogers from the inside of a heated tire. The garlic did help though.
Jazz is relaxing. That's about all I can say. Sometimes you get sleepy, but most other times you latch onto one instrument, and admire the players skill (hopefully). But you knew that without going to Paris, didn't you?
Today I saw all the major sights (on the Hitler monument tour, but people are reluctant to help me stage similar photographs), hiked around Montmarte (where they filmed Amelie, you love that movie, who doesn't), saw the peddlars, the comb-overs, was smacked by an unnecessary number of petitioners for the mute and deaf (I gave once in the train station, but have since been smacked in the arm and face-rubbed by 13 so far), and completed a promise.
SPACE TO BE OCCUPIED.
Noon. Paris. Today. Pont Neuf. You come alone. You walk to the middle of that bridge. You take off your jacket. Face east.
Unfortunately, due to construction, I had to face west. LOOK AT THE JACKET THOUGH. And if you enhance on my watch, you'll see it was done 5 minutes to noon. Of course, there is no picture, because the blog is rejecting it. Well, you'll see it, soon enough.
Did you know that Pont Neuf is decorated with the drunk faces of Henry IVs friends?
I am omitting pictures of different locks on the lovers bridge. One had a pacifier on it, which made me pumped for the next Twilight movie, you didn't read the books? One lock as a combination lock, which according to tradition, makes their relationship seem tepid at best.
In Global news, I have been told that the Wolf family Xmas Extravaganza will be Greek themed. I swear to god I'm wearing a toga, and though I am outmatched in the ruining a social engagement department, I will ruin my own little niche, and do my best to alienate myself and everyone around me. A true family tradition. The only way it could backfire is that everyone by chance wears togas, then what Dear Reader? They already bought a keg.
I have a flight to Madrid tomorrow afternoon. If I cannot catch a connecting train, I may be crashing with a friend of a friend. Hrm?
Oh, today I also met a teacher from Nova Scotia who is in Paris to watch his son figure skate in an international competition (he placed fourth for the Olympic trials). I asked the man what he taught. I thought he said Home-Ec. We had a nigh ten minute conversation before we realized that I wasn't talking about math. He said 'all math' which is confusing.
And sleeping in hostels, at its best is like bunking on a submarine. At worst it is Ibrahim, the Perpetual, in London spending two hours pacing to and from the bathroom and removing an baffling number of thin-thin layers. And what seemed like seven pairs of identical shoes. Upside down cake? Why's it upside down? (that article used to say that boobs are frequently referred to as 'Upside-Down cakes' something I endorse still).
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
There Are So Many Options and None of the End with "You Suck"
On the train I did a little self-check up by going over my journal entries. Anal Cunt would be so disappointed in me, but they're also disappointed in themselves.
So it's obvious to me that I'm going back to school for education. I know the requirements, and they'll be met with will and face-numbing humility.
Mom questioned me in February why I'd want to do a Masters in Teaching when I could just get a Masters in Biology. My rationale is that I don't want the qualifications to be a Lab assistant, or some armchair theorist who works at Knot Another Hat while trying to get articles published on his favorite ligands. I want the qualifications to teach. As far as great programs are concerned, it's back to New York. Rest assured there will be plenty of safety schools and exotic schools, you never know . . . the Estonian School of Diplomacy may be looking for me.
This is a case of edification that you put it into the ether and then you can't take it back. And I like it.
In a way I want this trip to be over. Mostly because I'm not doing anything life-advancing out here. But I did just walk out to a former city morgue that is now a huge art space. I mean huge. I go for runs, and do arm exercises (running 5k at 24 minutes - 7 minute miles!). I'm doing the obligatory test of Mrs Walls 'Don't Knock it Til you Try It' maxim. I am eating healthy. I am trying to eat more slowly (20 meals and not just to idle, because I would be that dude). (What's this?) I'm also trying wine with my food. Which I don't think enhances the flavor, but it's not bad on it's own. The cap is at one glass, I'm not unraveling out here. Although after tasting escargot I may change my mind.
After talking with a Spanish couple (and learning I speak more fluent Spanish with a fake lisp) I realized that I miss 'Latin culture' as ambiguous my personal definition of that is. Switzerland plans are falling through and I might make an early trip to Sevilla. And dance. Dance. Dance! As for 2011, maybe I can convince some ex-coworkers at Amys to house me temporarily in Bogota.
So it's obvious to me that I'm going back to school for education. I know the requirements, and they'll be met with will and face-numbing humility.
Mom questioned me in February why I'd want to do a Masters in Teaching when I could just get a Masters in Biology. My rationale is that I don't want the qualifications to be a Lab assistant, or some armchair theorist who works at Knot Another Hat while trying to get articles published on his favorite ligands. I want the qualifications to teach. As far as great programs are concerned, it's back to New York. Rest assured there will be plenty of safety schools and exotic schools, you never know . . . the Estonian School of Diplomacy may be looking for me.
This is a case of edification that you put it into the ether and then you can't take it back. And I like it.
In a way I want this trip to be over. Mostly because I'm not doing anything life-advancing out here. But I did just walk out to a former city morgue that is now a huge art space. I mean huge. I go for runs, and do arm exercises (running 5k at 24 minutes - 7 minute miles!). I'm doing the obligatory test of Mrs Walls 'Don't Knock it Til you Try It' maxim. I am eating healthy. I am trying to eat more slowly (20 meals and not just to idle, because I would be that dude). (What's this?) I'm also trying wine with my food. Which I don't think enhances the flavor, but it's not bad on it's own. The cap is at one glass, I'm not unraveling out here. Although after tasting escargot I may change my mind.
After talking with a Spanish couple (and learning I speak more fluent Spanish with a fake lisp) I realized that I miss 'Latin culture' as ambiguous my personal definition of that is. Switzerland plans are falling through and I might make an early trip to Sevilla. And dance. Dance. Dance! As for 2011, maybe I can convince some ex-coworkers at Amys to house me temporarily in Bogota.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Obligatory Not-Dead Post Number 1 WITH NEW ADDENDUM
London for one more night, or more, as I wasn't allowed to purchase my ticket to Paris over the internet. We'll have to go do it in person.
What does one do after 5 in the hot spot of Windermere? See Harry Potter. I'm the BEST. Actually, the animation for the Story of the Three Brothers was the best. I loved the movie because it was a fantasy, post-apocalyptic, war drama. Throw in Joseph Gordon-Levitt and it's all done.
Continuing my addendum, I went to go see a show. And, I received some great correspondence. Fair waring, I feel my best on my own, which I didn't expect considering how lonely it can get. It's when I'm online that I tend to get mopey. And there's no real direct reason. We will ponder.
What does one do after 5 in the hot spot of Windermere? See Harry Potter. I'm the BEST. Actually, the animation for the Story of the Three Brothers was the best. I loved the movie because it was a fantasy, post-apocalyptic, war drama. Throw in Joseph Gordon-Levitt and it's all done.
Continuing my addendum, I went to go see a show. And, I received some great correspondence. Fair waring, I feel my best on my own, which I didn't expect considering how lonely it can get. It's when I'm online that I tend to get mopey. And there's no real direct reason. We will ponder.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Explosive High-Five
Friday night I had a great time getting drinks with Isabella. We’d only met once before and we had a easy chat. More importantly she invited me back to her place to meet Sid, his sister Hannah, talk about comedian celebrity in the UK (along with the remorseful fact that no one over here has a clue who Dane Cook is), and then Life of Brian. I rode some very unreliable but fun double-deckers back, ready for four hours sleep and a trip to Windermere.
Now, Windermere is not the wooded hole Google maps prepared me for. If Charlie St. Cloud was Anglicized it would take place here. I’m the only one who saw Charlie St. Cloud, what’s the deal?
The train ride out sure made me think this would be a factory town. Dreary mud-grey houses shoved together. Now it is touristy here, but it’s beautiful. The benefit of being from a tourist town is that you eventually quit noticing it. The biggest lake in the UK, and quiet enough to cause someone to go nuts. It’s fabulous weather and woods. I feel great out here I took a walk today around Far Sawrey. The damp smells and the intermittent scent of fires made me happy.
While in London I had several serious cases of déjà vu. More specifically I have had dreams of these places (Camden Underground station, Kennington, etc). Now, if I have dreamt of all the places I’ll go, I can’t wait to go traipsing around the intestines of a mountain while a sloughing Mrs. Frizzle/bull chases me.
That’s things I’ve seen, but nothing really about me. I like it out here quite a bit, I wasn’t planning on it, but I do. I was chatting up the hostel owner, who casually offered me a job in this region if I'd want. Which isn't a bad idea. Especially because there's no guarantee of getting into grad school (especially no guarantee of getting a career job after that), so I'll keep it in mind. Not too compelling right now because it doesn't have two of the following: a place a like, people I like, a job I like. I expect it's very rare to have all three, so two will be just fine.
Sometimes, while in transit I feel lame. However, every day I finish feeling as if every last inch of me is covered in hair. That last link had many different options. One thing that makes me feel that way is that rugby is EVERYWHERE! I spent last night writing the article while sipping tea and watching Ireland Vs. New Zealand. And tomorrow there is a live scrimmage. Oh yeah.
Now, Windermere is not the wooded hole Google maps prepared me for. If Charlie St. Cloud was Anglicized it would take place here. I’m the only one who saw Charlie St. Cloud, what’s the deal?
The train ride out sure made me think this would be a factory town. Dreary mud-grey houses shoved together. Now it is touristy here, but it’s beautiful. The benefit of being from a tourist town is that you eventually quit noticing it. The biggest lake in the UK, and quiet enough to cause someone to go nuts. It’s fabulous weather and woods. I feel great out here I took a walk today around Far Sawrey. The damp smells and the intermittent scent of fires made me happy.
While in London I had several serious cases of déjà vu. More specifically I have had dreams of these places (Camden Underground station, Kennington, etc). Now, if I have dreamt of all the places I’ll go, I can’t wait to go traipsing around the intestines of a mountain while a sloughing Mrs. Frizzle/bull chases me.
That’s things I’ve seen, but nothing really about me. I like it out here quite a bit, I wasn’t planning on it, but I do. I was chatting up the hostel owner, who casually offered me a job in this region if I'd want. Which isn't a bad idea. Especially because there's no guarantee of getting into grad school (especially no guarantee of getting a career job after that), so I'll keep it in mind. Not too compelling right now because it doesn't have two of the following: a place a like, people I like, a job I like. I expect it's very rare to have all three, so two will be just fine.
Sometimes, while in transit I feel lame. However, every day I finish feeling as if every last inch of me is covered in hair. That last link had many different options. One thing that makes me feel that way is that rugby is EVERYWHERE! I spent last night writing the article while sipping tea and watching Ireland Vs. New Zealand. And tomorrow there is a live scrimmage. Oh yeah.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Easy Tease
Is it fitting that Jeremy Irons voiced the audio tour for Westminster Abbey? The last voice work I remember him doing was Lolita. Yet it fills me with elation to hear him talk about monks who on average were constantly sick from overindulging in food and beer, causing digestive problems, liver complaints, nausea, obesity, and arthritis. Westminster is quickly becoming crowded with tombs and memorials.
I went back out to Camden to meet with one of Mikes friends, which was a bust, I don't think she got my e-mail. I called and we made some loose plans that I left behind for dinner, BBC, and work. I stuck myself indoors getting information of graduate programs, and then transcribing my article notes. It feels so good. Be who you are.
Though I have gone to a lot of museums, I should note that I don't canvass the whole building. I'm rapacious when it comes to exhibits, and jump around, looking for eye catching bayonets, death masks, or the like.
Tomorrow I have definite plans to get cocktails with Isa (friend of friends) in Camden, which hopefully will devolve into a more raucous night, or just some nice chats.
Ah, and to solve the mystery of what I did last night: I did the latter. Shunt Vaults is closed, sadly, and the warehouse is open. Then BBC 2 for history specials galore! Particularly two men going through daily life as Edwardian farmers. It was cooler than it reads. I did drink tea, and then later watched a show entirely dedicated to mocking recently discharged contestants from Apprentice. Then some nice mustacheod dramas before bed. Tonight is more of the same and I'm glad for it. You should be glad too, dear reader, that this intensely sexual icon isn't out on the town. I contain it, and my emotions.
I think London is done aside from some hangings out. Spain house has fallen through so my route after England looks to be: Paris, Switzerland, Prague, Vienna, Northern Italy, Seville, and then home? I have a return ticket to NYC for Dec 13th. Time to catch the flight to Oregon on the 19th. After which I stay put for a month or so, finishing applications, and preparing to move to New Orleans.
Of course there are contingency plans, and I'm always open to something else (blood oath for Sri Lanka anyone?). I just want to be in one place earning up some money for school. And if schools fall through I'll be ready. I'm looking at friends who have been at it longer than I and am glad to see none of them have things figured out - I'm not singling you out this time Dylan.
I feel strong. I am strong.
And what are you doing with yourself?
I went back out to Camden to meet with one of Mikes friends, which was a bust, I don't think she got my e-mail. I called and we made some loose plans that I left behind for dinner, BBC, and work. I stuck myself indoors getting information of graduate programs, and then transcribing my article notes. It feels so good. Be who you are.
Though I have gone to a lot of museums, I should note that I don't canvass the whole building. I'm rapacious when it comes to exhibits, and jump around, looking for eye catching bayonets, death masks, or the like.
Tomorrow I have definite plans to get cocktails with Isa (friend of friends) in Camden, which hopefully will devolve into a more raucous night, or just some nice chats.
Ah, and to solve the mystery of what I did last night: I did the latter. Shunt Vaults is closed, sadly, and the warehouse is open. Then BBC 2 for history specials galore! Particularly two men going through daily life as Edwardian farmers. It was cooler than it reads. I did drink tea, and then later watched a show entirely dedicated to mocking recently discharged contestants from Apprentice. Then some nice mustacheod dramas before bed. Tonight is more of the same and I'm glad for it. You should be glad too, dear reader, that this intensely sexual icon isn't out on the town. I contain it, and my emotions.
I think London is done aside from some hangings out. Spain house has fallen through so my route after England looks to be: Paris, Switzerland, Prague, Vienna, Northern Italy, Seville, and then home? I have a return ticket to NYC for Dec 13th. Time to catch the flight to Oregon on the 19th. After which I stay put for a month or so, finishing applications, and preparing to move to New Orleans.
Of course there are contingency plans, and I'm always open to something else (blood oath for Sri Lanka anyone?). I just want to be in one place earning up some money for school. And if schools fall through I'll be ready. I'm looking at friends who have been at it longer than I and am glad to see none of them have things figured out - I'm not singling you out this time Dylan.
I feel strong. I am strong.
And what are you doing with yourself?
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Hope for the Best, Prepare for the Worst
The Brits really know about good museums. Today, and I feel my final for the country was the Imperial War Museum. Thank you for recommending it, Elizabeth. SIEGE WEAPONS, but then the most expansive and affecting display of the world wars. I held in a good amount of choked-up Susan-Boyle-looks-like-a-loser-but-wowed-everyone-with-her-voice during a recording of Winston Churchill:
Victory at all costs,
victory in spite of all terror,
victory however long and hard the road may be;
for without victory, there is no survival.
And I never knew that WWI tank crews wore the most frightening protective masks. I also think that the home front posters from both wars, commanding citizens to make preserves and grow their own vegetables, worthy of public display still. "Keep smiling, don't be blue, don't let Hitler worry you." Got me in a mood of preparation.
The heavy accents of construction workers got me out of bed and walking around in this perfect weather. Thank god for free museums. I took a spin around the Science museum and became critical and comparative about education techniques in these institutions. Oddly and happily, they had the most impressive collection of Industrial revolution paintings.
Yeah, I spilled a little eye-juice when Susan Boyle sang. Toss off.
And, 'chuffed to bits' is a great expression.
The wilderness can't come soon enough. Did you know that London is the largest city in Europe? Quite Interesting. That last link also has an goodly amount of Fry and Laurie et al.
The night for me can continue on two paths:
Calling up Nessa to go to a club called Shunt that inhabits abandoned tube tunnels under the London Bridge.
Or
Going briefly alone, only to return to act an old man, sip some free tea and watch BBC. In that respect, dear reader, I may be considered an Anglophile.
Dylan.
Dear reader, although we are apart, you still make me want to be a better man. Wait, this is the right link.
No, this is.
Victory at all costs,
victory in spite of all terror,
victory however long and hard the road may be;
for without victory, there is no survival.
And I never knew that WWI tank crews wore the most frightening protective masks. I also think that the home front posters from both wars, commanding citizens to make preserves and grow their own vegetables, worthy of public display still. "Keep smiling, don't be blue, don't let Hitler worry you." Got me in a mood of preparation.
The heavy accents of construction workers got me out of bed and walking around in this perfect weather. Thank god for free museums. I took a spin around the Science museum and became critical and comparative about education techniques in these institutions. Oddly and happily, they had the most impressive collection of Industrial revolution paintings.
Yeah, I spilled a little eye-juice when Susan Boyle sang. Toss off.
And, 'chuffed to bits' is a great expression.
The wilderness can't come soon enough. Did you know that London is the largest city in Europe? Quite Interesting. That last link also has an goodly amount of Fry and Laurie et al.
The night for me can continue on two paths:
Calling up Nessa to go to a club called Shunt that inhabits abandoned tube tunnels under the London Bridge.
Or
Going briefly alone, only to return to act an old man, sip some free tea and watch BBC. In that respect, dear reader, I may be considered an Anglophile.
Dylan.
Dear reader, although we are apart, you still make me want to be a better man. Wait, this is the right link.
No, this is.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
"To those Americans, 'Welcome Home.'"
I should back track and say that yesterday I went to the British Museum yesterday, which is gorgeous, but nothing compared to the Tower of London (But the amazing Medieval.collection is a prelude).
I have never seen a real castle before in my life. Going in I got so excited, in fact I haven't been this excited about English history since reenacting the Bayeux Tapestry in middle school for the Medieval 'Studies' elective which I believe I took twice. It's hard to get excited about history you can't see in America, because Britain kept it all. If you had been there, reader, I would have shook you. We entered a vault to see the coronation robes, the jewels, the gold everything. Monarchy swelled up within me and the grandeur of it all. And the huge lances used for jousting and armour made for small princes.
I talked with a beefeater who stood guard over Rudolf Hess. Which was awesome too.
Walking along inner wall from the Bloody tower, looking at the Thames in the failing light I started to smile. Happiness flushed my innards as if Gods heavy pleasure fist hooked a wrought-iron blow to my scrotum. The nausea effect was similar too.
Don't take me for an Anglophile just yet, but it was awesome. Later was a walking tour of the East End with . . Gary, a local. He showed us street art for two hours and talked about the ethnic history of the neighborhood. It too, was really something. Despite his flustered behavior and dirty looks from the criss-crossing Jack the Ripper tours, he was well researched and did it for fun (and charity).
And that was the whole day. I really could have slept on the green on the Tower. Crossbows seem to feel right in my hands. I have never had so much fun at a National Landmark/museum (feel free to dispute it). I'm being honest. I'm starting to have real fun. Hopefully this weekend I can ruin it by getting snowed in at the Lakes District.
On a more personal note; I have a hard time working on something nowadays because I'm fearful of, well, an immense amount of things. Traveling does impinge, but I can't use that excuse. It's times like this that I get nervous about the trip, that I really am running away. Because everything I want in life has no fixed path, which makes it easy to throw some things to the side or to suggest I can do it all later. It was so much easier when I had less options, gave me a challenge and a course. I do think possibilities is one of my biggest fears, which is why I like making snap decisions. It works, but I need a slow thinker to help me out or a nice winter retreat.
And yes, on the really pathetically un-masculine side of things I intend on sharing more of my feelings because I have been remiss in the past. I can flex nuts in other ways that don't involve shutting people out of my life. I think I'm only talking to you Dylan. Sorry to single you out.
Bob Hoskins.
I have never seen a real castle before in my life. Going in I got so excited, in fact I haven't been this excited about English history since reenacting the Bayeux Tapestry in middle school for the Medieval 'Studies' elective which I believe I took twice. It's hard to get excited about history you can't see in America, because Britain kept it all. If you had been there, reader, I would have shook you. We entered a vault to see the coronation robes, the jewels, the gold everything. Monarchy swelled up within me and the grandeur of it all. And the huge lances used for jousting and armour made for small princes.
I talked with a beefeater who stood guard over Rudolf Hess. Which was awesome too.
Walking along inner wall from the Bloody tower, looking at the Thames in the failing light I started to smile. Happiness flushed my innards as if Gods heavy pleasure fist hooked a wrought-iron blow to my scrotum. The nausea effect was similar too.
Don't take me for an Anglophile just yet, but it was awesome. Later was a walking tour of the East End with . . Gary, a local. He showed us street art for two hours and talked about the ethnic history of the neighborhood. It too, was really something. Despite his flustered behavior and dirty looks from the criss-crossing Jack the Ripper tours, he was well researched and did it for fun (and charity).
And that was the whole day. I really could have slept on the green on the Tower. Crossbows seem to feel right in my hands. I have never had so much fun at a National Landmark/museum (feel free to dispute it). I'm being honest. I'm starting to have real fun. Hopefully this weekend I can ruin it by getting snowed in at the Lakes District.
On a more personal note; I have a hard time working on something nowadays because I'm fearful of, well, an immense amount of things. Traveling does impinge, but I can't use that excuse. It's times like this that I get nervous about the trip, that I really am running away. Because everything I want in life has no fixed path, which makes it easy to throw some things to the side or to suggest I can do it all later. It was so much easier when I had less options, gave me a challenge and a course. I do think possibilities is one of my biggest fears, which is why I like making snap decisions. It works, but I need a slow thinker to help me out or a nice winter retreat.
And yes, on the really pathetically un-masculine side of things I intend on sharing more of my feelings because I have been remiss in the past. I can flex nuts in other ways that don't involve shutting people out of my life. I think I'm only talking to you Dylan. Sorry to single you out.
Bob Hoskins.
Monday, November 15, 2010
LDN
I have to say that I'm underwhelmed by what I thought the British attitude would be. I know this is an international city and that I'm currently in the trashiest place (Kensington tomorrow, any better?). Yet I find that in manners, even to the excess, and the power of queuing goes to the Germans. These people say hello and goodbye to the whole restaurant. Not like I'm fetishizing it, but I've searched for 'Manners Porn' and 'Emily Post XXX' with mixed results. I wish there was a video of two people, heavy bass in the foreground as they introduce each other and never assume the other would like to do anything more.
I went to a drag show, not bad, but it lent itself to the bar crowd. I also saw the Kids are all Right. It's Mark Ruffalo to the max, but it was still charming. HOWEVER! This, my friends, is the giolded approach of cinema perfection: Rare Exports. As I left the movies I thought, 'Oh shit, I'm in England.' Pleasant.
I'm having fun, and maybe it's because I took a tumble in the tube, and when I stood up Bob Hoskins was sweeping up beer bottles, asking if I was having trouble with the missus. Bob Hoskins, not Bob Hoskins.
Bob Hoskins.
I went to a drag show, not bad, but it lent itself to the bar crowd. I also saw the Kids are all Right. It's Mark Ruffalo to the max, but it was still charming. HOWEVER! This, my friends, is the giolded approach of cinema perfection: Rare Exports. As I left the movies I thought, 'Oh shit, I'm in England.' Pleasant.
I'm having fun, and maybe it's because I took a tumble in the tube, and when I stood up Bob Hoskins was sweeping up beer bottles, asking if I was having trouble with the missus. Bob Hoskins, not Bob Hoskins.
Bob Hoskins.
Plans
I feel good. Something about this reminds me of when I went to go look at colleges. Despite being a tourist (which has it's discomfort) I feel good here. We're going to look for a new place to stay, and are looking into shows.
London is very nice. I love the weather and the winding streets, and had fun at the Camden locks (but I wish I came in the summer). I insist on going to Brighton beach. And when we part I'm going up to the Lakes District to stay in Windermere.OH YEAH VACATION.
The funny thing about traveling is that, aside from mandatory dorky sightseeing, the majority of what you do is what you do when you're at home, such as seeing movies, going out with people, and using the WC.
Oh, we just saw 221B Bakersfield. How did they do such amazing stunts, with such small feet?
London is very nice. I love the weather and the winding streets, and had fun at the Camden locks (but I wish I came in the summer). I insist on going to Brighton beach. And when we part I'm going up to the Lakes District to stay in Windermere.OH YEAH VACATION.
The funny thing about traveling is that, aside from mandatory dorky sightseeing, the majority of what you do is what you do when you're at home, such as seeing movies, going out with people, and using the WC.
Oh, we just saw 221B Bakersfield. How did they do such amazing stunts, with such small feet?
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Seriously though, does anyone read this?
I know, and I'm sorry, but the hostel at Piccadilly Square was the only thing open tonight. Arrangements will be made farther away. Perhaps in the country.
Tomorrow I hope to meet up with some friends of friends. Perhaps that's the reason I got so restless on the train. Or, at least I started to relax, sipping tea under the channel. Piccadilly, however, is the UK's Times Square, and just as comfortable. Well, do not despair, dear reader, because I don't.
I know the internet is amazing, but to what extent do you depend on it? You're cold silence disheartens me, reader. Also, what do you think about the Germans owning classical greek monuments and statues, being angered that Russia has yet to return some priceless objects to their 'home' in Berlin? Well, they do have the money, I retort.
I realize how far off in the future my dreams are, but I have this huge itch to start working. I need to pump out the Sexual Cannibalism article, and then get to applications. I am still waiting to see if a house in Spain will be lent to me. If so, expect nude photographs.
Tomorrow I hope to meet up with some friends of friends. Perhaps that's the reason I got so restless on the train. Or, at least I started to relax, sipping tea under the channel. Piccadilly, however, is the UK's Times Square, and just as comfortable. Well, do not despair, dear reader, because I don't.
I know the internet is amazing, but to what extent do you depend on it? You're cold silence disheartens me, reader. Also, what do you think about the Germans owning classical greek monuments and statues, being angered that Russia has yet to return some priceless objects to their 'home' in Berlin? Well, they do have the money, I retort.
I realize how far off in the future my dreams are, but I have this huge itch to start working. I need to pump out the Sexual Cannibalism article, and then get to applications. I am still waiting to see if a house in Spain will be lent to me. If so, expect nude photographs.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Magnetic Fields mood, WHAT?
Hello,
Hamburg had me down today, with the Reeperbahn, the nonexistent Nachtmarkt, etc. But my heart warmed when I heard the chanting, "I am going to a fuck, a fuck." Something about assholes cheers me, is that wrong?
What also cheered me is taking you out on a nice date. It starts at Eisenstein in Altona for dunch. I reserved us a table.
In fact I reserved the whole place.
There is distance between us, but I close us in with my glare. I order you that nice thin crust Tuscan pizza that you like. YOU LOVE IT.
Such a nice meal and I promptly ruin it.
I can't stand traveling without music, so lets go dancing at a kitschy club.
I laugh at your joke, and I let you buy your drink - to make you feel in control, but you're not.
We take a walk around some romantic monuments. We talk about our hopes and dreams, but I grow restless hearing you talk about what will simply come true tonight.
I break into my Dads old dormitory and show you how awesome I am.
You seem nonplussed by my efforts to pleasure you, dear reader.
Perhaps it was the line I gave you at my door; "Want to share my bunk bed?"
I'm pumped to head to London tomorrow. I think a familiar language, chavs, friends of friends, and buckling down to get some work done will make it more enjoyable, but I needed a hectic time too. Some Vodka and Justin Timberlake in an Ice Bar with Dutch people was a good end to the city.
Hamburg had me down today, with the Reeperbahn, the nonexistent Nachtmarkt, etc. But my heart warmed when I heard the chanting, "I am going to a fuck, a fuck." Something about assholes cheers me, is that wrong?
What also cheered me is taking you out on a nice date. It starts at Eisenstein in Altona for dunch. I reserved us a table.
In fact I reserved the whole place.
There is distance between us, but I close us in with my glare. I order you that nice thin crust Tuscan pizza that you like. YOU LOVE IT.
Such a nice meal and I promptly ruin it.
I can't stand traveling without music, so lets go dancing at a kitschy club.
I laugh at your joke, and I let you buy your drink - to make you feel in control, but you're not.
We take a walk around some romantic monuments. We talk about our hopes and dreams, but I grow restless hearing you talk about what will simply come true tonight.
I break into my Dads old dormitory and show you how awesome I am.
You seem nonplussed by my efforts to pleasure you, dear reader.
Perhaps it was the line I gave you at my door; "Want to share my bunk bed?"
I'm pumped to head to London tomorrow. I think a familiar language, chavs, friends of friends, and buckling down to get some work done will make it more enjoyable, but I needed a hectic time too. Some Vodka and Justin Timberlake in an Ice Bar with Dutch people was a good end to the city.
Friday, November 12, 2010
I could have gone to the Caribbean.
Hamburg is a much more lively city. But today all I'd like to do is watch Ratatouille and cook for myself. I'm such a grown-up, or am I just getting ready to party? Shops close around 6, but restaurants and clubs open around 9, and that's the slow start crowd. So what do you do before you go out Friday Night in Hamburg?
SPOILER ALERT FOR DAD WHEN YOU READ THIS:
Traveling does shit for your train of thought, unless you have someone to converse with. Dad is a curious man and we can get some fun balls rolling about Etruscan death cults, but we're not quite on the same emotional wavelength yet. That's not a bad thing, because we're comfortable not talking too, which is more important.
Amongst songs in my head, I have time to give things a good ol thinking. The results are good. It's far more dangerous for me to be on the internet, so when that happens I jump at the chance to go 'dancing.'
SPOILER ALERT FOR DAD WHEN YOU READ THIS:
Traveling does shit for your train of thought, unless you have someone to converse with. Dad is a curious man and we can get some fun balls rolling about Etruscan death cults, but we're not quite on the same emotional wavelength yet. That's not a bad thing, because we're comfortable not talking too, which is more important.
Amongst songs in my head, I have time to give things a good ol thinking. The results are good. It's far more dangerous for me to be on the internet, so when that happens I jump at the chance to go 'dancing.'
Thinking of you, Dear Reader, while at the Pergamonmuseum yesterday.
This is 'my pose' for you. The inscription at the top says, "Before entering, STOP!" Which of us is being more suggestive?
The D.E.N.N.I.S System
Dear reader, sometime travel is zany, other times it's just slow. Today was somewhere in between, a romantic winter day in fabulous East Berlin (Here would have been a clip of Rutger Hauer strangling a cross-country skier in Berlin, but you get the point)!
We went for a nice walk around Südegälande, an old train works station now turned into a park in south Berlin. Then we went to three museums. I thought of you, dear reader, while among the statues, about how much you'd have liked it. Then I realized that you'd actually hate it. Then I started to get bored, but I couldn't let you down, you looked so interested. You politely confessed that you had been putting on airs - you didn't want to let me down. We both laughed, dear reader. We got pizza and acted so young, so foolish.
It's been fun visiting Berlin with Dad, who was last here in '67. Hearing his contempt of the commercialization of Checkpoint Charlie and talking about hanging out in East Berlin makes the visit better.
It's been a very grown up trip so far, so I went out for drinks with Natalia in Freichdrichschain. Only a few blocks away and that's where the 'youth' was. At 2am we parted ways and I went to go find the party. One Rasputin looking Russian that hassled me, and a loud group of Brazilians later I was on the other side of town, looking for a way home.
Home at 4am and there is one thing that I realized after chatting up people and Natalia. It's that all the things I said while under duress, things I was willing to do, interested in, or planning to do were true. I'm doing a few of them now and I'm proud that I I have been true to myself so far.
But dodging Slavic urine was not on that list. (Am I allowed to ascribe races to excretions? Is that racist?)
We went for a nice walk around Südegälande, an old train works station now turned into a park in south Berlin. Then we went to three museums. I thought of you, dear reader, while among the statues, about how much you'd have liked it. Then I realized that you'd actually hate it. Then I started to get bored, but I couldn't let you down, you looked so interested. You politely confessed that you had been putting on airs - you didn't want to let me down. We both laughed, dear reader. We got pizza and acted so young, so foolish.
It's been fun visiting Berlin with Dad, who was last here in '67. Hearing his contempt of the commercialization of Checkpoint Charlie and talking about hanging out in East Berlin makes the visit better.
It's been a very grown up trip so far, so I went out for drinks with Natalia in Freichdrichschain. Only a few blocks away and that's where the 'youth' was. At 2am we parted ways and I went to go find the party. One Rasputin looking Russian that hassled me, and a loud group of Brazilians later I was on the other side of town, looking for a way home.
Home at 4am and there is one thing that I realized after chatting up people and Natalia. It's that all the things I said while under duress, things I was willing to do, interested in, or planning to do were true. I'm doing a few of them now and I'm proud that I I have been true to myself so far.
But dodging Slavic urine was not on that list. (Am I allowed to ascribe races to excretions? Is that racist?)
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
If You Can Learn to Do It
I still don't feel like I'm far away - and nothing feels very foreign. The greatest difference is order. Americans are really stanky, it's charming, but I try not to belie the fact. I hush my voice when others are near. I feel rude not having any skill with speaking German beside phrases ending in 'Dickeschlampe.' Everyone here waits for the light to cross the street, even if no cars are coming. I immediately cross, and they stand waiting, judging. At that moment I really felt like the game was up.
No matter where I go I always mark the difference in breakfast. I am sloven. I took my fill of sliced meats and yogurt, while listening to some Bavarian construction workers. That was 7am.
We had to wait until 10am for the Stasi museum to open, so we took a walk along what remains of the wall. A nice brisk fall walk, with romantic guard tower landmarks. Places you really could imagine weddings taking place. We spent some time in the graveyards that were split by the wall. Here are our two favorite epitaphs:
'Too early for me, but probably Gods will."
"Rest silently!"
Following the wall down Gartenstrasse we walked around Nordbahnhof Park and found this nestled within the volleyball courts:
No mention of what it was on any sign or map. I circled the park looking for a way to climb into one of the suspended bugs.
At the official Wall memorial we we shocked to notice that there is scant mention of what side of the wall your on, all signs mention 'border guards' in general terms, and nothing mentioning politics (even in the film we watched later).
10am struck and we went to the Stasi museum and Checkpoint Charlie. Sadly the Stasi museum was under renovation and we couldn't see their permenant collection. When a good man is denied the experience of jars containing human stink, he needs to drown his dissapointment in forcing a man with a fear of heights into a balloon.
But I am pleased to have got him up, and then mock him by leaning over the edges and running laps. It costs 25 dollars to go to the top of the Empire State Building, but it costs 19 Euros to go up in a balloon in the open air of Berlin and shake your paterfamilias to the point of retching. The preference is clear.
We never miss an opportunity to hear teenagers scream and chase each other down an ominous holocaust memorial. Truly the war is over. There is a point in any travel recollection where you fib, where you were close to doing something or the tickets were too expensive so you just said you did it. Well, we went to the Reichstag. However we really did hang out with an Indian chief at Bradenburg Gate. If this were two truths and a lie I would tell you the truth about my Krohns flaring up in Alexanderplatz.
It is a startling walk from the financial district to the arts area. I read an article that women tend to communicate about details of their day, and men rather talk about something else (I couldn't pay attention because Dan was yapping about some Thundercats t-shirt he got on sale). The point is that we use different means to communicate that we care about someone (to the point that we wish to comfort them, or allow them to comfort us). Allow me to comfort you dear reader.
On with my caring banality we found Tacheles. Which I loved. It's an abandoned building turned into an arts studio inside:
And out:
It really was Bard art on a larger scale; extremely bad and extremely good were both represented. The metalworks and makeshift bars outside were among the best. I needed to pick up a postcard that emphasized we were in Berlin.
Dear readers one of you will receive this in the mail! You can easily rule yourself out if I don’t have your current address or those you live with for some reason object to female Reverse-Sphinx stimulating their spongy-tissues with national monuments, or drinking.
We went to four more galleries along Oranienstrasse, watching a man spank a human skeleton inside of an Alexander technique theater. I was graced by a dramatic prose version of 'Why Vagina?'
In Berlin, what is the difference between these two alleys?
At this point we're just looking for where everyone one is. Father has heard that 21% of Berliners feel they have some sort of mysterious disease, perhaps the plague has come early. We walked the glamour and fashion part of town, the stripmall streets, and found nothing more populated. We had a nice dinner of German/Turkish/Chinese fusion with a dessert at Miami Crepes; the Venetian which is a crepe with nutella. Very good.
We rushed off to see a screening about a East Berliner couture photographer. Speaking of fashion, German Google has far more image search results for William Shatner than they do William Shatner und Ms. Congeniality. Probably because the German title is "Vanity Draws a Gun." Also, I have seen David Bowie and Tilda Swinton everywhere, perhaps Berliners know that she is just one of his horcruxes.
This is why I don't read the blogs of others, they're too long. Dear reader, you can ignore me all you like.
I like Berlin, but fuck it. Hamburg day after tomorrow for a bit and then a ferry to London. I have to say that not having any skill in speaking German makes me feel ashamed. Subconsciously I know I should speak a foreign language so I slip into Spanish. Speaking it well though. I’m very interested to see Spain, Portugal, and the UK. Tomorrow we plan on going to some trashy euroclubs and flea markets.
No matter where I go I always mark the difference in breakfast. I am sloven. I took my fill of sliced meats and yogurt, while listening to some Bavarian construction workers. That was 7am.
We had to wait until 10am for the Stasi museum to open, so we took a walk along what remains of the wall. A nice brisk fall walk, with romantic guard tower landmarks. Places you really could imagine weddings taking place. We spent some time in the graveyards that were split by the wall. Here are our two favorite epitaphs:
'Too early for me, but probably Gods will."
"Rest silently!"
Following the wall down Gartenstrasse we walked around Nordbahnhof Park and found this nestled within the volleyball courts:
No mention of what it was on any sign or map. I circled the park looking for a way to climb into one of the suspended bugs.
At the official Wall memorial we we shocked to notice that there is scant mention of what side of the wall your on, all signs mention 'border guards' in general terms, and nothing mentioning politics (even in the film we watched later).
10am struck and we went to the Stasi museum and Checkpoint Charlie. Sadly the Stasi museum was under renovation and we couldn't see their permenant collection. When a good man is denied the experience of jars containing human stink, he needs to drown his dissapointment in forcing a man with a fear of heights into a balloon.
It's more of a grimmace.
But I am pleased to have got him up, and then mock him by leaning over the edges and running laps. It costs 25 dollars to go to the top of the Empire State Building, but it costs 19 Euros to go up in a balloon in the open air of Berlin and shake your paterfamilias to the point of retching. The preference is clear.
Here is Dad insisting we brag about how much he loves Ben and Jerrys.
We never miss an opportunity to hear teenagers scream and chase each other down an ominous holocaust memorial. Truly the war is over. There is a point in any travel recollection where you fib, where you were close to doing something or the tickets were too expensive so you just said you did it. Well, we went to the Reichstag. However we really did hang out with an Indian chief at Bradenburg Gate. If this were two truths and a lie I would tell you the truth about my Krohns flaring up in Alexanderplatz.
It is a startling walk from the financial district to the arts area. I read an article that women tend to communicate about details of their day, and men rather talk about something else (I couldn't pay attention because Dan was yapping about some Thundercats t-shirt he got on sale). The point is that we use different means to communicate that we care about someone (to the point that we wish to comfort them, or allow them to comfort us). Allow me to comfort you dear reader.
On with my caring banality we found Tacheles. Which I loved. It's an abandoned building turned into an arts studio inside:
Dad in his element.
And out:
It really was Bard art on a larger scale; extremely bad and extremely good were both represented. The metalworks and makeshift bars outside were among the best. I needed to pick up a postcard that emphasized we were in Berlin.
Dear readers one of you will receive this in the mail! You can easily rule yourself out if I don’t have your current address or those you live with for some reason object to female Reverse-Sphinx stimulating their spongy-tissues with national monuments, or drinking.
Evidently I had a good time.
We went to four more galleries along Oranienstrasse, watching a man spank a human skeleton inside of an Alexander technique theater. I was graced by a dramatic prose version of 'Why Vagina?'
In Berlin, what is the difference between these two alleys?
15 feet.
At this point we're just looking for where everyone one is. Father has heard that 21% of Berliners feel they have some sort of mysterious disease, perhaps the plague has come early. We walked the glamour and fashion part of town, the stripmall streets, and found nothing more populated. We had a nice dinner of German/Turkish/Chinese fusion with a dessert at Miami Crepes; the Venetian which is a crepe with nutella. Very good.
We rushed off to see a screening about a East Berliner couture photographer. Speaking of fashion, German Google has far more image search results for William Shatner than they do William Shatner und Ms. Congeniality. Probably because the German title is "Vanity Draws a Gun." Also, I have seen David Bowie and Tilda Swinton everywhere, perhaps Berliners know that she is just one of his horcruxes.
This is why I don't read the blogs of others, they're too long. Dear reader, you can ignore me all you like.
I like Berlin, but fuck it. Hamburg day after tomorrow for a bit and then a ferry to London. I have to say that not having any skill in speaking German makes me feel ashamed. Subconsciously I know I should speak a foreign language so I slip into Spanish. Speaking it well though. I’m very interested to see Spain, Portugal, and the UK. Tomorrow we plan on going to some trashy euroclubs and flea markets.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Who Are All These White People That Refuse to Speak English?
I have a strange feeling I’ve been here before. The space reminds me of Vancouver or Montreal, and the shops remind me of South America. Or maybe it seems familiar because I’m so relaxed - Welcomed by the pervasive German hospitality.
Speaking of congeniality, Dad overheard some Americans and lunged at them in the dark to comment on how quiet the city is. The Stranger appropriately took it for the introduction to a stabbing and jogged off. Happily we were following them and were thinking of a nice follow-up, such as Dad inserting his head by the strangers ear and saying, "Makes you wonder..."
I’m not excited yet, no! However, I am very happy. Not physically, as the last two nights were spent with a shaking fever. My head was still gushing as we explored Berlin Mitte. WHY IS IT SO QUIET. It’s absolutely eerie. I see cars move, but no noise, and people are calm and shushed. It’s the same moment in film when the façade is revealed, letting you know that you’ve been in the same place the whole time.
The plane ride I did get to enjoy Gael Garcia Bernals acting in Letters to Juliet. I was put in the mood for romantic Dusseldorf in November. And as far as airports as Police States, the efficient and easy customs, silent glass doors, and hushed Segway police and total lack of signs, makes Dusseldorf number One in that regard.
I know it’s my extended vacation, but I feel so relaxed and I want it to be more than just getting away. I think I’d like to live a spell in a place like this*. Time to ride that wave to the end with a night over the toilet.
This is stuck in my head. This is what I think Europeans always think this is cool.
*Subject to change without notice.
I OWE YOU A PICTURE OR TWO HERE BUT SOMEHOW FUTURISTIC BERLIN RUNS ITS INTERNET THROUGH CANS WITH STRING.
Speaking of congeniality, Dad overheard some Americans and lunged at them in the dark to comment on how quiet the city is. The Stranger appropriately took it for the introduction to a stabbing and jogged off. Happily we were following them and were thinking of a nice follow-up, such as Dad inserting his head by the strangers ear and saying, "Makes you wonder..."
I’m not excited yet, no! However, I am very happy. Not physically, as the last two nights were spent with a shaking fever. My head was still gushing as we explored Berlin Mitte. WHY IS IT SO QUIET. It’s absolutely eerie. I see cars move, but no noise, and people are calm and shushed. It’s the same moment in film when the façade is revealed, letting you know that you’ve been in the same place the whole time.
The plane ride I did get to enjoy Gael Garcia Bernals acting in Letters to Juliet. I was put in the mood for romantic Dusseldorf in November. And as far as airports as Police States, the efficient and easy customs, silent glass doors, and hushed Segway police and total lack of signs, makes Dusseldorf number One in that regard.
I know it’s my extended vacation, but I feel so relaxed and I want it to be more than just getting away. I think I’d like to live a spell in a place like this*. Time to ride that wave to the end with a night over the toilet.
This is stuck in my head. This is what I think Europeans always think this is cool.
*Subject to change without notice.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
It DOES sound great.
I'm getting progressively more sick - my body realizing it has time and freedom to flush from all openings. I just got off the phone with Mom when I got a call from Bard. The guy was very nervous and unrehearsed.
"This is Brian W. up at Bard, how are you this evening?"
"Pretty ill, how are you?"
"Sorry. not bad thank you. I was calling for two reasons, one is to update your contact information, are you still at 911 Cascade st?"
"No, and I'm going to Europe tomorrow so I don't know where I'll be."
"Oh, not sure what to say about that."
*Both Laugh*
"The other reason is to ask for a donation, I know you've supported in the past, and I was wondering if you could pledge a 200 dollar minimum donation with us tonight"
"Actually I just donated to the field campaign, and all the rest will be spent abroad. It's all for me now."
"Okay, that sounds great. Well have a good trip."
"Thank you, you have a good time calling people."
"Oh I don't know about that."
*Both Laugh*
"This is Brian W. up at Bard, how are you this evening?"
"Pretty ill, how are you?"
"Sorry. not bad thank you. I was calling for two reasons, one is to update your contact information, are you still at 911 Cascade st?"
"No, and I'm going to Europe tomorrow so I don't know where I'll be."
"Oh, not sure what to say about that."
*Both Laugh*
"The other reason is to ask for a donation, I know you've supported in the past, and I was wondering if you could pledge a 200 dollar minimum donation with us tonight"
"Actually I just donated to the field campaign, and all the rest will be spent abroad. It's all for me now."
"Okay, that sounds great. Well have a good trip."
"Thank you, you have a good time calling people."
"Oh I don't know about that."
*Both Laugh*
This is All About Me
Tomorrow I fly. I have thrown things out, but haven't packed yet. I'm told it runs in the family - Dad packed for a trip to Australia in 10 minutes. Speaking of, Dad is joining the first leg of the trip. Which I thought would be intrusive, but now I'm glad for it. Honestly I'm scared, but not a coward.
I'm nauseated from stress. This is a complex stress that is founded in uncertainty and fueled by really cheap pizza from last nights slumber party. My plans are to spend a week in Berlin, a quick stop this weekend in London for museums and a drag show (Maybe some rollerdisco and have Dad lap me again). After that, plans get loose. I will have a day trip (NO MORE) to Paris to send Dylan pictures of me re-enacting the Bourne Identity, see the Picasso Museum, and partake in the French traditions of "eating frogs, cruelty to geese, and public urination."
I'll do a large loop of Germany, hiking in the Schwarzwald, going to technos, and BDSM dungeons. Vivianne Greenwood (from Bard) has offered to take me cross-country skiing or snowshoeing in Switzerland. I have been told to see Prague and Budapest, don't hesitate to suggest things, Wizard people, dear readers.
People at work were upset to see me go, and in a way I'm upset too, but not nearly enough to stay. I've made friends here. We didn't see enough of each other, but maternal wisdom about sex is true here too, "It's the quality, not the quantity." Elizabeth and Ashley took me out to dinner at the Cowgirl Hall of fame where we followed a transvestite and talked about mental disorders. They also made me this going away crispie cake at my request:
There are times when it feels like I'm moving forward and times when I'm just running away. Both are fine, especially if I listen to the wisdom of Landon Wadsworth.
And of course, you're welcome to come along. ENABLE ME.
I'm nauseated from stress. This is a complex stress that is founded in uncertainty and fueled by really cheap pizza from last nights slumber party. My plans are to spend a week in Berlin, a quick stop this weekend in London for museums and a drag show (Maybe some rollerdisco and have Dad lap me again). After that, plans get loose. I will have a day trip (NO MORE) to Paris to send Dylan pictures of me re-enacting the Bourne Identity, see the Picasso Museum, and partake in the French traditions of "eating frogs, cruelty to geese, and public urination."
I'll do a large loop of Germany, hiking in the Schwarzwald, going to technos, and BDSM dungeons. Vivianne Greenwood (from Bard) has offered to take me cross-country skiing or snowshoeing in Switzerland. I have been told to see Prague and Budapest, don't hesitate to suggest things, Wizard people, dear readers.
People at work were upset to see me go, and in a way I'm upset too, but not nearly enough to stay. I've made friends here. We didn't see enough of each other, but maternal wisdom about sex is true here too, "It's the quality, not the quantity." Elizabeth and Ashley took me out to dinner at the Cowgirl Hall of fame where we followed a transvestite and talked about mental disorders. They also made me this going away crispie cake at my request:
The inscription reads, "Enjoy being a woman, Dad?"
I have no definite plans for returning (Sorry to say so, Mom). I have some goals of applying for graduate school in 2012, but I need to grow up before then. I don't know what I want to do, but I have a good list of people I'd like to do it with and a smaller list of potential places.
There are times when it feels like I'm moving forward and times when I'm just running away. Both are fine, especially if I listen to the wisdom of Landon Wadsworth.
And of course, you're welcome to come along. ENABLE ME.
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