Touchdown

It's kind of a play on words with two meanings.

1. My plane will touch down at JFK at approximately noon on Monday September 10. The itch is being scratched again because my plane has an awfully short layover in Milan. Hmmmm...I've never been to Milan...Do I leave the airport and walk around a bit? Nahhh. Time to go back somewhere I can understand everyone even if they have no idea what I'm saying sometimes. First I will be visiting another fallen homie in London.

2. My return coincidentally is at the beginning of the football season. Cal games, while not always easy to find on the east coast, do exist. If anyone happens to live in, say, Brooklyn and enjoys watching football, maybe we will be in touch? But if I move to the Best Coast, it's all the Strawberry Hill I can handle. I'm hopping the fence like Woodstock if I have to, baby.

Sidebar: There is this picture of Vlad Putin going around that I guess is making the Russian girls giggle and it goes a little something like this:

http://www.siberianlight.net/2007/08/14/putin-goes-fishing/

Comrade is kinda burly. He would kick Bush's ass all over the Oval office if it came down to it. But he better not bring that attitude over to Cali.

Dedication

Sometimes you just gotta write one to at the risk of isolating others, and with this one-offending everyone.

This one is for Cod. Throwback to freshman year style. I was listening to some Snoop on me iPod the other day and perhaps the best rhyme he has ever used goes a little something like this. Can I kick it?

I come creeping through the fog with my saggin' deuce
Eastside, Long Beach in a 7-8 Coupe.......de...Ville.

-I'll play it for you and the Milky one when I get back.-

I'm going to start a Sunday post- cause it's Christian god day (loving the irony)- with my own original, raunchy verses and please post your own original verses in the comment section but no serious cursing in the house of god, please.

Out,SF

Friggin' Long-Haired Hippies

I saw this doucmentary about the Glastonbury Music Festival the other day and it made me think of Burning Man cause this is usally the time of year I get e-mails from the homies announcing plans and fruitless invites.

The doucmantary was boring and had no discernible progression but served one purpose: reminding me how much I hate hippies. Don't misunderstand me: I believe in many of the ideas they endorse and pot's cool, too. But I ain't really falling for the indiscriminate hatred for all badge wearers and persistence in propogating conspiracy theories.

Sure there's loads of bad cops, but there's also loads of bad businessmen, priests, teachers, athletes, etc. People misabusing the power given to them is just human nature, which escaping is easier said than done. And we still are people, right? It don't make it right, but can you imagine a world with no law enforcement?

And conspiracy theories? Of course there are tons of them that ring true as daylight but who honestly cares? There have been and will be forever. Is my life really going to change because I know for a fact that there are aliens and they killed JFK, but in fact it is Elvis' body being preserved in Area 51. No I'd probably be dumber for even spending an ounce of brain power caring. And without secrets, what would there be to speculate about?

So, Glastonbury is a pretty cool music festival, I'm sure. But did you know that every year 300,000 folks attend? That is madness and I hate crowds. And while I'm sure tons of the people who go are genuine year long professional hippies, there's also loads of people who play the part to escape the mundaneness of their desk jobs and evryday lives where worries about material goods often dominate all other worries. I'm down for escapes and getting into the spirit of things, but it does kind of cheapen the whole event, by turning it into a more laid back version of corporate team-building trips.

SICK OF TAKING ORDERS FROM A BOSS WHO WILL SACRIFICE FAIR TREATMENT, SATISFACTORY WORK CONDITIONS, AND HUMANE TREATMENT IN THE NAME OF THE BOTTOM LINE?

LOOKING FOR A PLACE WHERE YOU CAN BE THE PERSON YOU REALLY ARE, DRESS THE WAY YOU REALLY WANT TO DRESS, DO THOSE THINGS THAT ALWAYS SCRAPE AT YOUR SUBCONSCIOUS MIND BUT YOU ARE TOO EMBARRASSED TO TELL ANYONE, AND TAKE SOME DRUGS THAT HAVEN'T EVEN BEEN INVENTED YET, WITHOUT ANYONE JUDGING YOU?

Just my thought for and ad. Stop with your, come on S, it ain't just about the drugs. But it would be interesting to see a drug free hippie festival. I am not a drug hater. Although in my defense, I am only a proponent of the natural goods. While alcohol is natural, I do question the naturalness of OE and box wine- but whatever, can you argue with over a liter of refreshing beer-like beverage that costs like 2 bones?

Just some not too organized thought I had as I trudged through this film.

By the way, hate to disappoint- although I know I am overrating the love for me and my random thoughts- but my posts will probably be less based on trippy things that happen to me in foreign countries and more on my personal ponderings. This is cause I am probably- and you who know me understand why that word is in italics- coming/going back to the States soon. See when I see ya...S

The Big Trey Nil

I honestly am not phased by this whole turning 30 crap and don't feel any older but then again my birthday is tomorrow so maybe I'm jumping the gun. I did ponder it yesterday and can't believe I've only been on this planet for 30 of these things. Feels more like 78 years 4 months 11 days 19 hours and 59 minutes or something.

I did have a "oh look at those spry little whippersnappers!" moment yesterday. I went to this English pub recommended by my new roommate- an English girl who puts in a couple shifts at a different English pub (oh, how not novel for a Brit working abroad). There were a lot of expats and/or travelers there, which usually makes a great spot for lone foreigners such as myself to meet people and get some English speaking practice in, if nothing else. This place was loud, dark, and crowded- not the best combo for meeting others when flying solo- granted it was a Friday night.

So I take my beer to one of a couple tables outside on the sidewalk. This pub is in a fairly "hip" area of town with loads of bars and clubs that I hadn't known about, for lack of need or interest, before. So I'm sitting there watching Bordeaux's finest stagger by at about 1:30 AM. Dudes supporting themselves on each others' shoulders as they do nothing but make noise, thinking they're the coolest and funniest shit since Eddie Murphy in the 80's. Chicks walking by just being louder than usual, etc. I mean everyone was so damn loud and playing the stupid drunk card. So I ask anyone who has been with me drunk after the college years if I am much louder and say noticeably more inane and senseless crap than when I am sober? I know occassionally I am/do, but usually?

I have no idea what the hell the point of this post is, but it's just the last thing of any consequence I was thinking of before I am able to use the computer and turn 30.$

So Jah Seh

I'm not too familiar with the doctrines of Rastafari, but I'm pretty sure he didn't say "Smoke I sensi with tobacco."

We'll come to that, in due time. I just moved into a new apartment. Best thing about it is that I have unpacked my bags for the first time in about 5 months. The place is about 420 bucks for the month- shut it stoners, I hate that "holiday". Why do you need an excuse to celebrate weed, especially when it isn't even the police code for marijuana or whatever it's claimed to be? Go put that Bob Marley poster with the cover of Kaya on your wall and leave me alone...

Oh, sorry. Yeah so the place is worth 320 Euros, utilities included. Spacious, clean, quiet roommates, except for the English bird whose friends, who are way cuter than her (sorry, love) are staying with her this week- and she hasn't even invited the new guy out drinking with them- wonder how I creeped this one out. The other guy is Chinese and we "communicate" in French. My French ain't up to speed yet, but he obviously speaks the French version of a NY corner store owner's English accent. Makes me sound like Chirac or something. Oh, but it has it's charming aspects, too. Like the standing style shower with no door whcih has one of those hose-style heads that can be taken down, except that when it's in place the holder thingy doesn't stay, so it rotates all the way down to simply spray the shower wall. But I picked up a 20 dollar pair of computer speakers to hook up to me iPod so my own music is out in the open air for the first time in months.

Sorry, I digress. To get to know my neighbors, I head to the African restaurant/bar across the street. I order a draught beer but the tap is permanently empty and it seems like the only beers they actually have are large bottles of Heinie or bottles of Guiness. The barman, from Guinea, tells me in his cheerful African accent "Guiness. It's good for you." You know those "Guiness Gives You Strength" posters? I heard they were ad campaigns for the African market because they believe that it does give you strength, and I ain't talking about in the same ways as roids. And this bottle of Guiness says "foreign extra" or something on it. I look and it's been imported for Cameroon. France must get the colonizer discount on that.

So the barman tells me there's a reggae party in the basement so I check it out later. I look around and most everyone looks like they would be perfectly at place at a Common concert or something. A few Rasta-ish kids in the house. And tons of people are doing the same thing: getting out their pouch of tobacco, papes, and a small sack of weed or nugget of hash. Then they roll their Euro spliff, sticking two papers together in an L shape and mixing it with tobacco...

At a reggae party in the states, it smells like a skunk farm, but here it just smelled like a baby skunk walked through the Phillip Morris factory and tried out his tail for the first time...like "poof". I don't know, something about tobacco in a joint is wrong. If you're in a country where this is standard practice, it should be legal to smoke weed if you smoke it straight.

I do have to admit that it was pretty cool seeing the French cheek kiss greeting thing at a reggae party.

2 Cool Things About French

1. Maybe some of you know that one way to ask "How are you?" is "Ca va?". Well it actually means something like "Everything's good." so you can have a greeting like this. For example, I meet up with Samois, of course, at the local creperie:

SF: Ca va?
Samois: Ca va. Ca va?
SF: Ca va.

Wicked cool, eh?

2. I learned in my lesson the other day that the word "deja" means "already" and the word "vu" is the past tense of the word "see". So oila!

deja vu= already seen

I still think it just means there's a glitch in the matrix, but they can use that already seen rubbish if they want.

Oh, The Choices!

There has been talk in the past about how exactly Samois' name is spelled. Me having doled out the name, had the "ois" ending in mind, so it stuck like that, but there has been some controversey on what the true ending should be. With the specific grammar of a Korean Quebecois word I'm not sure, but below are some possible spellings. Let's debate or just let the man himself pick.

1. "Ois": The original, chosen because the man is from Quebec, making him Samois the Quebecois. This is also the ending of the word for month (mois)

2. "Oi": Another word with the same pronunciation as the above "mois" is of course "moi", meaning me. By the way, in the French dubbed version of Austin Powers, Mini Me is called Mini Moi. I couldn't make that up...

3. "Oit": I am staying on a street called Rue Saint Benoit.

4. "Oie": You know goose liver, that French delicacy foie gras? Maybe we can call him Samoie Gras.

More when I learn more French...

A bientot,
SF

One For the Homies

I'm sorry but this is maybe my funniest French language experience from the past 2-3 weeks in Switzerland/France. I'm playing asshole (the card game) with these kids and when you don't know if it's your turn or not, you ask "Ca moi?", which is pronounced like (Sah Mwah). Sound familiar? Funny, funny stuff and a French shout out to my Quebecois amis. That's all I wanted to say....

Difference in Cultures

Well at least tonight is/was kind of fun....

USA: Puff Puff Pass

France: Puff Puff Puff Puff....Wait....Wait more....Puff...Wait a bit more...Puff Pass

Oh shit! It's all gone...already?

Malaysia: Puff, Puff...Get stoned....

No, I mean that shit literally:

http://asiadeathpenalty.blogspot.com/2007_05_01_archive.html

Early Mid-Life Crisis?

Here's a tiny sob story for you. Yesterday I was a bit lonely. The people I'm staying with right now took off for an overnight trip to one of their friend's parent's home in the woods. I was graciously invited but politely turned down the offer of being engulfed in the French chitter chatter of a dozen or so twenty something year olds.

I claimed I had to work on my CV, which I honestly had to do and actually did some work on it, but mostly I just took a nap, went out for dinner and a couple beers and returned "home" to tuck in at midnight. Really not that an unusually depressing night for someone who has just gone to a foreign country, where they can't speak the language and don't really know anyone. Hell, I'm kind of proud of myself that I didn't buy a 12 pack and polish it off. But in the end, I did feel a bit like one of those Dostoyevskian characters who goes mad coming home to the same musty, candlelit room every night-which he is letting from some old woman who reads his mail before giving it to him- to boiled potatoes and a bit of beef, if he's lucky.

Then it struck me...maybe I wasn't lonely from being left alone, albeit by choice (isn't this whole damned trip of mine?), but because their trip reminded me of days I can't ever go back to. How much time in advance, not to mention plane tickets and long car drives just to get to the same starting point, would my friends need to have an "impromptu" gathering of that sort? Shit's changed, huh? Not to say that I feel the need to go on such a trip.....but it would be nice every now and then, right?

Is this coincidence that the big, scary 3-0 is coming in a couple weeks? To be honest, like R Kelly said "Age ain't nothing but a number." And then he videotaped himself pissing on his 13 year old cousin. If our society's number system revolved around pi or something, then my big "Uh, oh I'm getting old" birthday wouldn't happen until I was 31 years and approximately 152 days (rounded up) old. But when people constantly make such a big stink about something, you can't help but wonder...I mean the 30 year old thing, not whether it's really OK to have sex with your 13 year old relative, even if it's consensual.

Well, my flatmates (yeah I said flatmates. deal with it Yanks) come back this evening and I think I'm going to make up for that 12 pack. Then I'm going to do a boatload of blow and prowl the streets of Bordeaux looking for West African hookers. Just kidding, mom.

Out,
SF

A Trivial Pursuit?

The question is whether my mission to learn French is or is not a fruitless endeavor. Well, oddly enough last night Trivial Pursuit answered that question for me. Me and 3 others butted heads in a game of Trivial Pursuit- Junior Edition. If it had been Genus Edition they would've been eating the dust kicked up by the knowledge left in my wake.

They were kind to me and tried to keep the questions about l'histoire du Francais away from me. I also got to hear the question, then read it if I needed to (of course, I usually, but NOT always did). I also had my dictionary in waiting. And would you believe it, but I placed second! Fair enough that two of my questions were about characters in the Jungle Book and another was about how many original states was the US made of. mais la n'est pas la question (that's not the point). French is kinda easy, kids. Why did I take Spanish for 5 years in high school but can only order beer? Now, my French grammar is probably better after like a week here than my Spanish ever was.

However, my English is taking a serious nosedive. I have no idea how to curse anymore, so if you get any calls from me with some inappropriate uses of "fuck" and the like, give me like a week back home (or an ex-pat friend here) to get back in the swing of things.

I'm fucking out like Jenna Jameson,
SF

The Interpreter

I don't really have anything interesting to write but I feel like my faithful readers might be missing me. Anyway, I am in Bordeaux right now committing emotional suicide (direct any questions about that to my personal e-mail address). I am going to start French lessons and am really pumped about it. I have never studied French other than reading a couple chapters of one of those "Learn French in 7 Days" books or whatever. I know much more than I thought.

I was just in Geneva visiting my Japanese homie and I swear I felt like Jason Bourne. First off because I opened a bank account which I have to access with my palm print and retina. I hope those 10 Euros come in handy someday.

Second off, I was speaking in some serious tongues. In a blatant attempt at showing off, I insisted on speaking only Japanese when we were on the tram. She speaks flawless English. It was just a shameless example of me having the locals try to guess what the hell round-eyes was speaking. And guessing they were, I reckon.

And my French? Let's just say it's the beeznus. I was tossing around "C'est combien"s (How much does it cost?) like it was going out of style. When they answered did I understand? No. Once? No. Not even like one little time...like mqybe kinda sorta understand? No. But Rome was not built in a day. I did however successfully buy a phone card, get change for the tram, and have the guy at the shoe store fetch me a shoe from the back to complete the pair on display I wanted to try on....all in French. Like I said, the beeznus. More on my progress later, mes amis. A bientot....

Civil Rights

Yesterday, I exercised my -what should be international- right to drink beer on the subway in an open container. Here's how it went down...

I go to a corner store next to the subway and pick up the only beer I hadn't tried yet- von Raven- which also happened to have the coolest label and cost the least (about 1 dollar). I asked the cashier to open it for me and he looks at me befuddled and points, as if I'm Borat trying to figure out how to turn on a TV, to the bottle opener hanging on a hook in front of me. Wilkommen til Deutschland!

So, strolling down the street feeling like the hot doo doo, I cradle my beer and hop the subway. I wasn't the bomb anymore when I noticed the guy next to me enjoying a beer as well. The thing is, but for the young punks and alkies, no one abuses this privlege. They're just having a beer instead of a Diet Coke or whatever.

Most people over in Europe respect beer. Maybe because it's not seen as something to be tucked away in your home.

Beer drinkers, let's unite, or petition, for NO MORE BROWN BAGGING! That's for school lunches, Mr. Senator, and I ain't seven anymore.

My Lover is a Bitch Named Karma

In many, if not most countries in Europe, there are no gates for the subways or local trains. On the buses, every door opens instead of everyone having to pass by the driver to pay fare. I'm always thinking, "This shit would never happen in the US." So I then started thinking, "I ain't paying. I never seen a ticket collector on the subway." So I'm on the subway in Berlin and this regular looking lady taps me, waving a card with the subway logo on it. OOPS!

Instead of handling this on the train, I motion that we get off at the next stop. We do, and her partner follows- a scary looking German guy with not so full a set of teeth. Now, I have heard of people getting caught and playing the dumb foreigner card. The ticket collector simply escorted them up to the ticket machine and post-purchase, said dumb foreigner was riding happily on the metro. I try this card but they weren't having it. They whip out their cell phones and tell me they'll call the polizei. I am done. 40 Euro lighter, I do the math in my head and figure I had gotten about 25-35 Euros in free rides. Needless to say, I don't really have a "public transportation fine" column in my budget. If you read my blog about frollicking on the Holocaust memorial, you can see I'm on the watchlist with the Deutschland Polizei.

I went to this casino today in Hamburg. Blackjack opens at 3 they said, and I need a sportscoat, which they will happily rent to me for 5 Euro. I'm so there. So I'm walking down the streets killing time and I see this sign for a place called Casino Club or whatever. I jaunt in to see the Baccarat situation and climb up a couple storeys of a narrow staircase. I couldn't help but wondering why instead of a reception, there were little numbered doors. OK, one more floor up. One such door is open, and an aging German lady in lingerie is lying on a dubious bed. OOPS! I'll go back to that other casino and play blackjack, I think. If I win, I'll go back to Casino Club, baby!

Canuck Pride

If you have ever traveled abroad, you may have noticed a proliferation of maple leaf patches sewn to backpacks. I haven't asked any of them why they do it yet, but the rumor is that they don't want to be confused for Americans. This jabs at the part of my brain that makes me think people are stupid, for many reasons.

- I personally can't tell the difference between American and Canadian accents, but English, Irish, Scottish, Aussie, Kiwi, etc. are easy to pick out, right? Well over 90% of non-native English speakers can't pick out any accents.
- A good deal of the locals wouldn't know what the hell that leaf on your bag was. They're probably more likely to compliment you on your Timberland backpack.
- OK, maybe I can understand why they do it...I'm constantly getting socked in the jaw when I tell people I'm from the US.
- If you're not wearing it for the locals, then you must be wearing it for other travelers. Travelers, by nature, are open-minded and don't care where the hell you're from so long as you can drink a beer and have a laugh.
- I don't seem to see the Quebecois do it (like Samois, for example), probably because they don't want to be seen as Canadians. If the Quebecois don't do it, nobody should. We all know Quebecois are the creme de la creme de Canada.

Even worse, I hear that a lot of Americans do it, as well. I think only a British English word is appropriate for those folks: Wankers! Come on, I know you may not agree with the politics and all that, but America is a great country. If you like Canada so much, move there homeboy. Don't believe the hype on the travel warnings from the Department of State website. There is not much Anti-American sentiment to the point where you're going to get kidnapped in the middle of Warsaw and having to wait for Condoleeza to hand tax dollars over to the Warriors of the Fourth Reich or whatever, in exchange for your safe release.

Traveling is all about meeting people from other countries and experiencing and exchanging culture. You hardly EVER see any other flag patches except the maple leaves. Let's all get over this international tension, shall we? At least on the microcosmic level. Let the palm greasers squabble on the macro-scene.

Rollin' on the Westside.....of Berlin that is

Mental note:

When courting a fine young maiden and you offer to buy her a drink, if she answers "Whatever you're having.", if you are having what I now dub an LBC (gin and orange), think twice about your order. And definitely don't buy her a second such drink. She will quickly turn into a damsel in distress.

Raining on Gay Parades

Spent my first day in Berlin today. After, spending most of my life in the US or medium-sized cities in Asia, it is admittedly a bit trippy to see a city with so many colors- white, black, yellow, brown, etc. The difference between the US and other countries is that even our smaller cities are like crayon boxes. But it's eye-opening to see these dynamics anyway.

So after taking advantage of the all night weekend metro and shuffling back into the hostel at about 5AM, today was sort of a late start. I am boycotting guide books such as Lonely Planet on this trip, so my guess about what to do was as good as yours.

The map I have shows a little line of the border of the Berlin Wall. Supposedly, there is like one rock left that tourists flock to but I wasn't about to ask reception where it was. Instead I pointed to a metro station that was near the wall and a Holocaust monument, and off we went.

My first clue was the man in the wedding dress with a towel wrapped around his head who was entering the subway gates as I was exiting them. Stepping into the sunlight, I was greeted by rainbows and house music. Crowds and broken glass lined the streets as sailors in assless chaps, men made up to look like Carnaval dancers, and dudes sporting three piece rainbow suits complete with tophats, gyrated by.

My traveling partner, the lovely Mme. Anne a.k.a. Butterfly/Cherry/Angel (mais en francais, bien sur), found it in herself to join the parade. I kept her attached to my hip, lest I should end up with no pants in some hash den with rainbow floor pillows. In fact, once she broke away for like a second and some bloke stroked my head. I'm no homophobe, but look don't touch, ese.

On the way, there was some crazy park filled with huge rectangular concrete blocks. Nothing seemed more obvious than hopping from block to block. Mme. Anne wanted to take a picture of the obnoxious American standing in the middle of this field of random blocks. As you get closer to the center, the blocks are staggered, meaning the heights change.

Cocky at first, I felt like Eddie Murphy in Golden Child by the time I was in a few blocks. Running my hand down the scar on my head, my stomach fell as I imagined my neck snapping when the side of my foot careened off the edge of the block on my next jump. Girl-impressing machismo doused, I decided to turn around. No matter because two cops were waving their Gestapo sticks at me, apparently telling me to get down. When someone is displeased with you and barks at you in a language you don't understand, it's always a little weird, but when it's German, it's uber-weird.

So, tonight at dinner. My boy AZ of Riga fame, living in Berlin, told me what the park was all about....It was that very same Holocaust memorial.

The story about it is that there are no plaques or signs anywhere indicating what it is. Also, to protect the blocks from graffitti, there is a chemical sprayed on them. Ironically, the company who made this chemical also made the gas for the chambers. Both these points have caused considerable debate about the significance of the monument. In a rush of good conscience, Nazi DuPont agreed to supply the protective chemical for free. Nothing says, "I'm sorry for trying to exterminate your whole population" like the municipal version of the consolation prize for the loser of the Showcase Showdown.

Either way, I felt like a huge bonehead. Tomorrow, I'm going back to wipe off my heathen footprints.

Went to a jazz club tonight. Berlin is a surprisingly cool city, and the company helps. Lots of the high school aged kids look like the stereotypical German punks depicted in movies. There's also absoultely no law about drinking beer in public, subway system included. Chomping at the bit to uphold the appearance of the fine country gentleman I am, I haven't exercised that freedom.

Tomorrow, I hope to visit this Turkish kebab shop/cafe I walked by yesterday. Loads of boisterous conversation and pickup games of backgammon are the draw. It's absoultely nuts how many kebab shops are in Europe. I haven't noticed any corporations yet opening the McDonald's/Starbucks version of kebabs yet, but it's not a bad business idea if you fancy living in Europe and running some honest, hard-working immigrants out of their livelihoods.

More in the next couple days...I think my journey heads over to Paris on Tuesday.

Muppets Gone Wild

If you read my bit about the blacklight theatre, you might have an idea that so-called traditional Czech theatre is anything but. Last night, checked out a rendition of the Mozart operea Don Giovanni "performed" by marionette puppets. I didn't know the story and hardly know it any better after the show, but this thing was so funny, my lovelies. Suffice to say I sincerely doubt that the original opera has the male lead trying to look under the girls' skirts.

Well that was the highlight of yesterday. Krakow ended up being a blast. Let me tell you about the last night. After enjoying some borscht at the restaurant across from the hostel for my fourth straight meal, we went to a fairly cool pub. Okay, ponder whether the culture of my nation is too cold, but at a very busy bar when you order a drink, is it necessary to add a "please" to the end of the order? Well, I didn't and the bartender made me say it, obviously he was greeted with a patronizing "thank you" upon delivery. This incident possibly tainted my evening.

After like 3 beers I went to buy the round I had been owing for two previous rounds cause of my slow pace. When I ordered, I was refused. I kept surprisingly cool, and was told I was too drunk. But the old guy in the corner, pontificating upon theories of astrophysics, playing chess with one of my roommates, who fell off his chair and broke a glass, was faithfully getting served.

After that, my mind was set on going to sleep. I was suckered into going to a club. I believe the music choice was Cindy Lauper, the Cure, or some other 80's suicide rock group. We were with a couple girls and I remember this guy wearing a sleeveless tee dancing awfully close, and with complete lack of anything that could even loosely be referred to as rhythm, behind one of the abovementioned girls. My already flying head took another leap and said "Man! You are in Eastern Europe and this is getting a smidgin trippy." I made a beeline for the WC with my screwdriver and pounded it in an attempt to right ship. Much to my chagrin, when I returned to the dancefloor, they had upgraded all the way to Whitesnake or something. Said beeline was transferred to the bar for another screwdriver. My friends had gone upstairs to the electronica dancefloor...

For those of you to whom I am anonymous, it must be said that anything over about 12 minutes of house, techno, etc. makes me want to pull a DaVinci on my ears. Second screwdriver gets necked and I excuse myself from the club, only to try to navigate my way home in the foreboding gray of the Krakow dawn...

Needless to say, the next day was rendered practically useless...

More from Den Faderland. Berlin tomorrow.

Prague 1

I'm now in the hottest tourist spot in Europe- Prague. There are some crazily picturesque views of old buildings and all. But there a throngs of tourists. Some things that tourists go batty over are confusing to me.

Por ejemplo, Prague's most famous landmark is this cuckoo clock tower where it does all these jazzy things on the hour. I didn't make it to the big performance yesterday, but supposedly at the hour there are tons of fools with big lens cameras, white shorts, and black socks, surrounding it. When it's done, the crowd clears as quickly as if tear gas came shooting out of it. I was in the square when the clock struck midnight. When the first bell chimed, kids were running from the other side of the square. I guess at midnight, all the cuckoo things turn into pumpkins because the clock didn't do anything. The collective groans and "That's it? Does this thing really work?" sniggles was gretty funny.

For lunch yesterday, three of us shared this Czaech style souffle- potatoes, onions, mushrooms, chicken, beef, bacon, and cheese, indicated as being a portion for 2. We had at least 1/3 left between 2 guys and a girl. The other guy and I ordered this pretty wicked dark beer with 18% alcohol for 34 Czech crowns (like $1.50). The girl ordered a small bottle of water for 69. Some things in Europe are sweet.

Went to this supposedly famous black light theatre show last night. The room is all dark, and the actors wear clothes that glow in the black light. They do their thing (no talking, thankfully) in front of a black curtain while people behind the curtain move these glowing props around when it suits the story. This one was called Shock Therapy. It was a story about two people falling in love and then that's where the story got a little trippy. I think he got called to Vietnam and killed and him and the girl were making merry in purgatory. It was all set to the Beatles. I hate to drop Pulp Fiction lines because it' so posh, but I had a beer in the show. Concession stands at the moving picture shows have beer as well. I haven't done that yet because of the getting up to drain Sgt. Willy during the movie.

Might czech out the Medieval Torture machine museum later.

Peace out

Hannibal Schecter

Tonight I went out by myself to a very small, early evening Chopin concert in Krakow. So relaxing. The pianist hit a natural E once when it should've been an E flat. So I ate his liver...

But seriously, I never would have done that (go to a small piano performance, not the liver bit) back home. I hope to take time out every now and then for random recreation.