What Up, Vienna?

take your prague and shove it

michelle — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 07:43:08 +0000

First off, let me just say that we didn't really think things through when we planned the trip to Prague. We already had this five day trip to Venice planned. While we were in Venice, our friends C.J. and Mather were going to be in Vienna and we were going to completely miss them. So we thought, why not meet them in Prague at the end of their trip? We haven't been to Prague. We've heard great things about Prague. Let's do this. This gave us about a three day break between trips. Those three days included Christmas Eve and Christmas. I might also note that we had a terrible sleeper train ride back from Venice which pretty much rendered Christmas Eve a wash as I slept through most of the day. At some point, I might write a sidepost about this, but for right now, suffice it to say, I slept nary a wink on that train trip due to an unfortunate and unexpected downgrade in service.

So after the wasted Christmas Eve, the decent Christmas Day and maybe a day or two of recuperating in between, we headed off to Prague in the Czech Republic. The train to Prague is about three hours. Here are a couple things about Prague that are good to know. They don't use Euros. And they don't speak a language you can even hope to decipher. Well, maybe I am stereotyping you, but if you are anything like me (and that's decently awesome), then good luck with reading or eavesdropping Czech. When the young train ticket-taker came by, we asked him to teach us a few key words. I don't think I mentioned this before, but in my opinion the number one most important word to learn in any language is the word for "Excuse me/Sorry." In German, it is "Entschuldigung." In Italian, it is "Scusi." In French, it is "Pardon." And in Czech, as we learned, it is "Promiňte." Closely following that in importance are the words for "Thank you," "Please" and it's always nice to learn your "Hi's and Bye's." I can't remember those words. And in full disclosure, I had to look up "Promiňte" just to make sure I had the spelling right. Even fuller disclosure: I did not.

The train trip was uneventful. When we arrived to Prague, we managed to navigate to our hotels via public transportation relatively easily. Also, in a stroke of lucky coincidence, using Hotwire we managed to get booked at the same hotel that CJ and Mather were at. For those unawares, Hotwire is a travel site where you can search hotels (among other things) via location, star ratings, amenties, price, etc but you can't find out the name of the hotel until you actually make your purchase. I love it. And you usually get pretty good deals. They are not paying me, I swear. (But if you read this Hotwire, why don't you throw some more hotdollars my way.) Anyhow, our hotel was right on the river. And for whatever reason, we got a room upgrade. It was a round bed, mirror on the ceiling and white tiger short of being the master bedroom of a Czech drug kingpin pimp. We were ballin'.

Are you jealous of my frosted closet mirrors?

Later that night we ventured out with CJ and Mather into the city center. We went to supposedly one of the oldest pubs in Prague. You sit down, they come over with a tray full of Jagery type of shots and you take a few, then they come over with a tray full of beer and you take a few, then the shots again, then the beer, and so on and so on. It's like a Brazilian churrascaria but replace the meat swords with alcohol. I took a gander at the all-too-familiar menu and it was kind of the beginning of the end for me then. At that point, I came to my breaking point with the food of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. No offense, Hapsburg! Fighting the urge to storm out, I played it safe and ordered sausage and kartoffelpuffen. Alex thought he was playing it safe but he ended up with something that looked like a beef sundae.

Alex ordered this puzzling dish.

After dinner, as we were walking around the city, I was just exhausted. Prague really looks a lot like Vienna. The architecture is very similar with the differences being the tops of the buildings. And as aforementioned the food is the same Grandma's food I had been eating for three months. There were just more people. More tourists. It was basically just a dirtier version of Vienna. And I'd rather just be in Vienna. That was when I went on vacation strike.

The next day, CJ and Mather wanted to take the train to go see a bone church two hours outside of Prague. I woke up, opened one eye to look at Alex and said nope, then I turned over and went back to sleep. They were gone for the whole day. And I could care less. I lived it up! I used the free internet in the lobby! I had a decent Ceaser salad in the hotel restaurant! I took a bath! On a scale of 1 to 10 where 1 is gazing upon plague-infested bones and 10 is ballin' Czech drug kingpin style, my day ended up being a strong 9.5.

Alex contemplating becoming a serial killer. Look at the art he could make!

We left the next day. It was a short trip. Perhaps Prague really didn't get a fair shake. Or perhaps Prague didn't step it up enough. I don't know. I would like to blame the circumstances leading up to this trip for my poor impression. And I'd like to give Prague a second chance, but I don't know if that will happen. We might be forever starcrossed. And if you're some Prague person reading this, cut me some slack. You're telling me that you never went to the U.S. or something on a crosscountry tour and after seeing Minneapolis, Milwaukee and Chicago, you just weren't having Des Moines? And if you're some Des Moines person reading this... I don't know what to tell you, I can't imagine your city being anything other then a snoozefest. Good job on the gay marriage thing though! I don't know how to end this paragraph. I'll just end it right here.

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the last schlafwagen to venice

michelle — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 20:19:04 +0000

The only thing nicer than going to Venice... is getting proposed to an hour before you leave for Venice. One would think that Venice is where you would get proposed to which makes getting proposed to before you go most certainly a surprise. And it makes the already highly anticipated trip to Venice even more highly anticipated. What was once just a ho-hum run-of-the-mill trip to Venice, Italy is now an ENGAGEMENTMOON to be celebrated at every waking moment. And celebrated we did.

So we decided to take a sleeper train to Venice or as they say in those parts, a Schlafwagen. The nice thing about taking the train is there is no rigamarole to go through before you get to the train including pretty much zero security. I could have had bombs in my underwear, shoes... I could have shown up five minutes before the train left and had one of those cartoon round bombs with the long fuse under each arm and been like, hey what's up, and they probably wouldn't have even looked at me twice.

So we reserved our very own two-person Schlafwagenzimmer (sleeper car room). I think it's the fanciest you can go on these things. The next step down is what is called a couchette which basically is a room with six couches, three on each side like bunk beds, that you share with random people. We get two nice bunkbeds with a little table and a couch and even a little sink. Mind you, it's all very cramped and tiny but they do maximize the space.

Who's that engaged lady in the Schlafwagen?

If you want to see more, go to our Videos page to get a grand tour of our glamorous quarters!

Along with the fancy room, we got a nice big breakfast in the morning. This translates to us each getting to choose six things from a list of Viennese breakfast items which can best be described as a deconstructed sandwich. The bread traditionally included with one's Frühstück (I'm larnin' you something!) is basically a Kaiser roll or as they say in Vienna, Semmel. The other items are basically jam, butter, cold cuts, cheese slices, pate, etc. And of course, we also got some juice and coffee. It is Wiener Frühstück, isn't it?

Riding into Venice on the train is beautiful. For those of you who are unawares, Venice is an island and you arrive just as it's light over the water onto the island and into the city right to the train station.

That, my friends, is the island of Venice.

After we unloaded and detrained, we made our way to the water taxi aka Vaporetto stop. I was fully debriefed by my Venetian friend Andrea which Vaporetto to take to our hotel as one will make many stops (1) whilst the other (2) is very swift about taking you through the Grand Canal. However, even a native's help will not prepare you for navigating the "streets" of Venice. I had a map. It seemed we were very close to where we needed to be. I wish Venice were laid out like an Ikea. You walk in the entrance and maybe you have to walk through the whole store but you will eventually pass by everything before you get to the end. In Venice, you basically wander and wander and wander perhaps employing some natural instinct and hopefully stumble across your destination. That is essentially what happened to us. We knew we were close. It just took us a while to find the right rape alleys to follow. We somehow found our hotel. Unfortunately, however, it was still a bit early, so we were not rewarded with a room or even so much as a high five for finding the place. We dropped off our bags and headed off into the frozen city. Oh, did I mention? Venice was super duper cold. It was so cold, I didn't even think of getting an Italian gelato. That's cold.

Let me pedal back a week or so to make mention that in my German class, a Lithuanian classmate warned me of the flooded streets in Venice. I scoffed at her. She said, wear galoshes! I doublescoffed. Well, here I found myself in Venice, Italy and a lot of the streets were indeed flooded. I scoffed in error! I doublescoffed in a double error! Now, the kind city puts out platforms for us greenhorns to walk on when this situation arises. However, there were a lot of showoffs in their knee-high water boots splashing around from here to there and back again. I could wear galoshes! I can splash around! You're not analyzing the complex genetics data of the Arabidopsis thaliana! That's what Alex does. I like to throw it around when I can.

Some people put on their galoshes and took on the water. We opted for the platforms.

Honestly, though, I don't know why I have been wasting your time. I went to Venice. I will now give you what you want... FOOD PORN!

At Osteria Al Portego eating a plate of awesome fried seafood. Heaven.

Taking a break after some ridiculously awesome pumpkin flan at La Zucca in Venice.

Our meals at Osteria Al Promessi Sposi. That's a whole lot of squid ink.

At Osteria Al Portego. Up top we have pappardelle with pork sausage and porcini mushrooms and on the bottom we have gnocchi with scallops and zucchini and saffron. Murder me it was so good.

Ciao!

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he liked it so he went and put a ring on it (among other things)

michelle — Sun, 10 Jan 2010 01:38:13 +0000

I am so behind on these blog posts. It is my goal to catch up this weekend. And not one of those fake New Year's resolution no intention of actually following through on them goals but a for-real goal. A goal I will achieve! A goal for the ages! A goal that which I will talk about so much as to procrastinate actually completing the goal itself!

While you are waiting for at least two more meaty blog posts, I will share with you a couple updates on my goings-on:

1) I am engaged! (Ich liebe dich, Alex)
2) I am currently under a non-self-imposed exile from Austria and its Schengen country brethren. (Further explanation forthcoming in an as aforementioned new blog post)
3) I have recently released a new episode of my podcast Walking With Michelle and a new episode of my web cartoon Into the Dumb. (You can also subscribe on iTunes if you're into that sort of thing)

I must now take leave as I am at my parents' house in Sun City, Arizona and we're going to the bowling alley to play pool. And then we're going we're going to eat terrible Mexican food. Oh, how I have missed you, America.

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my bonn thanksgiving (better belated than never)

michelle — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 17:33:09 +0000

Alex and I went on our separate ways for Thanksgiving. He went stateside Boston and I...chose to not have jetlag. More specifically, I went to Bonn, Germany. Now, this is my second foray into Germanland. The first being into aforeposted Stuttgart. And I will mention now that Stuttgart is really not that far of a stretch from Vienna in that the language is spoken very similarly from the hi/byes to the words that are used for things to the way words are generally pronounced. Let's just say, it was very comfortable. On the other hand, Bonn was like a whole other country! They do not even say "Grüß got". It was jarring. The only things I could flaunt about my German learnings over the last few months were random words that I knew without their surrounding sentences. It still seemed to impress though. And that was before I went to German school even. It was a good foundation probably. Now when I go back there, I can shove my learned German conversating in their German faces. I actually wanted to use the German word for faces there but I looked it up and it was Gesichter and that just doesn't sound right to me so I'm not going to use it because I don't want to be made fun of for using the wrong word. It probably really means like pet monkey or something. And that's not what I want to say!

Okay, anyhow, so in Bonn, I have two friends both from college waybackwhen. We have Trinity (Trin) who I have known since, I think, my freshman year of college. And we have Robert (Tall German Robert) who we both met our senior yearish when he was doing a year abroad at our school. And then badabing badaboom, fast-forward umpteen years and wedding bells are a'ringing. Well, they got married secretly by an Elvis impersonator in Vegas so I'm not sure if there were literally wedding bells but you get the idea.

Anyhow, also in town for the week were Trin's parents Ann and Paul from Green Bay, Wisconsin. And then we have Zach who I think I met my sophomore year through Trin. And to bring it all together, Zach was the one who eventually introduced both of us to Robert a few years later. Also of note, Zach is doing the expatriate thing too as he is currently residing in Paris. (Bonjour, Zach!) Also in attendance were Trin's friend Fabiola from Spain and Trin's sister Paula from Madison. And the German contingent joining us for Thanksgiving dinner were Robert's parents, brother and brother's girlfriend.

A few weeks before the celebrated event, Trin sent out detailed itineraries for the trip. Our week on paper appeared to be jampacked. And it was. I got in on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. We actually weren't having the holiday's dinner until Saturday because for some reason, Germans don't get Thanksgiving and the following Friday off! Go figure. So in order to incorporate Robert's family into the funfest, we took one for the team and moved Thanksgiving to the weekend. It felt pretty good moving a holiday to another day. All-powerful kindalike. I might just move some other holidays too. First order of business, Halloween gets moved to February because I'm sick of sharing my birthday week with that scary thunder-stealing holiday. April Fools Day just goes away completely because I don't like surprises. And St. Patrick's day can stay where it is but that stupid rule where people get to pinch you if you're not wearing green is skedaddled. I think that's enough for now. Please make the necessary notes on your calendars as this is effective immediately.

The next day, Tall German Robert and I went to Köln (Cologne) to pick up Zachary from the train station. Let me mention now that Trin requested that we perhaps bring some cheese from our respective cities for the Friday night tapas-style dinner. I opted not to because I feel that Viennese cheese seems to have a high stink factor and I ain't bringing that on no plane. Zach, however, gets off his train smelling like the inside of a shoe. There was really no question that Zach brought some cheese. He certainly did. It really wouldn't have been so bad if the smell emanating from his self was identifiable as a cheese odor. It was just identifiable as "that guy needs some kind of serious shower". We ditched that backpack on some poor unsuspecting soul in charge of the lockers at the train station. Sorry for ruining your nose holes for the day, buddy!

Christmas markets are all the rage here in Europe. I've been to a million in Vienna. And I went to a million on this trip. I have to say though that the market in Bonn ranked up there with the best. And it's not because they had superior Glühwein or Punsch. It's not because I found the most impressive wares. It's because they had the drunken, singing animatronic reindeer heads. I have provided you a picture below but you can check out the video section to see them in live action!

Paula is scared of the crazy reindeer heads.

The Thanksgiving dinner was spectacular. I was, unfortunately, nursing a foot injury incurred in the traditional Pre-Thanksgiving Hartman Football Extravaganza. Apparently the most stayed part of that tradition is that you play until somebody gets hurt. So we played until Paul Hartman (yes, Trinity's FATHER) kicked me as hard he could in my foot. I'm leaving out some details here that would lay less blame on his actions but this is my blog and I shall create the visual pictures that I choose. So, anyhow, I should thank him because it afforded me the excuse to lay on the couch gathering sympathy with a bag of ice on my big toe and a bag of Brach's candy corn attached to my mouth. I recovered enough after an hour or so of that and then I participated in an hour or so of turkey and turkey accoutrement eating and then an hour of so recovering from that only to eat pie for another hour or so. I felt that I had to really show the Germans in attendance how we do Thanksgiving which is to eat until it hurts to move.

From right to left: German, German, German, Sconnie.

And I even managed to last the whole dinner without getting into any trouble. After dinner, Paula and I did conspire to stick a cigarette in the paper turkey centerpiece's mouth. It took Ann Hartman (Trin and Paula's Mom) a while to notice and when she did, I wasn't even the first one she blamed! I love meeting new mothers and recreating myself in a whole new less mischievous light. Even when she found out that I was the one who actually did it, Paula got into more trouble because it was her brain's idea. Sorry, Paula, if I can't be the good daughter in my family. I'm going to be the good daughter in everybody else's.

The last day we were in town, Tall German Robert and Trin took us to Arweiler to visit the Regierungsbunker. This is a Cold War era bunker that was built to house three thousand German government officials were there to be some sort of nuclear fallout or other disaster with the idea that they could continue to run the country from the underground. However, the facilities were only built to sustain the three thousand people for 30 days. After that, I guess, the chosen ones are free to return to their homes and care for their radioactive sore-covered friends and family. What a great, well-thought-out plan! Anyhow, the bunker was pretty fascinating. They actually only had the first section of the full 17km open. Apparently, the rest is dismantled and/or flooded. Or so they say (scary music plays this sentence off). Sorry I don't have any pictures to display but it cost an extra 2 Euro 50 to bring in a camera and I was feeling cheap. Let me just say that the rooms were one Benjamin Linus shy of being straight outta Lost.

After the tour, we went in to the village of Ahrweiler to get some lunch and to peruse yet another Christmas market. It was there that I was accosted by the creepy Santa Claus. I will leave you with a picture documenting this moment.

The St. Nick of the Ahrweiler Weinachsmarkt. I gave him two euros so he could buy the little kids some cake. Seemed a bit suspect.

P.S. To the jerks who lifted Zachary's thousands of dollars worth of camera and equipment while he was sleeping on the train, screw you and your morally devoid jackass selves. You will get your comeuppance!

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flugzeuge, zuge und autos

michelle — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 12:09:08 +0000

I wasn't really banking on doing any stand-up whilst in Vienna. However, an opportunity presented itself to do a USO show in Stuttgart, Germany. That opportunity came by way of Bengt Washburn, a comedian I had never met, though who was vouched for by my esteemed comedy colleague Moshe Kasher. So I knew he wasn't an axe murder. Or, at least he wasn't a hacky axe murderer. Hacky as in bad comedian, not as in hacking with his murderin' axe. No pun intended. And, yes, I am saying I'd rather be axe murdered by somebody who has a good sense of humor or at least somebody that has a bad sense of humor who knows it and doesn't try. The last thing I want before I die is some arrogant boy murderer who feels the need to get overly physical with his technique while making references to things we all remember. Or maybe that's exactly what I want...

Me: Could you please just commence with your murdering? (Hold my hair up and turn my head to the side to expose my bare neck.)
Hacky Axe Murderer: Let me axe you something... (waves his axe around and then paces for about 10 seconds) You remember Nintendo?
Me: ...
Hacky Axe Murderer: You had to blow in those damn cartridges to get them to work. YOU HAD TO BLOW IN THEM! (He drops axe to mime blowing into a Nintendo cartridge.)
Me: (Zork-style: Pick up axe. Kill Hacky Axe Murderer with axe.)

But I digress, let's get back to our adventure. We got into Stuttgart the day of the show and the never-met-before wonderful Bengt Washburn picked us up at the airport and let us stay at his house for the night. He even took us on a bit of sightseeing in the picturesque German town of Tübingen. Proof below:

In Tübingen, Germany with young Ian, son of Bengt

So the USO show was at 7pm preceded by a lovely buffet dinner at 6pm. This should have been the red-flag warning for me. Young, comedy-loving, entertainment-starved servicepeople don't need to be lured in by buffets. Older people do. To them it isn't COMEDY SHOW in capital letters and buffet in teeny-tiny letters. It's BUFFET BUFFET BUFFET (oh, there's a comedy show too?). And do you know what older people do? They bring kids. Sure, that's a great idea. I mentioned something to one of the organizers who came back a bit later and told me she talked to all the parents and told them that this is not necessarily a show for kids and the comics will not be censoring themselves. Then I explained that my problem wasn't whether or not the parents were cool with it, but rather it wasn't my desire to tell any of my jokes with all their innuendo and colorful language in front of children. Also, it might actually make other people in the audience uncomfortable with the kids there too. That was all I could do though. I was introduced and brought on stage. And as I grab the mic, two kids both younger than 7 take seats in the front row. You have to be kidding me, Uncle Sam. I can't remember exactly what I said as I addressed those children but it was a thinly-veiled announcement to the parents that it was extremely inappropriate for their children to be in attendance and shit was gonna get uncomfortable. It worked. Those kids left after my first joke and the other kids left not long thereafter. Mission accomplished! The show ended up being great. The crowd was fantastic. I even got a fancy USO coin for doing the show. And, if you were wondering, it is not legal tender. I found that out the hard way.

Telling jokes to folks at the USO on the Panzer Kaserne Base in Stuttgart, Germany.

The next morning, superhost Bengt Washburn brought us to the train station. We were going to travel to Strasbourg, France. This was our first European train experience. How exciting! We even managed to find our correct track and get on the correct train in the correct car. Did I mention it was a speed train? It was awesome. Well, awesome except for the fact that there were no murders on the train. How am I suppose to solve any train murder mysteries if there are no murders? I thought that's what you did on trains. Next time I'll just have to get the ball rolling and do the murder myself. And a future you are welcome to you.

We had made reservations at a ~~Best Western~~ quaint little mom-and-pop bed and breakfast in the middle of town. We checked in and realized that we got a room with two twin beds instead of a queen. And the ~~Best Western~~ bed and breakfast was sold out for the weekend so we could not switch. Merde! So we get up to our room and we realize that the twin beds are pushed together in the middle of the room with night stands on either side making it essentially a queen bed with a scary dangerous chasm in the middle. This is exactly how the bedroom in our Vienna apartment is set up. It is maddening. It's like a 50s television bedroom up in Europe.

One huge thing we learned in France is... that we do not speak French. I think somehow our brains thought with all of our success learning basic German, we would be able to understand and speak any language. Oh, not true, mon ami. We were just so used to people speaking to us in other languages and then responding to them in German. We were not used to this Frenchspeak. We would listen so hard trying to understand what they said until we realized we didn't have any idea what they said. We would just get so flustered trying to respond which resulted in a string of words from all the languages we knew. "Dankethankyougraciasankyouthay!" And then we would run away. So embarrassing.

This post has gone on long enough. You get the idea. And as a special treat, here is a video of dogs playing in a Strasbourg street. Enjoy.

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i know all there is to know about the crying game

michelle — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 22:43:25 +0000

Alex and I had separate flights from Vienna to Hawaii. Mine was through DC. And that is where this story takes place. I arrived in my nation's capitol about 4pm. I had about an hour and a half to connect and it takes bloody forever to go through customs. You have to wait there in line with a million people in the same predicament as you. And there was this jackass of a guy who was trying to cut past everybody because he has a plane to catch. Really, a plane? Guess what? We ALL have a plane to catch, a-hole. I actually said that to him minus the a-hole part.

I finally got to my gate with a few minutes to spare. And....the flight was overbooked. (Thanks United!) So I just had to wait there for my name to be called. Tick tock. Tick tock. Finally, she sighed and said, I hate to do this. And then she said two names...one not my name and one MY NAME. Hallelujah. Let's roll. (Okay, maybe that's not the right thing to say when talking about an impending plane ride) So I get on the plane where I have been instructed to find an open seat. I spy one right away but the other girl was right there and her name was called first and I am nice so I did something that was going to become very regrettable... I offered her the seat. I did that assuming the other purported open seat was just going to be a few rows back...so I kept walking... and walking... until I found myself at the end of the plane part. Shit, no more seats. Dammit! Why was I so nice to that girl I didn't know? She was probably a jerkface too. Maybe I could just go unnoticed and let this plane take off with me standing here and I could do a choreographed dance between the aisles and the lavatories for the next five hours? I didn't get a chance. I got spotted. I wish I had worn my "inconspicuous part of the interior of an airplane" camouflage. Exit, stage left. Sigh. Cue plane take off. Now show me some despair. Oh, DESPAIRRRRR.

I was so very tired. And so very screwed. It was too late to get on any flights after that one. Alex was on his way to Los Angeles where he was expecting to meet me at my gate when we were then supposed to go to meet the good Jim Hamilton at baggage claim. I had no American cell phone. I had no American money. So I had to go exchange my 10 odd euros for cash and then use that cash to get change from a bartender. Then, I had to travel in a time machine back to 1998 and use a payphone. Oh, the humanity. And I'm jetlagged to the point of feeling drugged. Well, I guess, technically, I was jetlagged AND drugged. It's a PRESCRIPTION!

So then I had to go wait in line. It seems really unfair that they overbook your flight, they screw your plans and then they make you wait in an unreasonably long line. (Thanks United!) Not to mention an unreasonable long line with pissed-off, crazy people. Everybody wants you to join their Team Angry Consumer. I just wanted out of there. It took probably an hour and a half of line waiting before I got my turn. At this point, I was kind of glad to be getting a hotel and some cash. It was late and I had enough jetlag to work through already without adding on another three-hour time difference. There was another flight at 8am in the morning which would put me in Los Angeles 11amish which wasn't going to be so terrible. However, as the man helping me was ringing it up, he realized that that morning flight was sold out too and he wasn't going to have a specific seat available for me. He said that I was first on the list though and it shouldn't be a problem. (DANGER DANGER DANGER) I was too tired to protest though. (No, Michelle. Protest! You should protest!) Sure, fine, whatever. Where's the bed?

I got back to the airport the next morning with plenty of time to spare. I wanted to be the first person at the gate. The rep finally showed up about an hour after I got there and she barely looked up when she told me that the flight was overbooked (Thanks United!) and she couldn't promise that I would get a seat and THAT SHE WOULD CALL MY NAME WHEN SHE DID. She had to say that over and over to people. I didn't want to make her madder so I just sat nearby and waited patiently and hoped hoped hoped things were not going to turn into a shitstorm. Then, I heard her say to somebody that the next available flight after this one didn't leave until like 8pm. SHITSTORM! I started to panic. And I realized that drastic measures needed to be taken. There was only one choice. I had only one option. I went up to that counter and focused on the new less-angry-seeming lady that was now there... and I started, "I know that you have said this over and over and that you'll call my name when you can give me a seat but I just had to say something because I just have to get on that plane. I can't stay here in D.C. all day. I don't know anybody here. (Voice crack) I don't have a cell phone. I don't have any money. (Tears) I've been living in Vienna and my boyfriend is supposed to meet me in Los Angeles and we're going to Hawaii tomorrow and I can't stay here (Full-on crying with an audience)." I looked at her face and I saw that I broke her. She looked back at me with Mom eyes. Mission accomplished. She said to just be patient and listen for my name. I wasn't embarrassed that I cried in public. I wasn't embarrassed because all those people waiting for their names to be called were just jealous that they didn't do it first. And they couldn't do it now. That would be so transparent. Five minutes later, mine was the first name called. And when I went up to get my boarding pass, the first meaner gate lady held on to it, looked at me with these super "tsk, tsk" eyes and said, "Next time... don't cry."

Sorry, mean lady. It worked too good. My only regret is I didn't cry the night before.

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i made tirolerknoedeln

drplatt — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 17:37:10 +0000

They're like grammelknödeln, only filled with Tirolers.

In all honesty, neither of those things are true. The protein is some sort of smoked ham and they’re not much like grammelknödeln at all. There is a theory, however, that they were invented by the toilet paper industry to boost sales.

It’s my theory, anyway.

--AP

i made grammelknoedeln My own Austrian cooking...

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please do cry for me, friends

michelle — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 11:20:14 +0000

Yesterday, it was snowing here. Today, it is raining Katzen und Hunden. Basically, it's miserable outside. Now, here I am having to sit down and write about my trip to Hawaii last week. Sob story, I know. Oh, I can hear the sarcasm in your voices. You know what? It's all relative, people. My life is my life. My trials and tribulations are still trials and tribulations. My "it is raining Katzen und Hunden in my idyllic neighborhood in Vienna" is your "there are fires in the hills and I can't breathe because of all the ash in the air." My "I can't figure out where to buy travel-size contact lens solution in this city" is your "it took me 4.5 hours to drive from Hollywood to Santa Monica on the 10 because people were checking out an accident at the Robertson exit." My "they put too much jam in my crepes" is your "my unemployment just ran out and I had to start buying generic macaroni and cheese." Like, I said. It is all relative.

Now, let's talk about MY TRIP TO GLORIOUS HAWAII:

First off, we got to the airport and nobody bought me a lei.

In the Honolulu Airport. Do I look jetlagged? Cause I'm pretending I'm not.

We got to the hotel and still nobody bought me a lei.

In our hotel lobby. Hmmm, I don't seem to be wearing a lei. Step it up, Alex!

We got up to our room and there was still no lei!!

Our hotel room is nice!

Let me just say that adjusting to a 12-hour time difference sucks. It's as bad as you can get. Your mind and body are completely effed. Down is up, up is down, red is green, 2+2=3, Michael Jackson is still alive... You know what I'm saying. First night, I lay down for a nap at 4:30pm watching Judge Judy (Hi, Grandpa!) while Alex is checking in at his conference (that's why we were there in the first place). So he comes back around 5:30pm and asks me if I am able to go anywhere and I mumble something akin to, "There is no way in hell's bells I'm moving one inch." Flash forward to me waking up at 3:30 in the a.m. READY TO GO. I'd say every day that scenario repeated itself improved by an hour and a half or so. It was an accomplishment when I finally was able to stay awake until 9:30pm and that was probably three days after we got there.

So that Sunday was my birthday. I turned 33. I ain't ashamed to say it. Although, that was Jesus's age when he was MURDERED. Well, you'll be happy to know I managed to survive the whole day without coming to the same end. Or did I? SCARY LAUGH. Anyhow, we decided to put on our tourist pants and go sightseeing. We had reserved a rental car and when we went to go pick it up, I dropped that it was my birthday. Bam, UPGRADE. It was that easy. I wish I could bottle up this charm and sell it to you, but I cannot. We got a Mustang! This is a car that before having ridden in it, I would have never ever considered buying and now after having had use of it for a day I would... never ever consider buying it. I really don't know how to put this eloquently. The insides is ugly. And this particular Mustang had all sorts of dents and scratches on the outside of it too. I will not hold that against all Mustangs but it did sully the excitement of driving around a "sports car" for a day.

The first place on our itinerary was the Diamond Head Crater. It was beautiful. You can see pictures of it and everything else for that matter in the "Action Photos" section. So I knew going into this situation that a visit to this crater usually necessitates a 2.5 hour hike up to the top to bask in breathtaking visages of the island of Oahu. I also knew that my companion loves a good hike almost as much as he loves yours truly. However, I did not factor in that when we got there it would be skin-melting hot. It was Texas hot . Also, I forgot that I really, really hate hiking. And we were supposed to hike up and up and up closer to the SUN? I kept my reservations inside for about the first 100 feet deciding how appropriate it was to put a cabash on this foolish venture. We could die! Then I remembered it was my birthday. And nobody should suffer on their birthday. As a matter of fact, nobody should have to do anything that they even slightly don't want to do on their birthday. So I announced my discontent... and we turned back. Poor Alex. He was silently heartbroken. His sad face wasn't silent though. He was screamingly facebroken. That's a saying, right?

After that, our next stop was the Dole Plantation. Now, we had heard that this was a must-see on a trip around the island. I really think Alex and I had built it up in our minds as some sort of tropical Wonka's Chocolate Factory. That it was not. We were cornered by a souvenir lady before we even got in the door. She had us participate in a "raffle" where we won the ability to get 50% off on her shitty product that was probably marked up 90% to begin with. We juked her and then went inside where we had to evade two or three more of her ilk. And that was probably the last interesting that happened. This main building was just a weird store for Dole-labeled products. There was no pineapple wallpaper. There was no pineapple-juice river. The souvenir ladies could have at least limped on canes towards us then turned into a somersault before shoving their wares in our faces. I would have paid 0% off for that, souvenir lady robot army! You're doing it all wrong.

I don't get it. So it's like as if the pineapple is the Mickey Mouse for Dole Plantation's Disneyland? I ain't buying it.

Well, we did manage to salvage the trip though because the one great unfuckupable thing they have at the Dole Plantation is the world's largest maze! And even though it was drizzling, we were not leaving without getting in that maze. It was three miles of fun, right? Trapping yourself in a maze while it was drizzling is a great idea, right? Right? It started out fun. And honestly, it ended fun too. The drizzle turned into actual rain. The whole maze was overrun with huge snailman creatures. It was muddy. You couldn't tell the passages for the maze from the holes in the hedges. It was a losing venture. We made it to one of the six requisite "stamp your card" checkpoints and decided to consult the map to get the hell out of there. I have no idea how Alex figured out where we were on the labyrinth of the map and got us out so lickety-split either. It was impressive. Anyhow, here is a video clip of a bit of our aMAZEing time. You can see more video clips on our "Videos (Not Porn)" section too, by the by.

So that was the long of the short of our trip. I loved Hawaii. The murderous jetlag was worth it. I would do it again. Now, I'm back in freezing cold Vienna. It feels even colder having to think about my time in Hawaii. Oh, well. Guess I'll try and console myself while I'm in Strasbourg, France this weekend.

See ya, suckers!

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sturm, entschuldigung and clowns…oh, my!

michelle — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 19:58:25 +0000

Have we talked about Sturm here yet? I wasn't made aware of it's existence until my first night in Vienna. I refuse to consult Wikipedia right now because I'm in Hawaii and I'm lazy so I'm just going to tell you what I think I know about Sturm. It is a very young, yeasty wine that tastes very sweet. Apparently there is a season for Sturm and right now we are nearing the end of it. You got your rot (red) Sturm and your weiss (white) Sturm. I preferred the weiss...until I went to the circus and had the rot. I don't know how to articulate why I liked it better. Maybe it was the charm of the circumstances under which I had it. Perhaps it was because it was freezing outside and the high alcohol content provided me much-needed warmth. More likely, however, is that I think the rot is pretty. I am a connoisseur indeed.

Coming up for air while I'm trying to speed-drink my Sturm.

Speaking of the circus, over the past few weeks riding the D trolley to the 1st district, we kept going past a gaudy, kitschy, as-fake-looking-as-something-can-look circus. Naively, we finally stopped by one night thinking we could just stroll right in but turns out the Roncali Circus is one hot ticket. We ended up buying seats for the following Tuesday. And Tuesday couldn't come quickly enough. I just prepared for the craziest and hoped for the craziest. We got there early as requested, which was good because I needed my fix of rot Sturm.

The Roncali Circus in front of the Vienna City Hall. Or something like City Hall.

A line began to form waiting for the doors to open so we quickly joined up. Once the doors were open the line moved swiftly enough. We get to the front of the line approaching the ticket taker and out of nowhere this seemingly upper middle class looking lady with her two kids burst out of nowhere and try to cut in front of me. Instincts took over. My arm clotheslined out stopping her in her impolite tracks and I managed to retrieve the German word for "What the fuck do you think you're doing, jerkface" which is "Entschuldigung." The spelling may be off. I am impaired with the disease of one fine mojito. So I stopped the lady and Alex and I got past the ticket taker. I'm sure that lady was right behind us though. Alex approved of my aggressions and restated something he had brought up to me before which is that Austrians do not do lines. Now, that is fine. But why form one in the first place? If you don't do lines, just bumrush the show. Own it. Don't start a line and get me in a linemood and then try to cut. You're in a line, you can't cut. I don't care which hunk of land you're from. It just ain't how it's done. So I invite these Austrians, or perhaps it's the whole of the continent, to cut in front of me. My clothesline-ready arm is waiting for you.

Now, for your viewing pleasures, a photo and video essay on our trip to the German circus:

Inside the Roncali Circus big top.

I'm excited for the circus to start!

What do they do in German circuses? I'm hoping clownfights!

All in all, we had a great time. We only understood about five percent of what was said but the rest was Beatles songs, adorable ponies and clowns throwing plates so we found ourselves quite able to follow along. Speaking of which, the circus band was dressed up in Sgt. Pepper garb and played almost exclusively songs from the Fab Four. Hello, Cirque du Soleil? I hope there's not going to be an intercontinental circus rumble. Wait, what am I saying? Please God, I hope there is going to be an intercontinental circus rumble. Please, please, please. Could somebody start some prayer chains? Maybe pay a make-a-wish kid off to call this one in for me? Come on, everybody wins when there is an intercontinental circus rumble! You're picturing it in your heads right now, aren't you? Of course you are.

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vienna is auf dem tisch

michelle — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 13:06:10 +0000

A few months before we moved to Vienna, Alex and I both decided to start learning German. We both had our own methods. I bought a few "How to Learn German" books online. And Alex bought the German-language first book of Harry Potter. He is still about five pages into said book. It is his thinking that since he has already read the book and that it is an easy read (it's for kids for god's sakes), he will be able to fly through the book, quidditching his way into German fluency. I am not sure that plan worked and now I think he just brings it out every once in a while to prove a point. One effective thing we both started doing though is taking the online German course at livemocha.com. It's a great free site. In one of the first lessons, we learned the phrase "auf dem tisch" which directly translates to "on the table." Alex and I have given it the looser, more awesomer translation of "off the hook." It's got the perfect matching cadence. I think it will catch on. Grassroots, everybody. Join our "auf dem tisch" brigade.

Alex was a few weeks ahead of me here in Vienna and he managed to pick up an impressive number of helpful Viennese German phrases. He can buy things at a store, order at a restaurant and use the public transportation like nobody's business. I'm catching up a little. Viennese German is different than German German. Don't step in Wien thinking you can Guten Tag your way around. You got to know your "Gruß Gott." You say "Gruß Gott" when you're entering anywhere... a bank, a restaurant, a store, etc. It literally means, "Greet God." You say it to them, they say it to you, you say say it to them, they say it to you some more. It really goes on and on. Another good one is... "Schonnen tag!" That's Viennese for "Have a good day!" My coffee shop lady taught me that one. Maybe the next thing I should learn is what is the Viennese German for "coffee shop lady."

It isn't really enough though. You can learn how all these survival phrases but that really doesn't help you to have a for-real conversation with anybody. I can hi-bye until der cows come home but that's not going to help me be a jackass. I need vocabulary. I need verbs. I need some vernacular firepower. It's been great living in this city for the last couple of weeks as average everywoman notnecessarilyfunnytoanybody, but I've had enough. It's like my own "Black Like Me." It's hard for you not-funny people, I get it. I now can empathize with your frustratingly dull empty lives. Now, I'm ready to move on and work on taking over this town. So I decided to sign up for German school. I comparison shopped and ended up going with Deutschakademie. They offer an intensive German course in December for 250 euros. Three hours a day, five days a week for three weeks. I'll be missing the first day because I'll be on my way back from American Thanksgiving in Bonn, Germany. They're cool with it. They respect our religious holidays.

When I went into the offices to sign up, I had to take a test. Now, as intimidated as I am in most person-to-person interactions here in Vienna, being tested on it was frightening. However, I didn't do that bad. I picked up enough things on the livemocha and living here the last couple weeks to get 11 out of 20 on the first test. That kind of put me on the bubble between the first two levels of classes, so she had me take another test. That test kicked my ass. I gave up around question 15. However, still apparently, I was somewhere in the middle. So then we had a German conversation in which I held my own. The one thing I have been having lately are basic conversations so I talked my way through the fake store, fake restaurant and fake himynameis and howareyous. And I landed myself in the second-level class. With that I have promised to continue studying until the classes start. Uhhh, yeah...of course. Let me explain to you, my M.O. for this class and for any class I have ever had in my entire life with the exception of that Journalism Law class I took in college and flunked twice forcing me to drop my Journalism Major (sorry for hearing it like this, Mom)... ahem, so my M.O. for this class is to learn the shit out of German before class starts so it's super easy and I can just spend my time being a jackass. Jackasses make friends! People love jackasses! Jackasses make fun of themselves. Jackasses make fun of teachers! Jackasses make the world go round. And if any of my highschool or college teachers/professors somehow find their way onto this page and decide to comment their beg-to-differs... ignore those buzzkills. They loved it and they know it.

Classes start December 1st. I'll report back then.

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