i know all there is to know about the crying gameby michelle
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.
i made tirolerknoedelnby drplatt
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
please do cry for me, friendsby michelle
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!
sturm, entschuldigung and clowns…oh, my!by michelle
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.
vienna is auf dem tischby michelle
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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