messiestobjects

It's All About The Little Differences

I was in San Diego for a week and on one of my days off, naturally I headed down to Tijuana Mexico. There's not much to see there, but I wanted to get a real Mexican taco and some cheap prescription medication. Specifically I was looking for a topical creme (none of your business!) that even with a prescription here in the land of the medically fleeced is wicked expensive. Also I was thinking of picking up some prescription strength ibuprofen because the constant long flights criss-crossing the land of ridiculously high medical care costs can get tedious in my lower back and ass-bone area.

These are pretty much the only pictures I got in Tijuana, but I have more border town follies to tell. Luckily, I also visited the Mount Palomar Observatory while in Southern California and there's not much to tell about that trip so I'll punctuate my Mexican tale with those pictures instead.

So randomly, I chose one Mexican pharmacy out of hundreds; a tiny corner shop that I liked the look of. I went in and the proprietor introduced himself as Federico. I asked him if he had my topical creme (shut. up.) and he did, and then I asked him about my ibuprofen. He had it of course but it was a bit expensive for me so I opted not to get it there and maybe shop around a bit first.

So as I was purchasing the topical creme Federico pulls up a bottle from behind the counter and asks me if I like Tequila. I stutter for a moment but what is one supposed to do in such a situation? I say well sure, who doesn't? So we do a shot of tequila together. I then sputter a bit with the tequila shivers, but it's actually pretty smooth stuff and I enjoy my shot. I say well that's mighty nice of you Federico, thank you very much. He says hang on hang on, want another?

So we're hanging out for a while, chatting about this or that, doing shots of tequila in this pharmacy over the counter in broad busy daylight and I think, "Mexico is different." Then he asks me why I wanted the prescription strength ibuprofen for and I explain to him about my lower back pain and all of that. So my new friend ducks down under the counter again and pulls out a large blue pill and hands it to me with another shot of tequila and says to try this one out. I of course take it because I trust this mad chemist completely, for some reason (I'm guessing it had something to do with the tequila but I suppose we'll never know for certain). "What is it?" I ask, putting down my empty shot glass. "Vicodin my friend," he says. "Wonderful," I reply.

I had sprained my foot jogging on a hotel treadmill earlier and I quite forgot about it during my afternoon in Tijuana. I had the nicest time, walking about, buying a cup full of salty pomegranate seeds from a street vendor. I got my taco and a cerveza too, and they were delicious and I felt very good and nice.

My job in San Diego was on a Navy Base, and the next day I was talking to one of the Navy guys in the class telling him about my trip to Tijuana and he got all weird on me. He said "You went to Tijuana?!" And I was kind of like uh, yeah why not? It's like 15 minutes down the road, what's the big deal? And apparently the big deal is that the military has forbidden servicemen to go into Mexico while off duty because of all the drug cartel related violence down there. He was telling me how people are getting killed there all the time, or kidnapped, even American bystanders and I was thinking huh, I'm glad I went and had such a nice relaxed time there without knowing about all of that.

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Good Night, I Hate To Go And Leave This Pretty Sight

And now... we have arrived. I want to sing poetry for Munich, that's how gay for it I am. My favorite city in the whole wide world. We got off the train from Nürnberg and I was able to begin extolling about the pure awesomeness of the city to Julie right there in the best train station in the world (The München Hauptbahnhof). They serve a slow-roasted half-chicken there, fondly referred to by the old AFRC-E gang (Armed Forces Recreation Centers-Europe. Sorry, I'll try not to parenthesize too often) as cheap chicken. Because it's the most delicious thing you've ever eaten and it only cost like 5 bucks. As we'd planned all year, we met a friend from Chiemsee for some cheap chicken there. Well and for Krampus, but cheap chicken first. Jeff Nimmer brought along his girlfriend Beth and his friend John, and we began our traditional meeting day. Cheap chicken at the bahnhof, then a walk down to the Marienplatz.

The last two pictures are of the New Town Hall, because it's only just over 100 years old. It faces the Marienplatz, which is what they call the main square of Munich, but it seems like every town and city in Bavaria has a Marienplatz also. But the one in Munich is definitely special. I love that building. From there we hit a few other of our favorite spots; Dahlmyer's, the tomb of Bavaria's unknown soldier, the Viktualienmarkt. Stop for a Gluhwein here and there. We skipped the traditional bacon cheeseburger at the Irish Pub as this time around as we were all coming from the States and no one was craving one. This year it's delicious, comforting German food all the way. Then it was back to the Hostel for a nap before the evening festivities.

Munich is the best city in which to begin any European travel in order to beat jet or train lag right off the bat. Arrive, stay awake as long as you can before napping for no more than two hours, at which time it's easy to make yourself get moving again because you do not want to miss an evening out at one of Munich's many awesome beer halls, (if you've only got time for one beer hall, it of course has to be the Hofbrauhaus) and a liter of beer (called a mass , pronounced moss) or three. I've heard Americans say that they don't like the Hofbrauhaus because it's too touristy, that they'd rather hit the Augustiner Haus or the Paulaner Haus, but I say that just goes to show you how little they understand Munich. You'll hear many different opinions of course, but from years and years of careful research I believe that I understand something about Bavarians; The social life of a Bavarian is all about Beer, good food, Beer, good cheer, Beer, and a big crowd of people to drink beer, eat good food, and sing good cheers with. They're like Hobbits that way. The Hofbrauhaus is full of tourists, but it is also full of Bavarian regulars who enjoy their tourists and are happy when guests come to visit. Not all Bavarians like tourists of course, but would you rather sit in a beer hall where the locals are ignoring you, or would you rather get drunk with a cheerful Bavarian? It's all personal preference, I suppose.

One of the great things about Bavarian beer halls is that tables are not private. If there's an empty space on the bench, expect for it to be filled by almost anyone. A drunken lederhosen-garbed Bavarian, a group of drunk Australian girls, a group of drunk Spanish guys, a North Carolinan matron and her daughter just off the plane, or a Bavarian gangster rapper. And you can also expect to be super best drunken friends with all of them before they leave the table. At any rate, by the time you leave, you will have no problem staggering back to your hostel and getting a good night's sleep, to awaken refreshed and on German time! You probably won't even be all that hung over either thanks to the Bavarian beer purity laws of 1516. Julie took this picture on our "walk" home from the Hofbrauhaus.

So that morning, we met another friend at the München Hauptbahnhof. I'm always trying to convince people about the awesomeness of Germany and how much fun Krampus is, and it's the rare individual who both believes me and takes me up on the invitation. Gerald had just flown in and he'd missed the traditional Munich meeting day, but was just in time to catch a regional bahn with us down to the town of Bernau, which is on lake Chiemsee where Nimmer and I onced lived and worked. Here's a shot which will likely only mean something to any Chiemseers who happen to be reading.

We froze our asses off on the ferry ride out to the Fraueninsel, a small island on the lake which has a convent founded in 782 and the tiniest, cutest little town you ever did see. Here's a stock postcard I'd pulled off the internet a while back; I never did get any aerial shots of my own.

We ate many sausage sandwiches and drank much gluhwein there at the tiniest, cutest little christkindlemarkt there that you ever did see. That tiny little island was packed though; I was afraid the weight of the crowd would sink it. We went back to the mainland and met an old Bavarian friend, Florian, at the bar he owns (the above pictured Bernauer Stub'n) for a few drinks, and then back to our rooms at Frau Hermann's place.

Our view from the rear balcony in our room at Frau Hermann's the next morning.

It's always bittersweet to tour the old stomping grounds. I love it there so much and I love to revisit, but it never lasts long enough and far too soon it's time to leave again. That morning we hopped on the train down to Berchtesgaden, where the Krampus festivites were to begin that afternoon. I love riding on trains through Bavaria... it's the most magical place on Earth. This is what the train ride usually looks like.

Passing by countless picturesque Bavarian towns which make you wish you'd been born and raised in such simple beauty. (If you're gay for Munich, then you're gay for Bavaria. That's just how it goes, I'm afraid.)

Berchtesgaden is the most amazing place though. A mountain village, nestled deep in the Bavarian Alps. You've already seen my shot of the Watzmann, but have you seen Berchtesgaden building art? It's magnificent. Did you know there were Bavarians at the crucifixion? I bet you didn't. We call him Helmut. Paying our respects to him is one of the first things we do upon arrival in Berchtesgaden. Say hello to Helmut. Hallo!

Here's the Hotel we stayed at. It's called The Hotel Bavaria, and is under new management since the last time we came. It is now run by a super awesome Bavarian couple, Wolfgang and Pietra, and their son Andre.

They didn't know that we'd been in town many many times before, and upon our arrival they warned us with very concerned looks on their faces to be careful if we went up the hill into town because there was this crazy local festival going on and it gets a bit rowdy. We grinned merrily amongst ourselves. Once we assured them that we knew all about Krampus, they let us in on a secret; a group of very special Krampus demons would be hitting the courtyard at the Hotel Bavaria early in the evening. A group of one of the oldest Krampus packs in the area were apparently hiking all the way down from some tiny mountaintop hamlet and making their first stop there, so we were welcome to join them in the courtyard for gluhwein mit schuss and cakes! So as my final Krampus teaser before the actual Krampus post, here are three shots of the beginning of the festivities. Here a Krampus demon asks a terrified littled boy if he's been good this year, as St. Nick and a little angel look on approvingly.

Krampus demons are especially fond of terrorizing young ladies. They were sort of passing this girl around like a football as she was screaming bloody Deutsche murder, but later when I looked at the pictures I had snapped she appears to be, um, enjoying the attention. Ah, Krampus.

And finally, the leader of the pack howls to the air, calling his demons to battle. The battle for the souls of wicked little children and young girls, and any man, woman, child or animal who stands in the way. Let the bell ringing and the whippings begin!

And to help with the anticipation, perhaps a teaser video of a Krampus demon bell-ringing pow wow behind the Goldener Bär restaurant.

Glückliches Neues Jahr! Wilkommen Auf Deutschland!

After Paris, I finally returned to the Fatherland. There is something special about crossing the border into Germany; I feel finally at home. Nürnberg is a nice easy train ride from Paris. We'd arrived at night, in the middle of a big snowstorm. There had been a couple of delays, but I was so happy to be traveling on Deutsche Bahn again that I didn't mind at all. This is a nice blurry shot of us about 5 minutes after being outside that night. I was using my small pocket camera and didn't realize the date stamp was turned on. Grr.

Nürnberg is the home of the largest, cutest damned Christmas Market (Christkindlmarkt) of all time. In Germany they are ubiquitous this time of year, and this was Nürnberg's 175th annual market. 175th. I've been to Nürnberg several times, and have yet to get a decent picture of the market. I'm not sure exactly why that is, except that I may be too busy enjoying it to bother trying too hard with my camera. They sell all kinds of delicious holiday treats like Lebkuchen, Wurst, and gluhwein along with various other staples such as Christmas ornaments, hats, gloves, candy, liquor, and good, solid, practical German cheer.

Nürnberg is also home to the Albrecht Dürer Haus. He was a very famous 16th century artist. This is the Albrecht Dürer square.

See the rabbit? That's one of his sculptures. Let's take a closer look.

Are those human toes? And demon baby rabbits? Dürer was kind of a nutjob. But then again so are all those mid-millenium religious artists. It doesn't seem like something that came out of the 16th century, does it? More like that H.R. Giger guy who designed the Alien.

Anyway, Nürnberg is a small town. To be savored more than photographed, apparently. Julie had her birthday there, where I totally scored points for best birthday party location ever. We there began our week of eating delicious German food with spätzle, nürnbergerwurst mit sauerkraut, and good thick beer with twice the alcohol content of American and including Bavarian State-mandated pure beer ingredients. And we took a break from the snow and cold to see the latest installment of the Harry Potter franchise at an original language version cinema there. Good good times.

So that's that. It was awesome. I'm getting all excited just reliving my time in Germany, so imagine how happy we were to actually be there. I will retire there one day, I swear. Here's the next Krampus teaser pic. The mountain is called the Watzmann, as viewed from our hotel balcony in Berchtesgaden. At the bottom of the shot you can see some Krampus demons jogging through the streets of town on their way toward the evening festivities.

They're a bit hard to see. If you click on the picture you can view it in a larger format (that's true of all the pictures I post, by the by) or, I'll post a bonus-bonus Krampus teaser shot of a closer-up. The bells, the bells!!

"All I Wanted Was To Connect My Moods With Those Of Paris. Beauty Paints And When It Painted Most, I Shot." -Ernst Haas

Despite popular belief, Parisians are not, in fact, all assholes. Every Parisian we interacted with was lovely. It wasn't my first time there either; it was my third visit to Paris and I've found that to be true each time. I think that the reason that so many Americans seem to think Parisians are jerks is because Parisians are actually quite friendly and accommodating, and as a result they lose patience really fast with people who do not return the same courtesies. Americans are typically known in Europe as rude and oblivious travelers, though in fairness I don't think we mean to be. But, and obviously I'm stereotyping us here, our habit of not trying to understand the customs or the languages of the places we travel to is fairly considered to be pretty asinine. There are cultural and geographical reasons for our seemingly built-in xenophobia and obtuseness, however when leaving your home and entering another's, it's not unreasonable for the host to expect a little understanding that things are done differently there and that while it may be their duty to make us feel welcome, it's our duty to try and fit in.

So that's our lecture for today kids. God I'm getting preachy in my old age. Aw who'm I kidding, I've always been preachy. ANYway, obviously after hitting Barcelona Julie and I night trained it up to Paris. As I said I'd visited a few times before, but Julie hadn't and as it is quite a lovely honeymoon destination, we hit that. We were there for three days. What can I say about Paris though? It's a beautiful city, with a crap ton of cool stuff to do. You might find it odd that after having said that, I pretty much only have pictures of the Sacre Coeur church to post.

There's a good reason for that. Paris was bloody cold. Actually from here on out, the rest of our trip was bloody bloody bloody bloody cold. It wasn't often that I had the gumption to pull my camera out of the bag. But the Sacre Coeur has a special signifigance for Julie and me. She's had a painting by Maurice Utrillo of a street scene on her wall in her bedroom for many years; It had belonged to her Nana and she'd always loved it. She would stare at it and wish she could enter the painting and go there, but she never knew what or where it was. Not until I once had occasion to see the painting myself whereupon I said to her "Hey, that looks like the Sacre Coeur in Montmartre, Paris. I've been in that exact spot. Cool picture."

It's possibly a little more commercial in that spot nowadays than it was in Utrillo's day. But still a cool looking scene. So of course this was one of our most important must-do's on our honeymoon. Julie said it was quite surreal to stand in this spot after all those years of staring at it and wishing she could go there, but perhaps she will wish to comment more on that herself. At any rate, of course we went back there at night when shops were closed and no one else was out, mostly because it was snowing and was bloody bloody bloody bloody cold. But very attractive.

We did do other stuff in Paris of course. But posting photos of paintings in the Louvre is rather dull. There were still a crap ton of people in the Mona Lisa room. Probably the same ones who were there last time I was there. However we did pass by proof that all of the paintings there are fake stand-ins. They train 'em right there, during normal business hours!

We also passed a window which had a really nice view of Montmartre, so I pulled out the 'ol telephoto lens.

And a bit more tele, please.

Another very, very important aspect of Paris was the food. You can not go wrong in Montmartre. We hadn't had the greatest food luck in Lisbon or Spain; the Tapas were kind of nasty. I think we just picked bad places somehow though. But everything we ate in Paris was awesome. That stereotype is absolutely true. Julie sated a yen for Foie Gras and I sated a yen for Creme Brulee, along with many other italicized satiations and some great wine. The only bad experience was at this one trendy fondue place. The fondue was delicious, but the restaurant itself was a bit unpleasant. It was tightly packed with squealing young foreigners, Julie was forced to stand on the table to get over to her seat where she became quite literally booby-trapped for the evening, and in a final indignity they served their passable house wine in baby bottles which is exactly where I drew the line. I immediately took the lid off as I have a snobby attitude toward wine which tastes of rubber nipple.

Julie apparently does not. She's much more fun than I am.

I'm not really sure what exactly the gimmick was supposed to be. So then Parisians may not all be assholes, their food may be all kinds of awesome, but they are also kind of weird sometimes. Anyway, we also hit Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower, of course. And the catacombs. Gotta hit the catacombs. Because miles of human bones deep underground are cool.

Two-headed ogres live down there.

And that's pretty much our Paris trip. I left stuff out, such as the five story spiral staircase we had to climb three to four times a day, and the unforced evacuation of the Louvre which we did not participate in, or the Christmas concert in Notre Dame, but really those are just details which are better kept between ourselves.

One post closer to Krampus! Sorry it's taking so long to get there. Busy time of year and all that. Here's the next teaser pic.

Well, That Gum I Like Came Back In Style, But The Pie And Coffee Were Garmonbozia!

And if you don't know what Twin Peaks is, I suggest you Netflix it right now, loser. (It's the Great Grandfather of a prestigious TV family tree; Twin Peaks begat Northern Exposure and X-Files. X-Files begat Buffy, and Buffy begat all the other great TV shows of the day. Yes, including LOST.) Most of Twin Peaks' iconic scenes were filmed in and around North Bend, WA. Only a half hour drive or so East of Seattle.

I'm not going to show you the super dorky pictures that Julie and I took of us standing in front of that mural. Private collection only. Anyway, as you can see from their menu below, Twede's Cafe definitely capitalizes on their Twin Peaks history.

I have to say however that the coffee was only Damn okay, and that Julie makes a way deadlier Cherry Pie. Which is actually okay as far as nerd continuity goes because [nasal voice] actually, [pushes glasses further up bridge of nose] the damn fine cuppa coffee was served at The Great Northern and the Cherry Pie that was destined to kill Diane and Albert was served at the Lamplighter Inn, where Agent Cooper stopped at on his way in to Twin Peaks, not at the R&R Diner. The R&R diner coffee was the "Give yourself a present every day, Harry" coffee.

Judging by the Tweety Birds swinging from their gibbets and other kitschy crap all around the diner, I'm not sure that the current owners are very concerned with creating an authentic Twin Peaks experience.

However, the pictures in the back were a good way to keep me from going all nasally on them and demanding to see the manager about the finer points of fan appeasement. That and the Twin Peaks magnet I bought for my fridge.

We didn't have a whole lot of time in North Bend, sadly, so I didn't get to track down the more obscure sites of Twin Peaks as I would have liked, but we hit the other big one.

And a higher exposure shot, because it was the wrong time of day to get a decent shot and I think weird shots of The Great Northern are cool.

Also, we found Ronette's train trestle. I think. It looks like it, right?

Well, I'm going back to Seattle in March, so maybe I'll be able to find some more geek time then.

A Very Bold Statement, Indeed

Yes that's right. Some run-down coal mining town in Northeast PA just outside of Scranton with an inordinately high population of Italian-Americans claims to be the pizza capital of the world. Apparently Old Forge style pizza is like, world famous or something. Therefore, despite the new high protein lo-carb diet I'm trying to start, Julie and I took a bike ride up there for lunch today.

Arcaro & Genell, the pizza restaurant we decided on, (there were many to choose from) claim that their founders invented the White Pizza, according to a newspaper clipping on their wall. Not wanting to delete the only healthy ingredient in pizza, we opted for a red pizza. The Old Forge style consists of a square pie (though they call it a tray) with a so-called double crust. We weren't actually sure what they meant by that. And some sort of secret blend of cheeses.

[noncomm-itally (snork)] It was alright. [/noncomm-itally]

This Land Is Your Land, This Land Is My Land, From East I-80, To West I-80, But No Tress-pass-ing, On That Private Pro-per-ty, Because That's The Man's Land, And Not Your Or My Land

It's been awhile since I've done a travel post; maybe because travel doesn't turn me on like it used to, or maybe because the places I've gone for work haven't been worth hitting the 'new post' button for. Maybe it's trying to keep a blog going with YouTubes, rants, and silly pictures that has me down. Well, whatever the case may be, this morning I've decided to throw one out there. It's not that I haven't been traveling. I've actually been quite busy at work. But the travel hasn't been quite as exciting lately.

Indianapolis. I spent a couple of days south of Indianapolis. If Sarah Palin's claim that that's the type of place where the real Americans abide is true, then I am certainly not, nor ever will be, a real American. For one thing, I went to a grocery store in Odon, Indiana, to find some food for a couple days. There was a whole aisle of marshmallow fluff and snicker doodles and the like. Lot of frozen dinners. Meals in a box. But, for a farm state, surprisingly limp-looking produce. And aside from this sad produce, not much else in the way of actual food. And this was a real grocery store; the only one for 30 miles in any direction, in fact. The countryside reminded me of a bad set from an M. Night Shamalamabing-bang movie. Indianapolis was pretty sparse as well. It's major attractions were an elevator ride to the top of a 150 foot Civil War monument in the center of town, and the shopping mall.

I also just got back from an overnight in Columbus Ohio. I stayed in the downtown area. Lot of Insurance companies in Columbus. And people who work for Insurance companies.

But before that exciting trip, I did spend a few nights in northern California. That was very cool. I spent a day and night in Calistoga, in Napa Valley. Did some wine tasting. I'm pleased to announce my pick of the year: Bennett Lane Winery's Maximus red feasting wine. Disclaimer: I am partial to red wine, and Maximus feasting wine? Impossible to resist a name like that. And it tastes great too. It's a mix of reds, is great with Roman-style overeating, and is a favorite at Calistoga's best wine bar, the Bar Vino. Could I write for wine aficionado rags or what?

The best part of that trip, however, was that I got to knock another item off of my childhood list of things I've always wanted to see, the Redwoods. There is a section of the Redwood forest about an hour drive away from Calistoga called the Armstrong Redwoods State Natural Reserve, and it pulled me to it like a wooden magnet. Uh, with enough bits of metal in it to actually have magnetism. Yikes, bad simile. Anyway, that place was awesome. I wish my camera had smell capabilities; the Canon Smellshot 1000 or some such, because I've never smelled anything so good and Grove-alicious. I'm still learning how to use my new camera, and although I'm getting better, there's still nothing to shout about. But anyway, it would be hard to capture the awesomeness of Redwoods without a person standing in the shot to give a size comparison, and even so you can't fit a whole tree in a pic taken from ground level anyway. But here are my best shots. To save you from squinting, the sign says:

Colonel Armstrong
Height - 308 Feet
Diameter - 14.6 Feet
Approx. Age - 1400 Years

Colonel Armstrong? Sounds familiar, like something I saw in some book or toy store once... Oh. Never mind. Don't know what I'm talking about. Carry on. And this sign says:

Parson Jones
Height - 310 Feet
Diameter - 13.8 Feet
Approx. Age - 1300 Years

This is an obligatory picture of an upended redwood stump.

And here's a part of the redwood trail that got flooded by some earlier rains. I'm a sucker for reflection, of late.

So that was really gorgeous. I've always wanted to see a Redwood, and it was worth the wait. It was beautiful and exhilarating, but it also made me sad. It was such a lush grove, the smells were amazing and the colors and fresh air vivid, but I've read that the whole of the American continent was once like that. Not so much covered in Redwoods, but lush and smell-erific with other vegetations. It makes it even more depressing when you travel around and see what "real Americans" have done with the land we've taken custody of. Not to get all Native American philosophic or anything, but.

SO, on my last day in California, I flew out of San Francisco. I didn't get to spend much time in the city, because I really had wanted to do Napa and the Redwoods, but I drove through Berkley and Oakland, and wandered around Pier 39 for a bit. I didn't have time to do Alcatraz, dammit, but I got a picture anyway.

 

So that's that for now. I think I have a job in Cleveland in a few weeks. Rock-n-Roll hall of fame, here I come!

Peace, Love, German Gasthausen, And All That Hippie Catskill Junk

I took my new motorcycle on its inaugural ride up to the Catskills for an overnighter this week. I'd never realized how close the Catskills are to the Poconos, and when I was looking over a map to try and figure out what would make a good ride, I noticed that you can pretty much take route 209 straight up to Woodstock! So that's what I did. Very nice ride. In Woodstock, which is not where the titular festival was held as it turns out, (That would be in Bethel, NY) I found the Yellow Submarine:

Some hippie had turned an old church into an Art Studio dedicated to Love art. All hearts and bright colors and whatnot. Folk art. Damn dirty hippies.

The Catskills are really pretty, but it's a pain in the butt to stop the bike, get off, and dig out my camera every time I want to take a picture, so I tended not to. Besides, pictures of hills and nature and what all are usually not nearly as interesting in photo form as they are when you're there looking at it, so really you're grateful that I'm sparing you, I know. But here's one of my motorcycle in front of an interesting tree stump.


There is a town named Tannersville in the north of the Catskills State Park area, and I found a Swiss chalet there to spend the night in! It's run by an old German dude named Robert who was a ski / snowboard instructor for the US Olympic team. His nickname is the Red Baron, and he wears one of those pointy WWI era German helmets to the races. Anyway, I think he only called it a Swiss Chalet due to marketing reasons; it felt much more German than Swiss. He was also the cook there, which you have to appreciate. He made some awesome German food, Schnitzel with apples and brandy, and he served Dinkel Acker! One of my favorite German dark beers. The hotel was otherwise empty, it being the off season in the Catskills, and the room I stayed in reminded me in many ways of some of the German guest houses I've stayed in... Big blocky wooden furniture, hard beds and clean sheets, an old poster ad from the 70s for Interlaken on the wall; even the smell of the soap and the shower heads reminded me of Germany! It felt like home.


Next morning I took a longer route back by driving North a bit more and hooking on to route 10, which was really beautiful, until it took me to route 97 south, which is apparently a famous biker road in the area as it follows the Delaware river all the way down to Port Jervis, the last town in NY before crossing over the river into PA. Very pretty.

Have I said yet that I love my new toy? Whee! But it's all rainy out today, so it does have it's limitations. Guess I'll clean the house and go to the gym. Sigh.

Am I Alone In My Visceral Reaction To Bush's Monkeyface?

"Eating everything you want is not that much fun. When you live a life with no boundaries, there’s less joy. If you can eat anything you want to, what’s the fun in eating anything you want to?"
-Tom Hanks

I've recently lost about ten pounds. I've been going to the gym since September, not exactly regularly due to work travel, but whenever I'm home at least every other day if not every day. The first three months or so were kind of slow going... my stamina on the treadmill got incrementally better, but I maybe lost a pound or three during that time. Then, in the last month and a half or so, it began to drop rapidly. One time I weighed myself, right before I went to Fort Lauderdale, and I was at 204 lbs. When I got back from being down there for a week and not getting any real exercise, after my first workout I weighed myself again, and I was at 198. Then, once more due to work and other unforeseen drama in my life, it was two weeks before I was able to hit the gym again. So this past Monday I weighed myself and I was still at 198, and yesterday at 197 & ¾! It seems as though I've hit a certain mark in my exercise where my body has finally started to believe that I'm really serious about the whole thing, and has decided to pay attention. Sweet!

My diet probably also has something to do with it. I've been %90 faithful to my 2007 New Year's resolution to give up fast food, and I buy lots of whole wheat products and vegetables at the grocery nowadays. I still indulge in the occasional pizza of course, but I never buy chips or other junk food any more except for Tostitos (which they now have a whole wheat variety of!) and salsa. I use Olivio instead of butter, and buy organic milk. I've cut waaay back on my cheese intake also, mostly because I was paranoid about my cholesterol levels. I haven't eaten more than a pint or two of ice cream in the last six months. I take a bevy of vitamins in the morning and I drink Metamucil with dinner every night. And then I take some more vitamins.

This probably sounds annoying to you. I sincerely apologize. Before I got all health conscious, I hated people that exhibited this sort of behavior and then that's all they would talk about. But what I want to say about it is that I've learned some extremely valuable things by doing the gym thing, and they're not even all fitness related. But this first one is: Exercise and diet are mutually reinforcing.

When I first started going to the gym, I didn't really care too much to change my eating habits. I just wanted to get on the treadmill and work off those extra calories I'd eat the night before. I mean, I cared a little, because I'd just been told that my cholesterol was too high, but overall I still ate what I wanted. But once I'd been doing it for a few weeks, I found that when I went to the store, I'd pay more attention to those food content labels. I found that I actually wanted, for the most part, to avoid junk and high fat foods that I loved, because I'd been so good about working out that I wanted to control my calorie count in order not to undervalue all that hard work. The diet thing actually came very naturally... at no time did I ever feel that I was giving up food that I couldn't bear to give up. I never had to plan to diet... it just happened rather organically. Except for my Fast Food resolution. But even that made sense at the time because I'd just come back to the States and was indulging in all the bad stuff I'd missed while I'd been away, and I knew that if I didn't put the kibosh on it quick I'd be looking like the inbred lovechild of Mayor McCheese and the Grimace in no time.

I've learned loads of other things at the gym, but I'm sure they're all clichéd... More energy, better moods, blah blah blah. I mean, it's all true, but everybody's heard all that before. The only surprises in the whole enterprise for me have been that whole unforced desire to diet thing I just said and also the fact that losing weight happens quicker and more abruptly than one might have thought. Granted, it took me five months to get to that point, but once I finally did, cool. But there's one more thing, fairly unrelated to health but very interesting.

My gym has about 12 big TVs up on the wall in front of the cardio machines so that you can walk, run, bike, or do your elliptics while watching whatever mind-numbing crap is on whichever TV station. Each of the machines has a little channel box which you can plug your headphones into so that you can listen to whichever one you choose. Anyway, I always listen to my mp3 player, but I'll watch the TVs without sound anyway as it helps to distract from the pain of jogging. But yesterday they had CNN, FOX, and MSNBC news on at the same time, and I noticed that all three of them were running the same story at the same time; the one about Bush's latest bribe to us. You remember; he bribed us with a tax rebate when he first got into office, in the hopes we'd like him and not make too much noise when he later unveiled his diabolical plans to destroy the world, and now he's doing it again in the hopes that we'll all go "Oh see? He's not so bad." Jerk-off.

Anyway, that's not my point. My point was that I was watching these three major news networks broadcasting this story simultaneously, and not only the same story, but the same news blurbs under the talking heads, the same exact camera angles, and the same commercial breaks. Different commercials, though. At first I was kind of not too freaked out by it, because it's a big enough story that sure, they're all going to be there at the same time. But I'm on the treadmill for 35 minutes, and the stories continued to triplet each other, even the less important ones. Some news from Iraq, the Roger Clemens on steroids thing. For my entire 35 minutes on the treadmill, all three of those news networks parroted each other exactly, I swear to God. It was very upsetting. It's like they are so confident in their ability to slop feed us whatever nonsense someone is telling them to without anybody noticing or caring that they weren't even attempting to keep up the appearance of being different news sources anymore. They were all using the same camera guy, for God's sake! The guy typing up the word blurbs at the bottom of the screen is working for all three major news networks! I wonder how long before they convince everybody that they may as well conglomerate into one big news agency since their news is identical in importance, content, and spin, anyway. And how long before it's just el Presidente giving us his daily benediction, because if he doesn't say it, it's not worth knowing.

I do have to say though that seeing Bush's monkey face on the TV while jogging is really good for the heart rate. I instantly get angry and that adrenaline rush of hate really gets me going.

Oh, Happy Valentines day! I love you.

A Cranky Family Heritage, And Damn Proud Of It.

Well I hope everyone had a splendid St. Patrick's day. I myself spent the entire day in Cincinatti helping the Ohio Williams clan help my Grandmother move from her independent living home into her newer, smaller, assisted living home. Other than to say that these are NOT the same things as a nursing home, I won't bore you with descriptions.

I am really, really sore. She has alot of old family heirloom furniture, and you know, that old time furniture is not nearly as good as IKEA. For one thing, it's all huge and made of solid, solid wood. Oak and whatnot. So, very tiring to move. I can't believe any of that stuff still exists; think about how much more useful it would be as firewood, and modern furniture is so lightweight and cheap that it's either much easier to move or is so fragile that you might as well throw it all out and buy new stuff every time you move. God Bless mass consumerism and the global pandering to the lowest common denominator.

Also, speaking of mass consumerism and the global pandering to the lowest common denominator, the area where my Ohio branch of the Williams family lives is chock full of fast food joints, chain restaurants, and chain stores... the modern strip mall hell that we're all used to seeing, right? Well, something I noticed, and have been noticing in the Stroudsburg area as well, is that if you don't fucking feel like eating at a Ruby Tuesday's, or Red Robin's, or TGI Friday's, or any of a hundred other chain restaurants that serve identical menus with identical-tasting food nationwide, you don't have much else in the way of choice. What I mean is, if you want to eat at a unique but tasty privately owned restaurant, where the owner is very proud and/or involved in his business and the food is cooked fully right there on premises (meaning that rather than an employee of Outback Steakhouse unfreezing a pre-cooked steak, warming it up and sending it out, a real live Chef in a fully functional kitchen picks a piece of raw meat out of the walk-in and cooks it to perfection and serves it to you fresh off the grill just the way you asked for it) you really have to search. While driving around town out here, I didn't see any businesses, food or otherwise, that weren't part of a chain located in a strip mall. And I was looking. In Stroudsburg there are still a few genuine restaurants left, but the chains are slowly taking over even there. Where my Dad lives, near Allentown, it's horrendous. There are still a few non-chain diners in the area, however, and hopefully that's an East Coast tradition that will never die out; I love Diners. The greasier spoonier the better.

But since leaving PA with my Dad for the 10 hour drive out here yesterday, we've eaten at a Bob Evans, a Red Robin's, Krispy Kreme donuts for breakfast, a Street-something or other (we don't have them in PA, I don't think. Can't remember the name) which is a chain that specializes in chili cheese dogs, and a Twin-Dragon Chinese buffet. And that's all I've eaten. I feel unbelievably bloated and greasy, actually. This isn't even fast food, folks! Well, mostly not. But the point is, I'm beginning to suspect that chain restaurants are no better for you than fast food, and that our finer dining-out options are slowly disappearing. And that the food in our grocery stores is slowly becoming pre-cooked individually wrapped crap.

Not totally of course, but think back to what grocery stores and restaurants were like when you were a kid... there is a definite downward progression in quality. Hell, I remember going to Pizza Hut when I was like 6 or 7 and the pizzas were made totally from scratch in an oven and they served beer and the place was cigarette, cigar, and pipe smoky as hell. And you could play Space Invaders on a glass table top console. Those pizzas were awesome, and it was before they began joining the fast food method of streamlining everything into utter shit. Ah well... I'm just sore and cranky and full of chain food gas, don't mind me. I'm not even being consistent. I may have to think deeper about my argument before I even know if I have a point.

But actually it hasn't been a bad trip. I got to see my cousins, and my closest cousin, Karen, has a 1 & 1/2 year old daughter named Kennedy, who is , I suppose as these things work, my 2nd cousin, and she was alot of fun to meet. While we were moving Grandmother's stuff, my other cousin Keith and I stumbled upon her photo albums, which generally we avoid like the plague because if she sees you with them she will want to go through every single picture with you for hours and I've lost one or two cousins to insanity that way, I'm sad to say. But it was an altogether different matter without her around, and I got to see alot of pictures that I haven't seen in maybe 25 years of when Cousin Karen and I were babies and of my very young Mom and Dad... It was nice because I often forget how beautiful my Mom was (My sister Katie looks alot like Mom did then) and how much I loved my cousin back then... but sorry, you guys don't really care about all of this. It was just one of those deeply nostalgic moments for me and I didn't want to forget.

But one thing I do want to mention is the story that I finally got straight (well, mostly straight) from my Grandmother on my great great (great?) Grandfather, Hawkins Hart Hatchett. I love this story and am very proud of it. His dad stole a horse. He was caught, and although he could have been sentenced to hang, Judge Hart was lenient and only made him pay a fine or something. So great great great (great?) grandpa middle-named his firstborn son after the Judge that didn't hang him, and Hart has been the firstborn's middle name ever since. Of course my line came through my Grandmother (née Hatchett), but she passed on the Hart name nonetheless. And on the Williams side... well, all we know there is that great great (great?) grandpa was a stowaway on a ship from Portugal, possibly a pirate, and when he hightailed it off the ship upon arrival in the New World he changed his name to Williams and we haven't got a clue what family he was originally from. Horsethieves, pirates and mysterious stowaways, that's my heritage. And I couldn't be more set-up about it.

Also, I may have embelleshed one or two details purely for my pleasure, but it's all essentially true. He could have been a pirate. What else was he doing, all stowing away like that on Portugese "Trading Vessels?"

Anyway, I've got another long day of driving back to PA with Dad tomorrow, and possibly some disgusting food to vomit up later. Time for sleeping and dreaming of my gloriously shady ancestors.

Holy Fait Accompli, Little Grasshopper!

Mmmm, Thai street food. Looks good, doesn't it?

You know that old adage, "You learn something new every day?" Well, today I learned that Thais like bugs. And I don't mean that they just like bugs, as in having warm friendly feelings towards them, but that they like to eat them. That's right, look closer, those are fried insects of various variety. Actually, it's not true that I just learned that today; Scott told me about it when he was here a month or so ago, and he even tried one. I forget what kind he ate though, because when he told me, all I heard was "I ate bugs today". Isn't that enough? Maybe it was grasshopper. They have street carts full of the little buggers. (Buggers! Ha!) I bribed a street vendor into letting me take that close-up shot by buying a sample bag. I was thinking about getting really really drunk and then trying to eat one or two, but after I stopped and had one Guinness, I realized that there really isn't enough beer in the world. I threw my sample bag away. It didn't help that after showing it to the bartender, who was a local Thai, even he was totally grossed out by them. Scott's a better man than I when it comes to eating bugs, and I'm happy to leave it that way.
Anyway, that was my evening. I just walked around for an hour or two because I didn't get out of the hospital until 6 or 7 pm... it was a very long day of getting poked and prodded, and I can't even decide which was my most uncomfortable moment. See, I had a comprehensive medical check-up which lasted about 5 hours, where at one point I was asked by my Thai physician if I wanted him to check my penis and my anus, while a cute little Thai nurse was standing there watching! (I swear to God that she smirked.) What am I supposed to say to that? Do I want him to? Of course not! But you know, isn't that part of the comprehensive? What if I have a hemorrhoid or testicle cancer or something? It would be foolish to say no, but on the other hand I've never had anyone's finger in my butt and I'd like to keep it that way. I also had an abdominal ultrasound. I got a tube of jelly squeezed on me and everything. The funny Thai doctor lady told me I wasn't pregnant. I told her that's a bummer, I'll just have to keep trying. Then a visit to the orthopedist, because I wanted to find out if there was anything to the lower back pains I've been getting, and I discovered that I have an extra joint-thingy on my spinal column that most people don't have, and one of them is slipped. He recommended excercise. Great. I hate excercise. And then finally my Lasik consultation, where I spent another 3 hours. They gave me a bunch of tests, then eyedrops, and then anesthesia drops to numb my eyeballs so that he could shove some glass lenses directly onto them to have a closer look at them. After all that, the doctor said I was clear for the surgery, and we were discussing the procedure when he glanced at my paperwork and saw that I'm allergic to lidocaine. There was a very bad moment because he then says "But then how will we do the surgery? We must put lidocaine in your eyes! (Lidocaine is a general anesthesia used in lots of operations; dentists use it all the time. I found out that I was allergic to it when I was like 6 or 7 or something when I was given it for some reason or other, and went into a convulsive fit.) So there was a second where I was feeling really disappointed and then it got worse. The cute little Thai nurse (not the same one; the hospital has about 800 of the cutest, nicest little Thai girls running around in very light green hospital digs keeping the assembly-line operation that it is running smoothly) about lost her mind at that moment, actually dropping to a knee and trying to steady herself with a little hand on the desk and her other little hand covering her shocked little "o" mouth; Then she says in a little voice, "You allergic to lidocaine?! Anasthetic drops I put in your eyes before are lidocaine!" At which point all three of us got really quiet, while the doctor kind of held his breath and stared at my eyes for a minute. When my eyeballs failed to melt, explode, or convulse in my sockets, I said, "Well, I guess I'm not allergic to lidocaine anymore, then." So all's well that ends well. My surgery is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, and not only will I not be allowed to wash my hair for 2 weeks (snork! I'm bald!) because I can't get water in my eyes, but I'm not supposed to look at a computer screen for more than two hours a day during that time either. So, maybe you guys will be spared from too much inane bullcock from me for a while.

Assuming Does Not Only Make A You-Know-What Out Of U And Me, But It Also Winds Up Retarding My Brain If I... Pizza Party Pizza Party!!!

All the rumors are true; what they say about assumption, I mean. It makes an ass out of me... for example, take broccoli. I've thought for years, probably because some random friend or other whose every word I didn't automatically assume was bull-pucky said it over lunch or something, that broccoli was engineered in a lab in the 50s. You know, like a cross between cauliflower, the mustard plant, and I don't know, asparagus or some odd green thing. A real frankenveggie. So I look it up on Wikipedia, and it was apparently around in Roman Empire times. True, it came about because of man's artificial selection for the suppression of flower development in the wild mustard plant, but not by some Dexter in some agro-freakshow lab. Just the usual old farm-guy way of doing things, like breeding milk-giving prarie dogs into cows or whatever. (Okay that was a joke... prarie dogs, heh. Everyone knows that cows really were bred from whales and horses!)
Now, you might think that I am leading into something, that I have a point about dirty rotten jerks who assume things about you without checking out Wikipedia first, but I don't. I am really quite astonished about the whole broccoli kafuffle. Crazy! But, you know, this is still a cautionary tale... it actually makes me wonder if I should be putting so much faith into Wikipedia... I'm just assuming that it has all of it's Brassica Oleracea facts straight... Wikipedia is, after all, an open source encyclopedia. Anyone can type in whatever they want for any entry... that's part of it's strength and also a weakness, obviously. For instance, my former employer has his own Wikipedia page, and when I stumbled on it last night, I tested the whole open source thing by adding a paragraph on to his biography stating that, even though he is close to 70 years old, he has the fine youthful appearance and vigor of a much younger man of, say, 58 or so, and that the secret to his youthful mien was his little known and never discussed habit of raiding abortion clinic garbage bins and sucking the juice right out of whatever's left, only sometimes supplementing his diet with shark babies. I was going to tack on a few choice tidbits of his alleged sexual harassment of certain former employees, but I decided to forgo that particular mischevious, well, evil character defamation.
Anyway, I clicked save, reloaded the page, and there it was! Muah hah hah ha ha!!!! Man that was awesome. Well, of course after ten minutes or so I went back and deleted it, because the man has enough problems, and so do I. I decided to bow out of that potential lawsuit. And anyway I was simply testing the wiki-water. I mean, it would have been caught by a mediator, or whatever they call them, sooner or later and deleted because I was unable to provide a reputable resource to back up my claim, but who knows how long it would have sat there before it got caught! I wanted to test that too, actually, but I'm not sure what kind of trouble that would get me in, and anyway it's just not nice. But dude, it was frikken funny. You shoulda been there, yo! Har har.
I am frightfully, painfully emotionally retarded, I know it.

Vampires Like McDonald's Too, You Know

I'm all snug and linked in joyless old Bucharest. A very ugly city, at least so far. Granted, I haven't seen much besides the very center of town, where my hotel is. GBG's offices are just a few blocks away, where I am now. Hopefully I'll get to get out and find where all the good stuff is sometime this week. Brasov is my main goal; It's in Transylvania and is where Bran's Castle is. I've read online that Bran's Castle actually had nothing to do with Vlad Tepes, Dracula, and was in fact built by some other guy as a fortress to guard Romania against invading Turks. So, most of the world does seem to invent it's own tourist traps, you know? Hey Kids! This is where Dracula lived! Or, Hey Kids! This is where Jesus was crucified! While Both Vlad and Jesus may have actually existed, people have to give a place where they once may have done something significant, also, so that they can lure you there and sell you stuff. Anyway, knowing that doesn't prevent me from wanting to go to Dracula's Castle and buying a vampire tooth! How cool is that!?
At any rate, I satisfied two very pent up urges yesterday: As soon as I arrived, I got some McDonald's for lunch, and then, after sleeping for a few hours (11 hour layover, remember? Holy fuzzbrain!) I went out and got a steak for dinner. Man that was awesome. Now that that's out of the way, some of my colleagues here want to take me out for some real Romanian food tonight. I'm not sure exactly what Romanian food is, but it seems as if I have no chance of getting out of finding out about it this evening. I hope I get out of this in one piece... you may be wondering what the big deal is, but if you'd been forced to eat the food cooked by our Romanian staff in Baghdad, you'd understand. Granted, they were trying to prepare American style food with Iraqi materials in a foreign country, so I'll give them the benefit of a doubt.