As I write this, I am eating pancakes and sitting in the corner of my room where my bedroom door and closet door intersect (I recently discovered--this morning--that this is the best place to catch the warm air as it exits the vent), fuming over earlier events from tonight. At this point in time, due to my limited funds reserved for the heating bill as well as the onset of this cold spell, I have no immediate desire for my blood pressure to lower because I at least want to stay warm until I snuggle up in bed. What transpired, however, is something that I think you will all want to hear.
I am in a night class. Had I had my way, this would not have happened. This class, though, is semi-required, and so it came about that I signed away my Wednesday nights from 6-9pm to Intro to Communication Theory. I have had classes at this time before, and I had noticed a trend in that I always seemed to find these classes particularly odious--whether because I had such an intense dislike for the subject matter, the time, or a combination of the two is still unclear--so I was particularly worried about having this class fill the exact same time slot.
My fears were answered the first day of class when I accidentally fell asleep during lecture and dreamed I was taking notes.
The professor hardly endeared himself to me this week, the second week, when we somehow began talking about how people tend to believe tall people more than short people, possibly because the general population believes that a shorter person thinks they have more to prove. The professor began talking about how whenever presidents are shown on tv, they are always shot from below, giving the appearance that they are much taller than they actually are.
"Like Richard Nixon," Professor said. "He was this tall." He held out his arm perpendicular to his body, creating a perfect 90 degree angle in his armpit. "I know. I've stood next to him. But you wouldn't guess he was only this tall by looking at him on tv. That's because they exaggerate the camera angle."
I was a bit surprised by this, but Nixon being well before my time, I was easily convinced that he was the president who also carried the title "Shortest President."
Professor continued talking about other presidents, placing Obama in the "6 foot range" and Dubya in the "mid- to high-five feet range." Given what I'd seen of the two of them, I found these very general representations of their heights to be accurate. I, however, do not consider myself to be a particularly political person, and therefore cannot consider myself to be quite the authority that some are on presidential heights.
Then Professor got a bit more into my territory.
"And how tall do you think Brad Pitt is?" he asked the class. I heard some estimations from around the class, mostly around the 5'10" and 5'9" range.
"FIVE FOOT FOUR!" Professor revealed to us. There was a general murmur of "bullshit" throughout the room immediately following the announcement.
"Are you sure you're not thinking of Ben Stiller?" someone asked.
"Or Tom Cruise?" asked another.
"No, no. It's true," Professor informed us. "He only looks taller because Angelina Jolie is such a tiny thing. And I know this because Brad Pitt was in the movie 'The Mexican,' with Julia Roberts. Do you know how tall Julia Roberts is? SIX FEET TALL."
By this point, everyone had pulled out their laptops, cell phones, and iPods to look up Professor's statistics. I heard one of the TAs sitting behind me whisper to the other sitting beside her, "It's a new age."
"And in the movie 'The Mexican,'" he continued, "They had to have Brad Pitt stand on a ramp to make him appear taller than Julia Roberts so they could be like the image we have in our minds of what a couple should look like--with the man taller than the woman."
I was among those who had immediately turned to my iPod for verification of my teacher's blatant incorrectness. Searching Google, I quickly found my answer--Brad Pitt is somewhere between 5'9" and 5'10", though he lists himself as 5'11"--right where we predicted he would be, and a good half foot taller than Professor claimed him to be. Moving on to Julia, I discovered that, rather than being 6 feet tall, Roberts stands a bit above average at 5'8". Rather than being eight inches taller than Brad Pitt, she was two or three inches shorter. The necessity of the ramp Professor claimed they had used in filming the movie had changed from being a necessary prop to make Brad Pitt taller than his co-star, to being a prop that merely amplified the difference between their heights.
And, finally, on to former President Nixon. After finding his height, I spent the last forty-five minutes of class trying to gauge the height of Professor. He seemed to be a fairly average height, probably "in the six foot range" though I couldn't determine much beyond that. His waist hit at about the same height as the counter to the table that served as a desk at the front of the room. Were I to stand at the desk, the counter would probably hit just above my navel. Keep in mind, though, that I possess abnormally short legs. No, as far as I could tell, Professor is of fairly average height, not the extreme height of 6'6" or 6'7" (possibly higher depending on head size and neck length) that he would have to be for a 5'11-1/2" Richard Nixon (the tallest in this trio, I will note) to come just to his shoulder.
Given, he never told us at what age Nixon stood next to him--a pre-pubescent Nixon could easily have been the one to which he was referring--but with the authority and importance that he made his statement, I can only imagine that he stood beside Nixon at some point during his presidency, pre-Watergate.
I quickly lost all faith in Professor, and for good reason. Telling us, with such authority no less, that Brad Pitt is about the size of a jockey just about killed me. When I told someone in Prague that I was a Communications major, he promptly responded that at his school, girls who were Communications majors were really just in for their M-R-S degrees. This major being such an obvious joke, I really have to wonder how it is that a professor could be so blatantly misinformed about one of the most important celebrities of our time.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Office
Boss: Emily, do you want to come roller skating with us?
ER: Excuse me?
Boss: I'm trying to get a group together to go to the roller rink next Friday. Do you want to come?
ER: Can I wear my roller disco outfit?
ER: Excuse me?
Boss: I'm trying to get a group together to go to the roller rink next Friday. Do you want to come?
ER: Can I wear my roller disco outfit?
Monday, January 18, 2010
Heat
I am considering putting on a pair of gloves. Now that I am forced to pay for my own heat, I have decided that 60 degrees is warm enough to survive. If I want to get warm, I will just have to cozy up under my blankets. It's that simple. This just goes to show that college is not all about the pain of a week-long all-nighter and unbearable, unmanageable stress. It's also about learning to endure discomfort (like being cold) so that you can have other pleasures (like Jimmy Johns for lunch).
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Bixby's Observations
I realize that because my trip is now over that technically this [travel] blog should be complete as well. I find myself at home again and completely over my jetlag (though I still tell people I am jetlagged just so they don't judge me for going to be at 10 o'clock every night over winter break), so I feel like a conclusion post should be in order. However, I am not in the mood to conclude this, or to even sum up my adventures. I'm sure that will come at some point in the near future. At this point in time, though, I am going to tell a little story.
I took my car in to the auto repair shop formerly known as Al & Lou's today. Apparently the brake light in the back window was burned out and, because I am headed back to school tomorrow in this car, the repair of this particular feature made it onto my to-do short list, along with getting a throat culture and buying an adapter to allow me to play my iPod in the car.
To pass the hour where Clyde was in the possession of the maintenance man, I headed over to Bixby's, ordered a Jumpin' Monkey, and settled myself into a black leather armchair by the window. I cast a cursory glance at the people surrounding me, most of whom appeared to be hard at work--a few were with their laptops.
It wasn't until I had turned on some Blink, for old time's sake, that I really examined my surroundings. It was during this second examination that, in the middle of What's My Age Again?, I found my attention drawn to the cover of the laptop of the girl sitting closest to me. A hot pink post-it, partially covering the Toshiba logo, was what had drawn my attention to her.
Before I say anything else, I will admit that I am a fan of using post-its as reminders. They are the paper created purely as a reminder tool; they stick to mostly everything and come in an assortment of colors to ensure that your attention is drawn to them. In general, though, I do tend to keep my private post-its...private.
It was obvious to me, in reading this girl's post-it, that she too was a strong proponent of post-it use, though perhaps the privacy issue for her was not something that took such a prominent place in her mind. Written in large green letters on the hot pink post-it were the words,
"Plan B!!"
I realize Plan B could mean many different things, but given the current contraceptive connotations of the phrase combined with the reminding nature of post-its, I nearly felt obligated to do my part as well and be a reminder, in addition to the post-it, to ensure that she would not miss that important 12 or 24 or 48 hour (or however long it is) mark. After this brief consideration, however, I instead opted to just take a picture of the situation, using it as a kind of congratulatory device for myself in that I have never allowed my private post-its to become public.
I took my car in to the auto repair shop formerly known as Al & Lou's today. Apparently the brake light in the back window was burned out and, because I am headed back to school tomorrow in this car, the repair of this particular feature made it onto my to-do short list, along with getting a throat culture and buying an adapter to allow me to play my iPod in the car.
To pass the hour where Clyde was in the possession of the maintenance man, I headed over to Bixby's, ordered a Jumpin' Monkey, and settled myself into a black leather armchair by the window. I cast a cursory glance at the people surrounding me, most of whom appeared to be hard at work--a few were with their laptops.
It wasn't until I had turned on some Blink, for old time's sake, that I really examined my surroundings. It was during this second examination that, in the middle of What's My Age Again?, I found my attention drawn to the cover of the laptop of the girl sitting closest to me. A hot pink post-it, partially covering the Toshiba logo, was what had drawn my attention to her.
Before I say anything else, I will admit that I am a fan of using post-its as reminders. They are the paper created purely as a reminder tool; they stick to mostly everything and come in an assortment of colors to ensure that your attention is drawn to them. In general, though, I do tend to keep my private post-its...private.
It was obvious to me, in reading this girl's post-it, that she too was a strong proponent of post-it use, though perhaps the privacy issue for her was not something that took such a prominent place in her mind. Written in large green letters on the hot pink post-it were the words,
"Plan B!!"
I realize Plan B could mean many different things, but given the current contraceptive connotations of the phrase combined with the reminding nature of post-its, I nearly felt obligated to do my part as well and be a reminder, in addition to the post-it, to ensure that she would not miss that important 12 or 24 or 48 hour (or however long it is) mark. After this brief consideration, however, I instead opted to just take a picture of the situation, using it as a kind of congratulatory device for myself in that I have never allowed my private post-its to become public.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Friday, January 1, 2010
Enjoyable and Joyous Occasions
Happy 2010!
I would apologize for not having written since December 15th, but I won't. The events that kept me from writing were just too enjoyable and joyous occasions.
The first enjoyable occasion was the arrival of Trevor in Prague on December 16th. He was in Prague until the 22nd and spent more time following me around seeing what my life was like in Prague than he did actually seeing the sights and city of Prague. I don't consider it to be too much of a loss, but I can understand how he could maybe feel a bit disappointed by this.
The first joyous occasion was my graduation from the CIEE study abroad program. I have a certificate that verifies this, as well as my own personal verification that comes in the form of new knowledge derived from a semester spent abroad.
The second enjoyable occasion was the arrival of the rest of the Oachs crew on the 19th. They came on a plane. We spent some time in Prague, though I have to say I feel a bit sorry for them because for most of the tourist-y things they told me they wanted to do, I felt the need to tell them that it wasn't worth it and they should just skip it (ex: Astronomical Clock--my friend Tanya decided its tagline should be "Always a disappointment"). So they would either skip out on what is considered by some to be a "Prague" must-see, or else they would bring me along where I would have a minor breakdown, all because I'd seen it too many times before. Eventually we developed a system where I would take them to their first point of interest, and then, after spending some family bonding time there with them, I would hand them a map with the rest of their route mapped out and a slip of paper telling them important trams and tram stops, and then I would continue on my way, generally just taking up residence in the apartment we rented for the week and reading Watership Down.
Joyous occasion #2 came in the form of a farewell--a farewell to Prague. While it treated me mostly well for the semester (please see My Body Is Falling Apart for times when Prague was not so nice to me). On the night of Christmas Day, the Hahn-Oachs family hit up the midnight train to Georgia (well, 11:23 train to Vienna) and I made my (nearly) final leave of Prague (I spent another seven hours in Prague on December 28th while waiting to catch a bus to Amsterdam). I was more than happy to leave behind Prague, its narrow streets, short buildings, and streets paved with cobblestones and dog poop. The parting, however, was a bit sad, and I have to say that at some point in the future, I'm sure I will find something to miss about it. I would also like to point out that for the two weeks prior to my departure from Prague, I was nursing a particularly nasty cold. Said cold began clearing up as soon as we arrived in Vienna. Coincidence? You may interpret the facts as you so choose.
Enjoyable occasion #3: We arrived in Vienna just before 7am on December 26th. We went to our hotel immediately, expecting to have to store our bags in a locked room and then hole up in a coffee shop for a few hours, feverishly drinking espressos while trying to gear ourselves up for a long day--made even longer by the semi-sleepless night we had passed the night before on the train--of Vienna sightseeing. But when we arrived at the hotel, we were able to check-in, despite the fact that the sun had not yet risen. The four of us headed to our rooms and took naps until nine, when we got up, had free breakfast in the hotel restaurant, and began seeing the Vienna sights, hours before my family was ever able to get moving while we were in Prague (in Prague, I would tell them to be ready by 9 or 9:30 so they would have ample to take their time in seeing the "good" Prague sights, though between 8:30 and 9, I would wake up and have to rouse them from their beds, at 10 o'clock breakfast would usually be finished and the tea drunk, and by 11 we would have our things in order and be headed out the door).
Enjoyable occasion #4: Vienna Boys Choir. We saw them in a church. It is the only time that I have ever paid to get into a service, and then had a communion plate passed around as well.
Joyous occasion #3: My family had to leave the hotel at 4:30 in the morning on December 28th to get to the airport in time for their flight to Amsterdam (where they were held up in security for hours, it sounds like). I left the hotel at 10:30, well-rested and excited to continue my travels, taking a bus from Vienna to Prague, with a 7-hour "layover" there, and then leaving Prague to arrive 17 hours later in Amsterdam.
Enjoyable occasion #5: Seeing Trevor in Amsterdam. We have also, thus far, seen the Anne Frank House and the Van Gogh Museum. Tomorrow we are also going on a day trip to Delft.
Joyous occasion #4: Of all the joyous occasions that have occurred since the end of the program, I feel that this one is most notable. I SURVIVED NEW YEARS EVE IN AMSTERDAM. I am not speaking of the festivities surrounding the New Years celebration actually within the city center. It is true that I did survive this, though for a while I was positive that I was going to be killed by a rogue firework or else suffocated from the sulphuric scent that resulted from the explosion of said fireworks, and at one point I was positive that I was going to die from burst bladder, merely because every business was either closed or had closed their toilets. The part of New Years that I am most happy that I survived was tent camping on a desolate plain next to an ice-covered canal in Amsterdam. For the rest of our stay in Amsterdam, Trevor and I have been staying in cabins at the same campground where we slept last night. These cabins are God's gift to campers--they come with bunk beds, bedding, electricity, and, most importantly, HEAT. Needless to say, Trevor's tent does not come equipped with bunk beds--though he does have a sleeping bag--electricity, or heat. It was a cold night, close to freezing, and Trevor and I had to squeeze into the sleeping bag together (he was worried about it ripping) fully clothed--right down to hats, scarves, and gloves, and throughout the night had to keep breaking open new hand and feet warmers that we had found at a sporting goods store earlier in the day to try to keep our bodies thawed. It was the combination of the freezing of various body parts and my being forced to sleep in one position the entire night that caused my entire body to be sore and stiff this morning. I can only imagine how I must have looked to drivers this morning as I walked to the tram stop--I think it must have been a walk something like that of a gnarled old woman whose better days are more a thing of legend than memory.
So there you are all up to date on what's happening in my life at the moment. I fly out of the Amsterdam airport on Tuesday morning (though I almost feel like I should get to the airport Monday night, both to save money on housing and to make sure that I get through security in time for my flight).
Happy 2010 everyone! I hope it had a great start and that it will only get better!
ER
I would apologize for not having written since December 15th, but I won't. The events that kept me from writing were just too enjoyable and joyous occasions.
The first enjoyable occasion was the arrival of Trevor in Prague on December 16th. He was in Prague until the 22nd and spent more time following me around seeing what my life was like in Prague than he did actually seeing the sights and city of Prague. I don't consider it to be too much of a loss, but I can understand how he could maybe feel a bit disappointed by this.
The first joyous occasion was my graduation from the CIEE study abroad program. I have a certificate that verifies this, as well as my own personal verification that comes in the form of new knowledge derived from a semester spent abroad.
The second enjoyable occasion was the arrival of the rest of the Oachs crew on the 19th. They came on a plane. We spent some time in Prague, though I have to say I feel a bit sorry for them because for most of the tourist-y things they told me they wanted to do, I felt the need to tell them that it wasn't worth it and they should just skip it (ex: Astronomical Clock--my friend Tanya decided its tagline should be "Always a disappointment"). So they would either skip out on what is considered by some to be a "Prague" must-see, or else they would bring me along where I would have a minor breakdown, all because I'd seen it too many times before. Eventually we developed a system where I would take them to their first point of interest, and then, after spending some family bonding time there with them, I would hand them a map with the rest of their route mapped out and a slip of paper telling them important trams and tram stops, and then I would continue on my way, generally just taking up residence in the apartment we rented for the week and reading Watership Down.
Joyous occasion #2 came in the form of a farewell--a farewell to Prague. While it treated me mostly well for the semester (please see My Body Is Falling Apart for times when Prague was not so nice to me). On the night of Christmas Day, the Hahn-Oachs family hit up the midnight train to Georgia (well, 11:23 train to Vienna) and I made my (nearly) final leave of Prague (I spent another seven hours in Prague on December 28th while waiting to catch a bus to Amsterdam). I was more than happy to leave behind Prague, its narrow streets, short buildings, and streets paved with cobblestones and dog poop. The parting, however, was a bit sad, and I have to say that at some point in the future, I'm sure I will find something to miss about it. I would also like to point out that for the two weeks prior to my departure from Prague, I was nursing a particularly nasty cold. Said cold began clearing up as soon as we arrived in Vienna. Coincidence? You may interpret the facts as you so choose.
Enjoyable occasion #3: We arrived in Vienna just before 7am on December 26th. We went to our hotel immediately, expecting to have to store our bags in a locked room and then hole up in a coffee shop for a few hours, feverishly drinking espressos while trying to gear ourselves up for a long day--made even longer by the semi-sleepless night we had passed the night before on the train--of Vienna sightseeing. But when we arrived at the hotel, we were able to check-in, despite the fact that the sun had not yet risen. The four of us headed to our rooms and took naps until nine, when we got up, had free breakfast in the hotel restaurant, and began seeing the Vienna sights, hours before my family was ever able to get moving while we were in Prague (in Prague, I would tell them to be ready by 9 or 9:30 so they would have ample to take their time in seeing the "good" Prague sights, though between 8:30 and 9, I would wake up and have to rouse them from their beds, at 10 o'clock breakfast would usually be finished and the tea drunk, and by 11 we would have our things in order and be headed out the door).
Enjoyable occasion #4: Vienna Boys Choir. We saw them in a church. It is the only time that I have ever paid to get into a service, and then had a communion plate passed around as well.
Joyous occasion #3: My family had to leave the hotel at 4:30 in the morning on December 28th to get to the airport in time for their flight to Amsterdam (where they were held up in security for hours, it sounds like). I left the hotel at 10:30, well-rested and excited to continue my travels, taking a bus from Vienna to Prague, with a 7-hour "layover" there, and then leaving Prague to arrive 17 hours later in Amsterdam.
Enjoyable occasion #5: Seeing Trevor in Amsterdam. We have also, thus far, seen the Anne Frank House and the Van Gogh Museum. Tomorrow we are also going on a day trip to Delft.
Joyous occasion #4: Of all the joyous occasions that have occurred since the end of the program, I feel that this one is most notable. I SURVIVED NEW YEARS EVE IN AMSTERDAM. I am not speaking of the festivities surrounding the New Years celebration actually within the city center. It is true that I did survive this, though for a while I was positive that I was going to be killed by a rogue firework or else suffocated from the sulphuric scent that resulted from the explosion of said fireworks, and at one point I was positive that I was going to die from burst bladder, merely because every business was either closed or had closed their toilets. The part of New Years that I am most happy that I survived was tent camping on a desolate plain next to an ice-covered canal in Amsterdam. For the rest of our stay in Amsterdam, Trevor and I have been staying in cabins at the same campground where we slept last night. These cabins are God's gift to campers--they come with bunk beds, bedding, electricity, and, most importantly, HEAT. Needless to say, Trevor's tent does not come equipped with bunk beds--though he does have a sleeping bag--electricity, or heat. It was a cold night, close to freezing, and Trevor and I had to squeeze into the sleeping bag together (he was worried about it ripping) fully clothed--right down to hats, scarves, and gloves, and throughout the night had to keep breaking open new hand and feet warmers that we had found at a sporting goods store earlier in the day to try to keep our bodies thawed. It was the combination of the freezing of various body parts and my being forced to sleep in one position the entire night that caused my entire body to be sore and stiff this morning. I can only imagine how I must have looked to drivers this morning as I walked to the tram stop--I think it must have been a walk something like that of a gnarled old woman whose better days are more a thing of legend than memory.
So there you are all up to date on what's happening in my life at the moment. I fly out of the Amsterdam airport on Tuesday morning (though I almost feel like I should get to the airport Monday night, both to save money on housing and to make sure that I get through security in time for my flight).
Happy 2010 everyone! I hope it had a great start and that it will only get better!
ER
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Sauerkraut
I suppose it's fitting, in some way, that in my last week living in Prague with my host family that they would give me sauerkraut. It's one of the national foods, I'm pretty sure, right after everything fried, fatty, and greasy that you can think of. So, as a fond farewell, they gave me dumplings, meat, and sauerkraut (a Czech tv dinner, actually) for dinner tonight. It actually wasn't my farewell dinner, but I can't think of anything more "Czech" that they could have given me.
HOWEVER. I have to say that this at this "farewell dinner," there were not tears just because it was a "farewell" or because they fed me sauerkraut. In fact, there were no tears over sauerkraut. And this is exactly why they were tears. When they handed me my plate with dumplings lining the outside edge and the meat completely covered by the veritable pile of sauerkraut, I cheered inside. I knew that this moment was going to come at some point--for the last week, I have found myself thinking of sauerkraut at night, about the same time that I start thinking about bed.
The time that I set aside for thinking about bed is a sacred time. Bed is possibly one of my favorite parts of the day (I attribute it to my love of sitting back and watching the dreams my unconscious hands to me, rather than actually just enjoying being unconscious), particularly in the last week since I've been particularly tired and sick lately.
SAUERKRAUT SHOULD NOT BE GIVEN THE SAME STATUS AS BED.
Unfortunately, it was. I tried to deny it as much as possible, but when the bell dinged on the microwave, and a steaming hot plate of knedliky and sauerkraut was carried into the room, there was nothing I could do but sigh in relief that they had finally given me this. It has been months since they have fed it to me--I think they must have noticed that whenever they would feed it to me, I would eat very little of it while polishing off the meat and dumplings. They must have picked up on it somehow. And, now, two or three months later, I had to shed a silent tear as they placed the plate in front of me, not for that fact that they were giving it to me, but for the fact that it had taken them this long to give it to me again.
HOWEVER. I have to say that this at this "farewell dinner," there were not tears just because it was a "farewell" or because they fed me sauerkraut. In fact, there were no tears over sauerkraut. And this is exactly why they were tears. When they handed me my plate with dumplings lining the outside edge and the meat completely covered by the veritable pile of sauerkraut, I cheered inside. I knew that this moment was going to come at some point--for the last week, I have found myself thinking of sauerkraut at night, about the same time that I start thinking about bed.
The time that I set aside for thinking about bed is a sacred time. Bed is possibly one of my favorite parts of the day (I attribute it to my love of sitting back and watching the dreams my unconscious hands to me, rather than actually just enjoying being unconscious), particularly in the last week since I've been particularly tired and sick lately.
SAUERKRAUT SHOULD NOT BE GIVEN THE SAME STATUS AS BED.
Unfortunately, it was. I tried to deny it as much as possible, but when the bell dinged on the microwave, and a steaming hot plate of knedliky and sauerkraut was carried into the room, there was nothing I could do but sigh in relief that they had finally given me this. It has been months since they have fed it to me--I think they must have noticed that whenever they would feed it to me, I would eat very little of it while polishing off the meat and dumplings. They must have picked up on it somehow. And, now, two or three months later, I had to shed a silent tear as they placed the plate in front of me, not for that fact that they were giving it to me, but for the fact that it had taken them this long to give it to me again.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Wait, what?
One thought process, and knowing the rabbi, probably one breath.
"Hitler didn't have an original idea in his head. He just enacted everything. Here on your left is a Christmas tree farm."
"Hitler didn't have an original idea in his head. He just enacted everything. Here on your left is a Christmas tree farm."
Sunday, December 13, 2009
So That's How It's Done
I just turned in my first final paper today. It was for my art history class (the good one) and about Surrealism. In celebration, I watched a youtube video about how to darn socks. I've always been curious about how it worked, but never took the time to actually learn. Thanks to the kind people at greenfibres.com, I now have the knowledge. The more you know... (da da da da da da daaaaaaaaaa).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4nY1jTVyBE0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4nY1jTVyBE0
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Lost
The word "Lost" takes on such a desperate meaning when used in religious settings.
"I'm sorry I was late [to Bible Study]. I was lost."
"We are all Lost once."
"I took the wrong exit."
"The Devil leadeth us astray--to the wrong exit, into temptation."
"So...yeah. I was lost."
Pause, meaningful look, pat on the shoulder. "And now you are found."
"I'm sorry I was late [to Bible Study]. I was lost."
"We are all Lost once."
"I took the wrong exit."
"The Devil leadeth us astray--to the wrong exit, into temptation."
"So...yeah. I was lost."
Pause, meaningful look, pat on the shoulder. "And now you are found."
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Schedule
Because I have two papers and three tests looming, it is therefore fitting that I will continue my procrastination break (I began Watership Down last night) and give you all an update on my upcoming schedule. I could go minute by minute, but I have somewhere that I need to be in an hour (and leave for in 20 minutes) so that will be unnecessary.
December 10--Dinner at my Czech Teacher's House
December 11--Chanukah Services Followed by Chanukah Party
December 12--Write Jewish Paper
December 13--Art Paper Due
December 14--Jewish Paper Due, Jewish Presentation
December 15--Art Journal Due, Contemporary Czech Culture Final
December 16--Art History Final, TREVOR Arrives
December 17--Other Art History Final
December 18--"Graduation" Ceremony, Farewell Dinner, Move Out of Homestay into Parents' Apartment
December 19--FAMILY Arrives
December 20-25--Enjoy Prague
December 26-28--Enjoy Vienna
December 28--Bus from Vienna to Prague, Bus from Prague to Amsterdam
December 29--Arrive in Amsterdam
December 29-31--Sleep in a Cabin (in Amsterdam)
Night of December 31--Sleep in a Tent (in Amsterdam)
January 1-4--Sleep in a Cabin (in Amsterdam)
Night of January 4--Stay in Some Hostel (in Amsterdam)
January 5--RETURN TO AMERICA: DORITOS, COSMO, AND CHOCOLATE MILK
Well I still have 16 minutes before I leave. Obviously I have a fair amount of time left in Europe, but it should go quickly considering all that I will be doing. Luckily, though, once the program is over, my time in Prague will not be characterized by the shadow of lack of productivity hanging over my head. School will not be in session and therefore I can curl up and read Watership Down, or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (assuming Trevor let's me borrow it, of course) as I please.
Note to self: relax.
Today it is raining. It has not yet gotten cold enough for snow, yet. So I am left with cold AND wet feet, as opposed to just the cold feet that I would be encountering were I in Minnesota, or really any northern clime that's NORMAL and has looked at a calendar and REALIZED that it is DECEMBER and therefore should be COVERED in SNOW. Unfortunately, Prague has not received the climate calendar that the rest of the world has, and therefore does not realize that Christmas's without snow are only appropriate in places where you can wear shorts on Christmas. If you can't wear shorts on Christmas, then there should be snow. It's as simple as that.
Today I had fish and potatoes for lunch. The fish was ok until I got past the breading. The potatoes were fabulous as always.
My host family has some amazing oranges. I think that I am going to eat at least five of them a day until they run out. They are juicy. And easy to peel. Perfectly ripe. And smell amazing.
December 10--Dinner at my Czech Teacher's House
December 11--Chanukah Services Followed by Chanukah Party
December 12--Write Jewish Paper
December 13--Art Paper Due
December 14--Jewish Paper Due, Jewish Presentation
December 15--Art Journal Due, Contemporary Czech Culture Final
December 16--Art History Final, TREVOR Arrives
December 17--Other Art History Final
December 18--"Graduation" Ceremony, Farewell Dinner, Move Out of Homestay into Parents' Apartment
December 19--FAMILY Arrives
December 20-25--Enjoy Prague
December 26-28--Enjoy Vienna
December 28--Bus from Vienna to Prague, Bus from Prague to Amsterdam
December 29--Arrive in Amsterdam
December 29-31--Sleep in a Cabin (in Amsterdam)
Night of December 31--Sleep in a Tent (in Amsterdam)
January 1-4--Sleep in a Cabin (in Amsterdam)
Night of January 4--Stay in Some Hostel (in Amsterdam)
January 5--RETURN TO AMERICA: DORITOS, COSMO, AND CHOCOLATE MILK
Well I still have 16 minutes before I leave. Obviously I have a fair amount of time left in Europe, but it should go quickly considering all that I will be doing. Luckily, though, once the program is over, my time in Prague will not be characterized by the shadow of lack of productivity hanging over my head. School will not be in session and therefore I can curl up and read Watership Down, or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (assuming Trevor let's me borrow it, of course) as I please.
Note to self: relax.
Today it is raining. It has not yet gotten cold enough for snow, yet. So I am left with cold AND wet feet, as opposed to just the cold feet that I would be encountering were I in Minnesota, or really any northern clime that's NORMAL and has looked at a calendar and REALIZED that it is DECEMBER and therefore should be COVERED in SNOW. Unfortunately, Prague has not received the climate calendar that the rest of the world has, and therefore does not realize that Christmas's without snow are only appropriate in places where you can wear shorts on Christmas. If you can't wear shorts on Christmas, then there should be snow. It's as simple as that.
Today I had fish and potatoes for lunch. The fish was ok until I got past the breading. The potatoes were fabulous as always.
My host family has some amazing oranges. I think that I am going to eat at least five of them a day until they run out. They are juicy. And easy to peel. Perfectly ripe. And smell amazing.
Nuns
At the tram stop today I saw two nuns. One of them looked introspective and at peace. The other looked cold and bug-eyed. I feel like only one of them gets it.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
The Alternative to Snow...
I never thought that I'd miss snow. I'm not a person particularly inclined to bask in the glow of snow. I can appreciate the flakes as they fall from the sky, and know that they are beautiful, but ultimately, I don't feel a particular kinship with this form of precipitation. It is cold.
I was in Greece over the weekend. And while Friday was a beautiful day, at least 20 degrees and sunny, Saturday it poured rain. There were puddles in the street, mingling with the excessive amounts of garbage left by striking garbage workers. It was while walking down the street, after getting completely soaked by an enormous splash from a car driving much too quickly, and after being forced to SHOUT over my shoulder to make Trevor hear me, that I realized one thing that snow has over rain: Rain makes everything louder. Snow makes everything beautifully muffled.
It was not until hearing news of the events that were/are taking place in Minnesota at the moment--southern Minnesota no less--that I realized how much I miss snow. There is a blizzard in Minnesota. Here, it has been raining for days. I have not seen a flake of snow for months, and none of it has stayed on the ground here.
I hated snow until I realized the alternative was rain. When I get home, the best welcome I could get (once my plane lands in the MSP airport) is a blizzard that follows us all the way back to Duluth, forces us to drive 20 mph the entire way home, and makes Dad squint into the darkness while getting all sweaty and angry.
I was in Greece over the weekend. And while Friday was a beautiful day, at least 20 degrees and sunny, Saturday it poured rain. There were puddles in the street, mingling with the excessive amounts of garbage left by striking garbage workers. It was while walking down the street, after getting completely soaked by an enormous splash from a car driving much too quickly, and after being forced to SHOUT over my shoulder to make Trevor hear me, that I realized one thing that snow has over rain: Rain makes everything louder. Snow makes everything beautifully muffled.
It was not until hearing news of the events that were/are taking place in Minnesota at the moment--southern Minnesota no less--that I realized how much I miss snow. There is a blizzard in Minnesota. Here, it has been raining for days. I have not seen a flake of snow for months, and none of it has stayed on the ground here.
I hated snow until I realized the alternative was rain. When I get home, the best welcome I could get (once my plane lands in the MSP airport) is a blizzard that follows us all the way back to Duluth, forces us to drive 20 mph the entire way home, and makes Dad squint into the darkness while getting all sweaty and angry.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Toilet Trees
Over the weekend I went to Greece with Trevor. Upon arriving at our hostel in Athens--Hostel Zeus, named after the king of Olympus--I found myself needing to use the facilities. I made the trek down to the end of the hall and encountered a toilet with a most unsettling message: DON'T THROW PAPERS IN THE TOILET. Had the sign not depicted a hand throwing a medicine bottle--presumably empty though I'm going to assume this doesn't matter--and what appeared to be a crumpled up piece of computer paper into the gaping mouth of a toilet, I would have immediately interpreted the sign as being a warning against the disposal of your toilet paper in the actual toilet. But because to me the image seemed to warn against throwing garbage into the toilet, I thought I'd be safe flushing it all down together. After all, toilet paper is made for toilets (it's all in the name) and therefore has been designed to be flushed. If a toilet can't handle toilet paper, what else can't it handle? Other things that it, by virtue of it being a toilet, should be able to handle?
This concerned me deeply, so I promptly thrust if far from my mind and thus decided that the answer to my confusion lie in the word "papers." I do not call toilet paper "toilet papers." Rather I call it "squares of toilet paper." Perhaps they would be called "papers" if they were not all strung together in one "toilet paper roll." But they are. So I decided the "papers" to which the sign was referred were papers of a bureaucratic sort.
"Don't worry," I assured the toilet as I settled down on the seat, shifting my body weight to my right side to avoid the discomfort of the pinching that came about as a result of tiny hairline cracks in the toilet seat. "Don't worry, Toilet. I'll keep my documents to myself." I knew that I had to get home somehow and therefore had no plans to throw my passport into this Greek toilet.
The incorrectness of my interpretation of the sign rapidly became clear, though, when I attempted to flush my economical amount of toilet paper (I had still been a bit hesitant to fully trust my original interpretation). The bowl emptied, the water refilled, and there, floating, lurking in the depths was a lonely square of toilet paper.
It was then that I looked in the garbage can, searching out where my toilet square should have gone. I peeked in through the swinging lid and saw a garbage can much fuller than I usually see in bathrooms. I couldn't tell in what manner the toilet paper had been used--for all I knew, someone could have been using all those toilet "papers" to blow their nose. Swine flu, you know. Choosing not to take a whiff, however, I decided to trust my instinct and believe that this was the rightful place of my toilet paper. At that moment, I was very happy that I was not the janitor at this hostel.
I was, however, distraught over this discovery. This toilet paper goes into the trash, not down the drain into the sewage system. From the short amount of time I had spent in Athens, I had seen a great deal of garbage, though no sewage. Piecing these two together, I could only hope that this was one bit of garbage that would not end up coming back to haunt me.
On Saturday night, Trevor and I decided to go out for a "nice" meal. To us, this means going to a place where you sit down and actually have to tip. It means nothing more. But the restaurant we went to was a pretty nice restaurant--very clean, very modern, and very tasty food. When the meal was done, I decided I would go to the bathroom, just so I could experience what it was like to flush toilet paper in Greece (and actually have it disappear). So I went down to the bathroom and was pleased with everything I saw--motion detector lights, a nice basin for the sink, and a very sleek, frosted glass door to the stall. Getting into the stall, though, I discovered a sign on the toilet that said, DON'T THROW PAPER INTO TOILET. This sign featured a drawing as well, though this time the artist kindly made the paper actually look like toilet paper--rather than having it look like a crumpled up piece of notebook paper, the artist drew a banner of toilet paper, with dotted lines crossing it to indicate the perforated edges for easy separation.
I was disgruntled, being forced to not throw my "paper" into the toilet, but rather proud of myself for being able to instantly decipher the meaning of this sign. I suppose it's easier to interpret when the drawing doesn't suggest garbage and the slogan doesn't suggest documents.
That night when we got back to the hostel, I went to use the bathroom again. There was a piece of toilet paper floating at the bottom (not mine). I had to smile at the poor person who had made this mistake. Sitting on the toilet, leaning to the right, I had to say to myself about the poor confused soul who had done this, "Silly, silly. Can't you read the sign?"
This concerned me deeply, so I promptly thrust if far from my mind and thus decided that the answer to my confusion lie in the word "papers." I do not call toilet paper "toilet papers." Rather I call it "squares of toilet paper." Perhaps they would be called "papers" if they were not all strung together in one "toilet paper roll." But they are. So I decided the "papers" to which the sign was referred were papers of a bureaucratic sort.
"Don't worry," I assured the toilet as I settled down on the seat, shifting my body weight to my right side to avoid the discomfort of the pinching that came about as a result of tiny hairline cracks in the toilet seat. "Don't worry, Toilet. I'll keep my documents to myself." I knew that I had to get home somehow and therefore had no plans to throw my passport into this Greek toilet.
The incorrectness of my interpretation of the sign rapidly became clear, though, when I attempted to flush my economical amount of toilet paper (I had still been a bit hesitant to fully trust my original interpretation). The bowl emptied, the water refilled, and there, floating, lurking in the depths was a lonely square of toilet paper.
It was then that I looked in the garbage can, searching out where my toilet square should have gone. I peeked in through the swinging lid and saw a garbage can much fuller than I usually see in bathrooms. I couldn't tell in what manner the toilet paper had been used--for all I knew, someone could have been using all those toilet "papers" to blow their nose. Swine flu, you know. Choosing not to take a whiff, however, I decided to trust my instinct and believe that this was the rightful place of my toilet paper. At that moment, I was very happy that I was not the janitor at this hostel.
I was, however, distraught over this discovery. This toilet paper goes into the trash, not down the drain into the sewage system. From the short amount of time I had spent in Athens, I had seen a great deal of garbage, though no sewage. Piecing these two together, I could only hope that this was one bit of garbage that would not end up coming back to haunt me.
On Saturday night, Trevor and I decided to go out for a "nice" meal. To us, this means going to a place where you sit down and actually have to tip. It means nothing more. But the restaurant we went to was a pretty nice restaurant--very clean, very modern, and very tasty food. When the meal was done, I decided I would go to the bathroom, just so I could experience what it was like to flush toilet paper in Greece (and actually have it disappear). So I went down to the bathroom and was pleased with everything I saw--motion detector lights, a nice basin for the sink, and a very sleek, frosted glass door to the stall. Getting into the stall, though, I discovered a sign on the toilet that said, DON'T THROW PAPER INTO TOILET. This sign featured a drawing as well, though this time the artist kindly made the paper actually look like toilet paper--rather than having it look like a crumpled up piece of notebook paper, the artist drew a banner of toilet paper, with dotted lines crossing it to indicate the perforated edges for easy separation.
I was disgruntled, being forced to not throw my "paper" into the toilet, but rather proud of myself for being able to instantly decipher the meaning of this sign. I suppose it's easier to interpret when the drawing doesn't suggest garbage and the slogan doesn't suggest documents.
That night when we got back to the hostel, I went to use the bathroom again. There was a piece of toilet paper floating at the bottom (not mine). I had to smile at the poor person who had made this mistake. Sitting on the toilet, leaning to the right, I had to say to myself about the poor confused soul who had done this, "Silly, silly. Can't you read the sign?"
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
In 24 hours I will be looking at the Acropolis!
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
In 24 hours I will be looking at the Acropolis!
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece Greece
Monday, November 23, 2009
Homesickness. I am ill.
As a tried and true procrastination technique, as well as a result of a fit of homesickness, I compiled a list of [some of] the things I miss from home.
Karluv Most
One of the many wonders you can find on Charles Bridge. They have a name but I don't remember it. My favorite is the washboard guy.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Nora: A Poem
The syllables aren't correct, but the sentiment remains. Good luck Nora.
There once was a girl named Nora
Who learned some fauna and flora
She studied for Orgo
Her life she did forgo
All to go to Australi-ora
Yay Nora! Good luck with finals!
There once was a girl named Nora
Who learned some fauna and flora
She studied for Orgo
Her life she did forgo
All to go to Australi-ora
Yay Nora! Good luck with finals!
Friday, November 20, 2009
My Body Is Falling Apart
It's a sad fact, but true. What I was looking forward to having happen to me in the future has come fifty years early. Europe has taken its toll on me and aged me severely. I am ailing.
*Disclaimer: If you don't want to pity me, don't read this. Also, some descriptions are maybe weird and kind of gross (but not really). If you have a problem with that, don't read this.
I blame the cobblestones for my first bout of problems. Though they appear quaint when you see them in pictures and in period films, they are uneven and difficult to walk on, even when in sneakers. It is for this reason that I believe they caused my knee-joint pain. This, combined with constantly walking up and down hills, something I have not had to do since I lived in Duluth, created for sharp pains shooting around under my kneecap like quick bolts of lightning with each step. Luckily, though, the pain passed and my knees feel as though they are back to normal. Or at least they have grown used to the irregularities that come with quaintness and adjusted accordingly.
My second ailment occurred a few weeks ago. After realizing that I "itched all over," I found red bumps on my legs that only appeared after I got home from class, though that had disappeared by morning. At first, it was shingles scare, though after Dad ran through the symptoms with me I realized it was possible. I eventually pinpointed the cause to be an allergic reaction to my new, comfortable-for-lounging sweatpants that have now become my new, useless-unless-I-want-to-itch-uncontrollably sweatpants.
My third ailment is along the lines of shoes. I came here with two pairs of sneakers, and within the first month of my time here, they both decided to fall apart. This left me with very little time to find a replacement pair of everyday shoes. What I found was a pair of teal Converse that fit me length-wise perfectly. In time, I realized that, despite fitting me in every other way, they squinched my baby toes in to the rest of my toes and rubbed against them so it felt like the skin was about to be rubbed off. To give my baby toes a break, I would switch to wearing my Aldo "Inca" (ankle) boots from New York. Good idea in theory, BUT I have worn them so much that I have worn them down so that when wearing them, I am almost stepping directly onto the ground. Therefore, by giving my baby toes a rest from the rubbing, I am instead forcing the skin to be rubbed off the bottoms of my feet. They receive no respite.
My final ailment is most disconcerting to my belief. Six months after having had my wisdom teeth removed, I eat a bagel chip at the wrong angle (this happened on Wednesday), and now, the empty gums where my wise tooth once laid has begun to swell. I have been eating cold things and waiting for it all to subside. Luckily aspirin halts the throbbing and I have high hopes that this will clear itself up, much as the joint pain and allergic reactions stopped themselves (the shoes will be an ongoing problem, I am sure, and I therefore have no hope that it will cure itself). Time will tell. All I can do is be happy that, while 1/4 of my mouth feels similar (though to a lesser extreme) to the way it did when I had my wisdom teeth out, I do not look like a chipmunk this time.
It's a wonder that I've survived this long.
*Disclaimer: If you don't want to pity me, don't read this. Also, some descriptions are maybe weird and kind of gross (but not really). If you have a problem with that, don't read this.
I blame the cobblestones for my first bout of problems. Though they appear quaint when you see them in pictures and in period films, they are uneven and difficult to walk on, even when in sneakers. It is for this reason that I believe they caused my knee-joint pain. This, combined with constantly walking up and down hills, something I have not had to do since I lived in Duluth, created for sharp pains shooting around under my kneecap like quick bolts of lightning with each step. Luckily, though, the pain passed and my knees feel as though they are back to normal. Or at least they have grown used to the irregularities that come with quaintness and adjusted accordingly.
My second ailment occurred a few weeks ago. After realizing that I "itched all over," I found red bumps on my legs that only appeared after I got home from class, though that had disappeared by morning. At first, it was shingles scare, though after Dad ran through the symptoms with me I realized it was possible. I eventually pinpointed the cause to be an allergic reaction to my new, comfortable-for-lounging sweatpants that have now become my new, useless-unless-I-want-to-itch-uncontrollably sweatpants.
My third ailment is along the lines of shoes. I came here with two pairs of sneakers, and within the first month of my time here, they both decided to fall apart. This left me with very little time to find a replacement pair of everyday shoes. What I found was a pair of teal Converse that fit me length-wise perfectly. In time, I realized that, despite fitting me in every other way, they squinched my baby toes in to the rest of my toes and rubbed against them so it felt like the skin was about to be rubbed off. To give my baby toes a break, I would switch to wearing my Aldo "Inca" (ankle) boots from New York. Good idea in theory, BUT I have worn them so much that I have worn them down so that when wearing them, I am almost stepping directly onto the ground. Therefore, by giving my baby toes a rest from the rubbing, I am instead forcing the skin to be rubbed off the bottoms of my feet. They receive no respite.
My final ailment is most disconcerting to my belief. Six months after having had my wisdom teeth removed, I eat a bagel chip at the wrong angle (this happened on Wednesday), and now, the empty gums where my wise tooth once laid has begun to swell. I have been eating cold things and waiting for it all to subside. Luckily aspirin halts the throbbing and I have high hopes that this will clear itself up, much as the joint pain and allergic reactions stopped themselves (the shoes will be an ongoing problem, I am sure, and I therefore have no hope that it will cure itself). Time will tell. All I can do is be happy that, while 1/4 of my mouth feels similar (though to a lesser extreme) to the way it did when I had my wisdom teeth out, I do not look like a chipmunk this time.
It's a wonder that I've survived this long.
Monday, November 16, 2009
People Watching: In Transit
When you're in big cities with lots of people, then you have lots of chances to see big things. Or at least the little things people wish you had missed.
Tram moments:
-A man trying to blow his nose the way I've seen skiers do it many times before: press against one nostril and blow hard to get rid of everything you want out of your nose. It didn't go so well for this man, and instead of get all the unnecessary mucus out of his nose and blown away onto the ground, he wound up with a long string of snot hanging out of his nose, swinging around. I'm sure he would have gotten away with it fine if he hadn't been doing it next to a tram stop where a semi-full tram was just pulling up.
-A woman with a kleenex or napkin (maybe toilet paper?) trying to find the best way to wipe her pretty-dog's butt. At least she was cleaning up after it.
Na metro:
-I was riding the up escalator, packed with people, and she was riding the down escalator alone. I was listening to my iPod but could still hear her burp echo through through the escalator transit tunnel. She continued on like nothing had happened.
-A young couple making out on the escalator down to the metro. There was no shame as his hand crept down her back to rhythmically squeeze her butt. They had it timed perfectly so that they came up for air just as it was time to get off the escalator.
Walking home:
-A man peeing into the bushes. He may have been giving me evil stares for gawking, but he was the one peeing in public.
Tram moments:
-A man trying to blow his nose the way I've seen skiers do it many times before: press against one nostril and blow hard to get rid of everything you want out of your nose. It didn't go so well for this man, and instead of get all the unnecessary mucus out of his nose and blown away onto the ground, he wound up with a long string of snot hanging out of his nose, swinging around. I'm sure he would have gotten away with it fine if he hadn't been doing it next to a tram stop where a semi-full tram was just pulling up.
-A woman with a kleenex or napkin (maybe toilet paper?) trying to find the best way to wipe her pretty-dog's butt. At least she was cleaning up after it.
Na metro:
-I was riding the up escalator, packed with people, and she was riding the down escalator alone. I was listening to my iPod but could still hear her burp echo through through the escalator transit tunnel. She continued on like nothing had happened.
-A young couple making out on the escalator down to the metro. There was no shame as his hand crept down her back to rhythmically squeeze her butt. They had it timed perfectly so that they came up for air just as it was time to get off the escalator.
Walking home:
-A man peeing into the bushes. He may have been giving me evil stares for gawking, but he was the one peeing in public.
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