In reading this annoying but wholly unsurprising article about the anti-abortion movement "surging" now that we have a pro-choice President, I am reminded of something a very, very, very, very wise man said once:
"Hooraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, lizard-shit, FUCK!"
All right, not that. This:
"Why is it that most of the people who are against abortion are people you wouldn't want to fuck in the first place?"
I'm just saying.
The view from my kitchen table, finally more rewarding than the view of Keith Olbermann's giant head on my computer screen.
The view from my office desk onto the roof of the Uni-Hauptgebäude and miscellaneous elements of the first and second districts. Otherwise known as "no longer reflecting the total and utter despair of humanity back at me, thanks to a little blue sky." Miraculous.
Apparently, if you drink enough Erdbeerbowle and eat enough Krapfen, Jesus himself will resurrect out of these eggs! Also, five minutes after I took this picture it rained again. Also, there was a giant rabbit on display, but none of the photos I took of her had anything to show for scale (except her babies, which were the size of full-grown regular rabbits, but NOBODY BELIEVES ME), so I'm not going to show them here.
Blossoming trees at Sigmund-Freud-Park, from inside the 44 tram, a place I find myself less and less the better the weather gets (but I still try to ride the tram at least once every day, simply because it's fun. I hope to have a tram-only photo album before I leave, where I try to ride as many trams in one day as I can and go to the weirdest places they'll go).
The sun came out in Vienna. I repeat: the sun. Came out. In Vienna. For the past five days! in a row! it has been balmy and warm here in my adopted drizzlefest, and it as if the entire city came out of a coma (besides the Junkies at Karlsplatz, who are still in their comas).
This is what I thought it would be like here for the rest of my life.
This miracle of weatherosity happened to come during a rare week "off" from my "work" in which I have just handed in an 80-page dissertation chunk (thankyouverymuch) and am waiting to hear back from my "adwiser" about it, as they say here. So on Sunday I was actually able to spend the entire day outside and (mostly) fucking around (I did have one real appointment). So it was a day full of adwendture, as they would say here (whilst speaking English, that is, and yes I am sure I pronounce German words funny too, especially given that I have only half-affected an Austrian accent since getting here, and so I just sound unplaceable and mangled most of the time), including but not limited to being late for said appointment and, in my lateness, having to run/jog/cantor/gallup through the Karlsplatz/Oper tunnel, a.k.a. the Horizontal Junkie Roller Coaster.
Every junkie in Vienna hangs out at Karlsplatz, scoring, nodding, and generally milling about in a heroin stupor. They are constantly watched by the police (it is one of the few official "Protected Zones" in the city where a cop can bascially bust you for loitering for any reason) and apparently the municipal authorities are grateful they are all in one place. But it's really a sight to behold--it's like being in a zombie movie and not realizing you were in it until it started playing. And, needless to say (though I am anyway), junkies move at special junkie pace, i.e. not very fast. So there I was trying to get where I was going in a hurry, a concept completely unfamiliar underneath Karlsplatz, and so there was no other alternative than a Junkie Slalom. And I was good! No bodily contact and minimal witnessing of nodding/shooting/shuddering/dealing (although I did see one deal, which was fascinating--a guy came up to another guy, both lumbering in the same direction, and grabbed his hand like he wanted to hold hands--I was like, "Why are those two bemullteted guys holding--OH WAIT, I GET IT." Interestingly enough it was also the only time I have ever heard a Viennese say "thank you" and mean it). I could medal in the Junkie Slalom if Wien ever hosts the winter Olympics.
Anyway, the end of the Junkie Slalom is not only the world-famous Vienna State Opera House, but also the world-famous Vienna Music Toilet, a 60 cent (and ergo junkie-bereft) pay toilet decked out like an old opera house where you listen to classical music while you pee! I have always wanted to have the call of nature in the vicinity of the Vienna Music Toilet and NOW I HAVE!
Just look at it! How can you NOT want to pee there?
I finished off my grand day by taking a magnificent walk up to the second district, whereupon I checked out a free Citybike (My brother: "Vienna has, like, MUNICIPAL BIKES?" Me: "Yep, it's pretty great." My brother: "Do you have to sign up at the city office?" Me: "Even better: THERE ARE MACHINES."), and rode it to and through the Prater, which was just beginning to bloom back into green magnificence and teeming with every single Viennese in the universe, just like all other outdoor spaces have been during the sunshine resurrection.
The Prater. Like imagine the rides from Coney Island getting dropped into the middle of the most magical park ever, and you're still not imagining it right.
You know you're in Vienna when even the pathetic-looking McDonald's outside the Meiselmarkt in the prostitute-infested 15th District has a nice-looking patio (and no I do NOT eat at McDonald's, it happens to be right by the bus stop in front of my gym).
This isn't even a picture I took, but it is THE EXACT Citybike station I used!
Speaking of the gym, my adwentures continued into today, when not only did I see even more prostitutes than usual, but also I saw a very peculiar thing at the gym: one of the women in the locker room had constricted her midsection with Saran Wrap while she worked out, as if she was trying to sculp her waist out in 1950 or whenever the last time people though you could actually lose weight that way was.
Anyway, I'd apologize for never updating my blog but nobody cares. I thought I'd just take this opportunity to create a record, for when it starts snowing again in two weeks, that the sun! emerged! ever so briefly! in Vienna.
As you may or may not have noticed via the sidebar directly to the right of this text, I have, reluctantly at first, joined the ranks of the Twits. I say reluctantly at first because from the moment I started following Shaq, my life was changed in the way most born-again fundies' are changed when they develop a personal and passionate and not at all (homo)erotic relationship with Christ. Therefore I passive aggressively encourage you NOT to follow me on Twitter* as my ability to create full-length blog posts continues to dissolve along with my ability to formulate a correct and compelling English sentence. One might think this meant I was now immensely good at German, but one would be raising one's expectations too high in that case.
*and if you "follow" me then perhaps I shall also "follow" you and then we can creepily and passively "know" each other in the same way that I now "know" Shaq.
Which is why I have decided this is exactly the right moment to start selling utterly ridiculous t-shirts.
They are really overpriced and for that I am sorry, but CafePress is the only thing I can afford right now (i.e. no dough up front and these are mostly a joke anyway). I get $1 for every shirt ($2 for some of the kiddie ones, because people with children deserve to be punished. Just kidding). Here is a sample graphic from one:
The "line" is called Citations Required Clothing.1
For example, while most people would probably be able to recognize Russell and Wittgenstein in this one (my personal fave part is Russell's pipe), only the most diehard philosophy-head might recognize the august figure on the top left.
Anyway, I mostly did this for my own amusement, since I doubt anyone has 20 big ones to go blowing on obscure apparel, but hey, what the hell.
...because they were waiting in Istanbul.
I just got back from a brief vacation (it is "semester break" here in Austria) in Istanbul, Turkey, which was overwhelming, hectic, challenging and overall fantastic (though when I go back--and I will go back!--I hope to have a male with me, because being a foreign woman with another foreign woman in some of the really touristy spots in Istanbul is basically like saying "HEY CREEPY DUDES, BOTHER ME A LOT!"). I wish I had been able to get to know the city better (and also learn more Turkish!), and I am sure that local women, especially in the younger areas, don't have the kind of problems I did, so I am not going to complain about the harassment anymore--rather I am going to say it was actually a GOOD thing, because it kept me moving at a reasonable clip for 8 hours every day (if you stopped or looked even remotely confused or even excited about the scenery, then it was time for HELLO EXCUSE ME WHERE YOU ARE FROM YES PLEASE FREE HUGS!). Thus I have an astounding number of photos to share (they are mostly on my Facebook page, but I thought I would share a select few here for the strangers of the Interweb as well). And, also, thus I got to absolutely chow down EVEN MORE THAN I USUALLY DO every single day with absolutely no worry about calories, fat, sugar or whathaveyou because I am pretty sure I burned 2000 extra calories a day schlepping around.
Here is a brief taste. We saw most of the Major Sights, including the architecture marvel that is the Ayasofia (erstwhile church, then mosque, now museum). From the outside:
And from the inside (one of approx seventy-twelve kajillion photos I took, none of which did it justice):
The Blue Mosque, which you could see from our hotel's roof terrace/breakfast room/24 hour coffee-cookies-cake reception area (aka the best place in the universe). Our first night there, which was actually 5 a.m. (in unrelated news: never fly SkyEurope not matter how good the "deal" seems at the time), we had just drifted off to sleep when we had our first experience of the Muslim call to prayer. It is absolutely amazing souding, because it goes off all over the city almost at once (not exactly at once, probably, as Megan theorized, because the sun is in a different position at every mosque location--but I am not sure, I will actually read this Wikipedia entry on Islam when I am done putting these babies up):
To the best of my ability, no exterior shots of the mosques were made during prayer time (and obviously our interior tours were never allowed to happen during that time)--which is no small feat, considering that it's five times a day! I don't understand how Muslims get anything done (though Istanbul, despite the large numbers of bescarved and beveiled women, seemed pretty secular, in that most people I saw on the street didn't really heed the call to prayer). Here's a (hopefully tasteful) shot of the interior of the Blue Mosque and its amazing mosaic work:
Women were supposed to cover their heads inside--Megan and I did, but as you can see some women did not. I found that exceedingly disrespectful, but as Megan points out, Christians also find it disrespectful when I say Jesus H. Tap-Dancing Christ all the time. I think I am eager to be super-respectful of Muslims in Turkey because apparently pre-2008 elections, 83 percent of Turkish people had an unfavorable or very unfavorable view of Americans (this courtesy of the issue of Time Out Instanbul in our lobby).
One of the most amazing things about Istanbul was the incredible mixture of archiecture through the ages, which was nearly impossible for an amateur photog such as myself to capture with my camera machine:
This is a street scene we happened upon on one of many serendipitous wrong turns (most streets in Istanbul are not marked anyhow, though, so our general MO was to look up and identify the monument most clearly visible to us, be it mosque, other manmade marvel, or giant body of water--or, a lot of the time, merciful, merciful tram tracks).
According to Professor Wikipedia, Istanbul is the third-largest city proper in the world. This is not at all hard to believe when you are there and see it going on forever and ever in all directions. Oh, also, now I've technically been to Asia (not in the above photo, but in the below one, where I took a boat trip on the Bosphorous that dropped us off at the mouth of the Black Sea on the Anatolian side).
Other highlights included the Basilica Cistern, built by the Romans in the FIFTH MOTHERTRUCKING CENTURY AD, and now housing the world's coolest Koi pond.
It was an unforgettable trip all around, and one that I would take again in a heartbeat, though preferably with a slightly higher-end airline and a be-phallused individual as an escort.
A Better "Stimulus Plan"
Now it is abundantly clear that no Republican will respond to Pres. Obama's protracted efforts to court them (with everything from cocktail parties to Superbowl Sunday--what's next, will he skywrite I LOVE BONER, I MEAN BOEHNER, over Bethesda?) and that they have committed to the idea of "fixing" the economy by giving the dwindling amount of rich people in the US more money, aka exactly what G.W. Not President Anymore Bush did for eight years that greatly contributed to the current shitstorm. Fine. That's fine. I'm happy about it--because since Democrats have a majority in both the House and the Senate, they can pretty much pass whatever the fuck bill they want to. They already "compromised" by taking some family planning and National Mall revitalizing out (because those things both help poor people!) and the Republicans said, "No, thanks, we'll just listen to 'Eye of the Tiger' and then sit this one out." Which again is their perogative. I just think that my party should take this opportunity to "refurbish" the stimulus so that it goes to some better things. Like this.
Because if the Republicans are going to tell Pres. Obama to fuck off no matter what it is, we might as well make it good.
by Franz Kafka (here be parts One, Two, Three, Four and Five for a Fun Flashback to My Youth, I mean Kafka's Youth)
EINS. Compose and mail letter to The Future re: Derrida being total jagoff.
RESOLUTION THE SECOND. Finally, finally, once and for all--no procrastinating this time--finish last edits on ending to Das Schloss, where K. develops a passionate and personal relationship with Jesus Christ and they consummate this relationship on the very same pub-floor where he and Frieda met all those many months ago. Will be controversial but avant-garde book.
III. Start Blog Grudge Match with Karl Kraus--guy obviously has way too much time on his hands.
THREE TIMES ONE PLUS ONE. Stop dreaming about buying ear-flattening cosmetic procedure on credit. There's a recession on now, and if I want to stop looking like Will Smith/The Brain, I have to save up to do it.
5. Either get married once and for all, to a lady, or admit, once and for all, that am gay. Or, in Mass., Conn. and various European countries that are not Austro-Hungary circa 1915, do both.
SECHS. Invest in aeroplanes. Combines love of aeroplanes with love of investing (asbestos factory not doing so well, so need to broaden portfolio).
REZ THE SEVENTH. Tell Brod that the mustache makes him look like Kaiser Wilhlem at a Cabaret and that it is not "working" for him.
#8. Tell Felice that she would look a lot more attractive if she were a man.
IX. Give "In der Strafkolonie" new title, "Pallin' Around With Magical Looks Into The Future About Fascism--You're Welcome, Anachronistic Theorists!"
LAST. Create addendum to Letter to Future re: Foucault.
First of all, Happy 29th Birthday to my "baby" brother Ben, who, 29 years ago today, broke my heart for not being a girl, but then made up for it by gracing me (via my parents) with a Mr. Potato Head (I remember at the time thinking I got the much better deal: my parents got stuck with a BOY/poop machine, and I got a Mr Potato Head).
Second, and more importantly: I'm not in the U.S. right now, but from trusted sources, I gather that infomercials and short-form ads for a fantastic new invention are "blanketing" the airwaves, PUN INTENDED! My dad says that he keeps seeing ads for something called a "Snuggie," which is a (probably static-tastic) fleece blanket with sleeves. According to the ad, a regular blanket just doesn't cut it anymore:
After some research, I discovered that the "Snuggie" is actually a ripoff of a much more homespun (PUN INTENDED) garment called The Slanket, "the best blanket ever."
(There are apparently multiple internets pages devoted to the Slanket vs. Snuggie rivalry.)
The Slanket was invented by a guy named Gary when he was in college, watching Conan high out of his mind in the winter. As he struggled to keep warm and flip through channels at once, he thought, "There's got to be a better way!" and thus The Slanket was born. Despite how grade-A retarded the entire idea seems, the copy on The Slanket Slebsite is pretty charming, and reading through it really made me want not only a blanket with sleeves, but some other heretofore sleeveless items besleeved as well. Ergo, patents are now pending for:
The Slunchbox (and its low-rent TV infomercial version, The Snunchie-Bucket):
Ever get SO COLD eating your lunch you just have to surrender it to bullies? No more.
The Slizza (or the Snizzie-Pie):
When I dig in to a piping-hot pizza, I can't help but think to myself: if only this pizza had sleeves. Then I would be as piping hot as the pizza!
The Slasketball (or Snaskie-Oop):
Shaq says: "Staying cozy while going in for a dunk is OUTSTANDING."
And, finally, the Slank Top (or its lower-cost rival, the Snankie Shirt):
Ever get cold wearing a tank top? And wish it had some fabric that covered your arms? Me too, all the time, especially in 0-degree (Celsius, bitches, the only measurement system I now use!) Vienna weather. Well, NO MORE. Now you can get all of the joy and fun of a tank top without all that pesky chill.
COMING SOON: The Slewspaper, The Sluitcase, and The Slook: Now, a Book Jacket with FOUR Sleeves!
As symbolic penance for my Blagojevich/Rahm Emanuel-style rant about Advent yesterday (in unrelated news: thanks so much to family and friends, especially Patricia, Jess, Syd, my dad and Eric Zass for all the support in the Great Advent Debacle of Advent Ought Eight) I thought I'd post this peace offering with Christmas. This is, of course, Ralphie "You'll Shoot Your Eye Out" Parker, after saying "fuck" ("the Queen of Dirty Words!"). I wonder what kind of cancer-causing dyes that soap has.
Anyway, to my Christmas celebrating loved ones: enjoy your bullshit holiday! Oh, man, I did it again. Back to the soap.
Let's try this one more time. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night...of bullshit.
All right, it's a lost cause.
Frohe Festtage, everyone!!!!
