XL: a particularly american number.

apparently, there is an football game happening on sunday. we have no plans as yet. it could easily happen that, again, the internet is working, and we don't turn on the goddamnoisybox.

(An extra lovely perk about moving to another country is that i get to be all snobby about the superbowl, and get to start hearing about teams like Rapid Wien and Sturm Graz and Admira Wacker Modling, which has a far superior ring than, for instance, anything with Detroit in it. Dear American Football Players, You're boring, and None of you are married to Posh Spice.)

(That the Bush administration is using the work of French academics to justify its foreign policy is an irony too rich to ignore.)

At some point if i move to this much colder and presumably snowier place i am going to have to not take with me all the fancy sandally shoes that i have (that really all i've been needing is a reason to get rid of) and acquire a decent and hopefully somewhat warm and sturdy and certainly socks-wearing pair of boots. (want.)

oh, shit: i have a gift certificate for bed, bath, and beyond. It will expire. Soon. However, one specifically does not want to acquire more stuff when one is (1) moving to another continent within the forseeable future and (2) selling one's house and (3) trying to get rid of really as much stuff as possible. it was also a wedding present: so m won't want to regift it, for example (we still have the stupid fondue set, and it is still spotlessly clean except for the inch-thick layer of dust). It might be possible to spend it on buying more gift certificates - however - is that cheating?

There are no bed, bath, and beyonds in vienna. anything i could buy here i could buy for less there, especially after shipping costs. it is not transferrable to, for instance, world market, even though they are next door to each other; and bed, bath, and beyond is differentiable from world market in that they do not sell fancy coffee or imported beer or tabbouleh or apricot jam or nice tea, which are all things one can continue to buy prior to moving to a new continent.

i am going to have to buy potpourri. people say houses that smell good sell faster. i have far too many fucking candles already. Does that shit keep for a year? i have never bought potpourri before. i'm not entirely sure i want to start; what if it makes me crazy somehow and i start acquiring doilies? Not a good path; and i probably have enough brakes for a not particularly slipper or very steep slope, or i hope so. but it's on every list of "Make your house sell faster." or it's either that or bake cookies, and it's highly unlikely that cookie baking is going to happen. maybe i can get m to make cookies - but then what would we do with this gift certificate? at least the american express gift cards we can use at the grocery store.

god, i'm such a spoiled bitch.

maybe i just take things too personally.

i've considered - and drafted - fan mail to steven king that begins, "Please shut the fuck up about Quakers, they're not who you think they are." i lectured the people in college (Chef Peter, actually) repeatedly and noisily about the name of one of their recipies, but i'm pretty sure the day i graduated they changed it back again. People toss it out in passing, like it's descriptive of something they have no concept of, or just because they have nothing better to say. and it PISSES ME OFF and it is very hard to raise the consciousness of an entire fucking planet.

so the Dad, i always used to think it was silly, because whenever we were around people whose first language was not english (other than the Mom), he put on that funny accent that sort of might mimic theirs, but doesn't quite succeed at that, and uses the weird phrasing that comes with being translated, and pronouncing everything just a little bit more - and it was hysterically funny. and i know i do the thing with the phrasing, but i don't think i do the accent - at least not right away, like over the course of a dinner, or something; it takes me a good couple of days to get in that particular groove. And this happened to the Dad quite often because my grandparents' first language was not english, and none of their friends' first language was english, and we saw them all regularly.

At some point i explained to him that he was doing this - i don't think he'd quite realized it - and how funny it was and how perfectly unnecessary it was, and he cooled down a bit - it's not nearly such a drastic change any more. so i'd forgotten how funny it was until our friend did it at the Highly International Dinner Party last week.

he's very nice. we like this kid a lot; i used to work with his wife and she's lovely too. And i never quite recognized it before - we've been to several other similar parties with them - but he does the appropriated accent thing as well. and it's even worse than dad's. and it's extra funny because when he's just talking to me (though the Highly International Dinner Party is going on around us) he's talking like a normal person, from chicago or something, and then in the next sentence he's talking to a french postdoc and twisting his mouth all around backwards. i spent the entire evening trying (and almost being perfectly successful, though i might've broken through just once or twice) not to giggle. The wine and russian cognac didn't help (i don't quite know where the wine came from).

and i'm wondering: if dad wasn't aware of this, does our friend here even know? do the internationals notice? am i just preconditioned to recognize it when people talk funny? does it even matter? and considering we're not bestest bestest friends, do i tell him? and how does one bring it up?

HOLY SHIT, I HAVE TO LEARN GERMAN.

http://www.german-way.com/austria.html
http://www.justlanded.com/english/austria
http://www.expatexchange.com/net.cfm?networkid=16

in a slightly superior way to the manner in which the only reason i have ever not won Clue was its not being my turn, i can actually say that (1) i have never lost at Cranium, (2) i draw pretty goddamn well with my eyes shut, thanks, and (3) it's still not a game i look forward to or can really enjoy without the pit of fear that whichever people are on my team will force me to do Star Performer. because i will not. oh no.

but it is kind of fun seeing our south-russian friend (because it's always a highly international sort of dinner party, seeing as how the indian owns the cranium, and one must differentiate the south-russians from the siberians) laugh so hard wine came out his nose. and i'm barely overdramatizing, really.

however: the down side of international sorts of people playing a highly american game is that there are very specific trivia answers, in particular, that people disagree on. The War of 1812 was fought, depending on who you ask, by either the americans and the british, which is the answer that cranium is looking for, in which approximately only 5,000 people died and which ended in a disappointing stalemate (and which is "often only dimly remembered in Britain," thanks, Wiki), or the russians and the french, in which a million people died, the largest army europe had yet seen assembled was decimated, and Napoleon turned back, revealing for the first time that he was not undefeatable. the british burned the well-abandoned white house. the french sacked Moscow, a city of three hundred thousand at the time. now. if we were calling only one of these a "War," and the other a "minor scuffle, yada, yada, yada," i think Cranium might be wrong.

at my old job, i would take lunch quite often between twelve and one and driving around in the car between twelve and one in college station and trying to listen to the radio because A Certain Someone stole your cd booklet out of the car to take it in to work with him and he didn't even leave one in the cd player (because, obviously, i have Awesome Taste) but in any case trying to listen to the radio is torture. similarly in the morning when all there is are Annoying people on every single station. and at five. so. gives one the impression, by listening to the radio at very limited times, that every radio station in texas blows.

however.

at two in the morning they seem to have a much wider (and, not to mention, far, far better) variety. why can't they be like that all day? i have yet to actually phone them up and ask them this. but i've considered it.

why is it that, when i don't watch television, barely go to the movies, and don't really want to know who most celebrities are, let alone if they're good for anything or not, every time i hear (via cnn.com) that there was an awards show recently (since i never know in advance and don't bother to keep track of when they might be coming up), i go to all the websites that talk about how awful the dresses are and how terrible they all look?

wait for it ...

it is because in some not so tiny or secret or even subliminal part of my psyche, i resent that these people (who are mostly women, since guys get boring clothes, and who are almost universally deified as pretty, whether or not anyone i know finds them actually attractive) get paid so obscenely much (and get to dress up so often and are celebrated for every little twitch) for really what seems like very little. Very, very little. A happy accident of genetics that they had no part in (which is why they ought always to thank their biological forebears when they happen to win something). A lack of becoming horribly and obviously disfigured (which doesn't happen to many people, and is not therefore something to be paid obscenely for). An inability to keep their knees together (even, certain people, who have allowed it to be captured on video that they are not in control of their various orifices). oh you're beautiful? that's great, i really wish i cared - no - no, so sorry to disappoint, i don't really wish i cared.

and so i like it when everyone is talking about how crumby they look. Since that's the whole point, isn't it? this is why Celebrities who Can't Dress Themselves are published in style magazines and on television - because there is enough of a market here, in america, with the disposable income they want, and sometimes a sense of justice or even fashion, that hates them. That wants to see them dragged through mud repeatedly. That wants to see their expensive, tacky taste ridiculed.

i am hopelessly cynical about cinema. but i don't want to be. *sigh*

they keep having blood drives at work. and i went to see if i was eligible to donate - it's supposed to be six months after getting the tattoo i think but i wanted to make sure - and as it turns out, first, apparently, it's 12 months, because autoclaves and sterile certificationing are voluntary in Texas (even though every motherfucking tattoo shop has it and i would find it hard to imagine that anyone might consider going to one that didn't), and second, i'm not ever going to be allowed to donate blood, because i had mono in college.

and it's kind of, crap, no cookies and orange juice for me Friday then, and i was going to feel all good about it, too. and it's kind of, home free! your lack of blood supply is not my fault. i'm on your stupid marrow list. i'm listed as an organ donor. obviously you want no more from me and my poor bloody was-jaundiced-once body. i tried. Bye, then.

and - obviously i could just not tell them i'd had mono? and that the tattoo was done entirely using sterile technique, which i recognized because i am familiar with it, ages and ages ago? or would that be Putting The Blood Supply In Jeopardy? because one assumes they don't want to be lied to. i'm annoyed. it doesn't make sense. i had mono, once, turned yellow, and then promptly got over it. i'm fine now. really.

Once, i lived in a place where there was a piano (which by the way would be a fascinating and very telling Freudian typo if i happened to spell it pain-o, but that's another post), and i learned to play The Star Wars Overture.

someday, i will again live in a place where there is a piano (let's hope it isn't a green one, but even that i could work with - a new coat here, a few touchups there, maybe a coat of freaking BLACK like a piano OUGHT to be - it'd be okay eventually - or maybe i could shellac it chinese red, would that affect the sound?), and i will learn Teenage Waste Land.

(Oh yeah. Tee-een age Waste Land.)

i'm sorry, you're too old to be on death row, and you had a heart attack, and they RESUSCIATED you so they could kill you again? (a) why did they resuscitate you? couldn't you say that, of all things, was already cruel and unusual? it isn't a nice procedure, i hear. and that's a reason to go with: you died already. you beat 'em to it. Now you have to watch your salt intake and i'm sure prison food isn't healthy. (b) i obviously don't have the respect for my elders that some of them clearly think i ought to, but Fuck Off, Mister My Last Appeal Fell Through. being old and "infirm" but still being quite obviously able to continue to order assassinations of people you don't like from prison makes you not too old to be processed. Bitch.

And i could say that i don't feel like discussing my beliefs on the death penalty but there are sure to be people around that disagree with me - it's a very, very nuanced thing, see, there's a lot of grey in it as opposed to all your black and white bullshit, and a lot of loopholes i suppose (more than there are in american courts, but also which, as it happens, being old is not one of) - since i don't particularly want to explain it. i think i feel about the death penalty how (was it clinton? it was somebody) a random pol felt about abortion: utterly failsafe (dna evidence, et c. - because this is MY perfect world), legal, and rare.

after decades of believing the danish sugar cookies that come in tins - some of them have crystallized sugar, some are coconut, in little stacks in folded paper that really ought to be filled with tiny cupcakes, you know the ones i mean - were awful, dry, bitter things, i have realized, because someone finally gave me a tin of danish sugar cookies of my own and to be nice i promptly opened them and ate one without making an icky face, that all the danish sugar cookies in my parents' and grandparents' houses, all those years, that i always had to eat one of to be polite even though they were awful and just the other side of unpalatable and that i now notice none of the grownups ever consumed, were absolutely, rancidly stale. Because someone always said don't you want a cookie? and you never wanted to disappoint them because it was your Grandmother so you couldn't say, no, those are awful, and it's the same tin as when we were here three months ago, and four months before that, and at thanksgiving, and last year and now you don't have a remotely sweet tooth. Coincidence?

oooooh, new perk to moving to vienna:

we get to use the term "der prasident Scheisskopf" - ooh i'm all politicky :(

i may start practising all the same. they won't teach us that one at rosetta stone!

information for Those of You About To Have Wedding Events: first, i have opinions on everything and advice on most of it. call for ideas or perspective. (M could probably also offer both of these, but i didn't figure i'd volunteer him.) also, i read The Antibride Guide and visited www.indiebride.com. i bought one issue of Modern Bride magazine. (yes, i limited it: exactly one.) i did not: read any other bridal magazines; utilize much of Theknot.com or any of Weddingchannel.com; or attend any bridal or trunk shows. i did have m's aunt helping me and she'd organized or helped organize 3 weddings each of the past 3 years - she did all the local legwork since the wedding was in indiana and i was not. Advice Number One for all of you: chill. you have found the person with whom you want to spend your life, and they happen to agree with you. This is the important thing. What kind of knot the groomsmen are putting in their ties is not the important thing.

Secondly: Thank you notes are hell to write. they are hell to write. it is well nigh impossible to write them and say nice things about whatever item or cash it was - for instance, the fondue set - without overdoing it. i'm not very good at saying nice things to begin with. Not a talent of mine. so some of the things we particularly like are things that we're having a hell of a time writing the damn notes for. and "once we identified it ..." is not an ideal way to begin a sentence in which you are trying to express gratitude, or even basic civility. But the not being good at saying - or, even more so, writing - nice things, combined with the PRESSURE of WEHAVETOGETTHISDONE, and neither of us working terribly well with this kind of it isn't a deadline ...

it's so tempting to fake really awful handwriting and just scratch the hell out of each card and make the address and the love and thanks and maybe the postmark the only barely readable parts so it's identifiable as a note and we don't have to actually write it, but i don't think we could quite get away with it now. i don't.

and it was just christmas and we had all these old christmas cards that were originally going to be our save the dates only they never quite made it that far so we had them, only ... yeah ... it feels weird sending out blank white cards with all that empty interior room ... and we could do The Christmas Letter but ... none of it is ... whatever.

1. learn german.

2. get rid of piles of stuff. This is already happening somewhere in my head, where i look around and go no, i don't need that and picture how lovely and empty my house could be. No clutter. No random refugee junk. mmmm. i keep thinking "what's the first day we could have a garage sale?" i have a happy little dialogue in my head.

Hello, how much for the fondue set?
my friend, you are the winner. it was a wedding present, so my husband won't let me sell it, but i won't let him keep it. so, free. Here, would you also like this tall, elegant, and highly breakable glass vase?
why yes, how lovely. Allow me to give you this beer in return. What about -
No, no the golden bowl stays. Now get off my lawn.

3. learn exactly how much of an american i am. can Continentals recognize me by my shoes? do i wear enough scarves? can i fake an accent from anywhere else? pretend to be canadian? if i get a hat that says I Am An Expatriate Don't Blame Me, will people treat me okay? how poorly do americans come off, over there?

3a. learn exactly how much of an american i married. Can i get him to wear pants without holes in them and ink stains on the pockets? Maybe ones that actually fit? there is nothing so overtly american as having your pants be falling down. (hell, maybe he'll be proud of it.) Or do i stick with the whole i-love-him-just-the-way-he-is bag? Or do i hope he'll notice he can't buy baggy-ass pants if we leave the u.s., and how much nicer everyone looks because of it? Small, entirely obvious, ironically-worded suggestions may be the way to go. this, here, is not manipulation: it's, um, neurotic humor. right?

4. find a job. may be complicated by fact of not-being-an-e.u.-citoyenne. parent reaquiring citizenship could maybe possibly help with this. Apparently it would not be too hard: Persons whose Hungarian citizenship terminated through dismissal between 15 September 1947 and 2 May 1990, shall acquire Hungarian citizenship by a personal written declaration addressed to the President of the Republic of Hungary as of the date of the declaration.

5. Locate, and keep in a secure place where they won't get lost, winter hats.

6. get M an appropriate winter coat.

7. figure out what we can do with the dogs. do we bring them? do we ... not? (eep)

it's impressive how many journalistic headlines could be augmented and rendered unfit for news status, similarly to how adding "in bed" to the ends of chinese fortune cookies to make them more interesting. Taken from today's cnn.com:

• More bird flu in Turkey; nobody surprised.
• Apple may offer new laptops; nobody surprised.
• Iran still doing nuclear research; nobody surprised.
• Alito hearings begin; right on schedule.
• Andrea Yates pleads insanity; as expected.
• GM creates concept car; really everyone saw that coming.
• Bombs kill more Iraquis; again and again and again.

maybe i'm just that ... cynical? jaded? telepathic? omniscient? what? how is this bullshit news? tell me something i don't know for once.

On the other hand:

• More birds in bed. (good news for certain lads, then?)
• Apple offers "laptops" in bed. (haha)
• Iran researching in bed. (anatomy, and physiology.)
• Alito heard in bed. (and recorded? does he call the Mrs "mommy?")
• Andrea Yates pleads in bed. (she's divorced.)
• GM creates concept in bed. (hey, now we're talking)
• Bombs in bed. (who's never had one of those?)

a little more interesting, but it doesn't quite work as well.

oh, my god. sometimes. you know?

There is an email list - voluntary, opt-in - for the vet school on which people advertise selling and wanting and renting and random stuff. Quite often, almost daily, there are "We got a stray dog in the driveway and she had puppies and here are pictures, they're so cute, want one?" sort of things. Today. though.

someone is offering an elderly cat with diabetes. she requires extra expensive food and twice daily injections, plus eye drops, and has stopped using her litter box entirely. as an extra perk, she hates people and is generally crotchety (well, old lady cats all are). However, she does not scratch furniture. Person doesn't want the cat any more.

up for adoption. riiiiiiight.

Dear Israel and Palestine,

Please find some younger fucking statesmen, already.

home, and sleepy, and having a cold, and you crawl up in the bed with the happy old mattress and the purple flannel sheets that utterly fail to match any other decor, and it sort of softly curls around you all warm and you breathe and don't sneeze and it is SO GOOD to be back.

because i have recently been sneezing so much i think i have actually worn a hole in my sinuses. i can tell because they hurt. clearly i continue to be allergic to dust.

as an extra perk, no showers tomorrow, as the city has asked people to not use water from 7am thurs - 7am fri as they install giant new water mains. As if they'd finish even that on schedule. if i have a bath tonight - and we run the dishwasher, assuming we can get the energy to even eat, as m has the same cold i do - it's a voluntary thing. there just won't be any water pressure, or something. i'm not sure how they plan to keep the water running during installation of giant new water mains, but whatever.

because you just know if you're sick and not supposed to be taking showers then that's excactly what you're going to want to be doing, and you know this in advance, because it is inescapable. Only you can't say the letter 'p.'

*not very factual on motorcycles either

:anmut: :annika: :chin: :dooce: :ewok mama: :food: :little frog school: :lj: :longform: :low odysseys: :natalya: :rich: :salon: :slate: :this is how: :unique yn:



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