Or why you should not play 'follow the leader' when the routine is not routine, and then get your nose stuck in a book.... Since it is Friday, was on my way to Gamlitz. I had an hour and a half to get over to Peter's way across town, and then to the train station for my 11:00 am train. There are days when the astrological constellations regarding public transportation are just the pits. I spent all of ten minutes getting his mail, packing a few more of his clothes to take piecemeal down there, then rushed back to the bus, transferred to the tram to get to the train station and buy my ticket five minutes before the train left. Talk about cutting it close. Did not like the stress, but getting off for the next transfer, I had my 'moment of Zen', as Jon Stewart calls it, crossing the little walking bridge behind the train station, and heading toward the main square behind that church tower on the upper left. Peaceful, and went so green in a week, it was nice to contemplate for a moment....
Spotted some nice apple blossoms right near by. At least I think they are, they always bloom last in the Spring..... Got to Gamlitz, and we had a very heavy discussion. Frau Lübbe, who is the assistant director of the home, said she wanted a word... as she usually does every week. Peter told me meanwhile she had asked him if he wanted to stay there for good. And he was willing to, mostly.... The only thing that bothers him is that it is 'so' far away, hey. My pragmatic side took over, and I said, 'if they make that possible, I think you should stay. And what is the difference if I go to your apt. every day, and most of it you are alone, and there is no one to help you if something happens? There is no one to help you there in an emergency. I haven't seen one negative thing here, I really haven't. And you know I will travel down here once a week and spend several hours, but at least I won't lie awake nights wondering what is coming next, and know that you are being well cared for.' I think he felt relieved about it. But it did take some discussion... And I guess he will acquiesce. I saw Frau Lübbe just before I was leaving for my bus, and the topic was that, of course, and she wanted to know about his telephone bill. And that HE had asked if he could stay on there, not the other way around. She is young to my aged eyes, but very competent, no-nonsense, but friendly, and I like her. And I said, 'If it is in any way possible, I would hope that he could be able to stay here, because I KNOW that he would be in very good hands.' Which seemingly surprised her.... (I don't know what the hell sort of firey gargoyle I am supposed to be....) And she quietly said, 'Thank you.'
Before we had that exchange, I had taken a sniggarette break outside, and looking at the entry, got a full flashback looking at the reflection in the entry door. René Magritte, Belgian surrealist. My absolute favourite painting of his is 'empires of light'. It was just a painting of a house at twilight, the lamp in front--gas-light, I believe... and the dim blue of the sky above. I first saw it at the Peggy Guggenheim museum in Venice just after she had passed away in the late Seventies. Her palazzo on the Grand Canal was beyond belief for art from the 20's and 30's especially, but she collected right up to her demise. And I thought, 'Oh, Magritte'... so shot it as an hommage.... I couldn't quickly find a link to what I mean, but it struck a chord in me, looking at that. So I just shot it.
Oh, just found the link to it here. It is far more beautiful seeing it 'in real'...
I sat out on the terrace waiting for my train, and whaddaya know... there was a problem on the tracks, and it would be twenty minutes late. So it finally arrived, and got on, and whaddaya know again... We were only going to Wildon, five stops up the track, and have to take busses. (Groans all around...) So off we went to Kalsdorf, and here is where the 'follow the leader' syndrome kicked in. As we were all on a train heading north, I just followed the crowd, and got on the train, which announced there would be another 20 minute delay, so I continued reading... something really hilarious... And then it went into motion..... going in the wrong direction! At which point I thought, 'Gawwd, is this day going to ever END? I wanna go HOME, Kruzifixsakrament!' And I jumped up and asked loudly, 'Wait, is this train going to GRAZ, or not????' Well, you have heard of the word 'Schadenfreude', I believe.... it means taking delight in the hurt of someone else. And the entire car broke up laughing. I 'should' have transferred to another bus, you see...
I will spare you further embarassing details, Precioussessss.... eww. The next stop was Werndorf. And had to ask my way around, found the correct platform, and they kept saying that the planned return train would be twenty minutes late. End of long story. The train DID arrive, and I got home an hour and a half later than I should have, and the stores had closed, so I had't eaten anything all day. Swell, just swell. Maybe relying on public transportation can turn into a good diet, you know?
So how was your day?
Stranded in Werndorf...
Just one more comment about 'freedom' in America...
It was on an August night, just before I left. Hot, sticky, dog days.... And I couldn't sleep, and my mind was like a hamster in a wheel, going through the 'what-ifs'....
And I decided to go up to a park about two miles away, walking, and just get through my thought dilemma. About half-way there, in front of the armory, a police car pulled up, and they asked me where I was going. And I honestly said, 'I can't sleep, am just walking up to the park and back to get myself tired enough to sleep.'
And they said, 'Oh no, you're not. Get in the car. Where do you live?' I told them. They drove me home, let me out, and told me to stay there. It was a threat.
If I had been a different color, it would have been a different story, but it was bad enough as it was. But they made up my mind for me. I was channeling Janis Joplin. Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.
Because we lost it, all right. How depressing.
Hmmm... just a passing comment....
Annti knows I love me some Gollum from Lord of the Rings. And sent me a silly YouTube mash-up which used a certain speech from a movie about Hitler, and Gollum is doing the rant. There are a lot of mash-ups from that film on YouTube, and none of them are funny. At all.
I got out of there in twenty seconds, after realising what was going on there.
And said, that is why we have laws in Germany and Austria that prohibit any sort of glorification of 'him', or in some cases even making fun. Adi wasn't a joke.
She countered with the original film, 'The Producers', and Mel Brooks, and how it was justified.
And I said, 'Yes, that was, but it was his right to do so, just like it was Charlie Chaplin's right to do 'The Great Dictator', and both were right for their times.' 'And how I had taken Peter to see 'The Producers' at an art house cinema here, and how shocked he was. (It was with Gene Wilder and the incomparable Zero Mostel.)
I think the point is.... forty years later, the satire that shocked became kitsch. Satire has a shelf-life, you know? Today, 'Gulliver's Travels' is a nice, kitschy fairy tale for children, nowadays, for instance. But when it was written, it was a vicious satire about the state of government in the UK.
Things change, people like to forget, and some people like to re-write history, and make it into something 'funny'. But some people are always out there with their white supremicist attitooodes, and want to make something very dark harmless.
I can't wait for the cartoon books about 'Jolly Joe Stalin', and a Tarantino version of Pol Pot. And making fun of Kim Jong IL??? Makes me uncomfortable already, although I like the Daily Show well enough...
I guess what I am trying to say is... it is well and fine to do satire, and go for the jugular if you are threatened.
But if you are outside the culture, one really should take a hands off attitude, or tread more lightly.
It is like the South Park team taking on the Mohammed controversy, and then getting death threats. As happened last week. Publicity stunt? Who is being served by this shit?
If everyone pushes all the boundaries, all the time.... I do not see how that serves any good purpose.
No, am not getting conservative in my old age. But some of this doesn't make much sense to me...
And making Hitler 'harmless' and a crazy coot... sorry, but I cannot laugh.
On profiling....
“This week, Arizona signed the toughest illegal immigration law in the country which will allow police to demand identification papers from anyone they suspect is in the country illegally. I know there’s some people in Arizona worried that Obama is acting like Hitler, but could we all agree that there’s nothing more Nazi than saying “Show me your papers?” There’s never been a World War II movie that didn’t include the line “show me your papers.” It’s their catchphrase. Every time someone says “show me your papers,” Hitler’s family gets a residual check. So heads up, Arizona; that’s fascism. I know, I know, it’s a dry fascism, but it’s still fascism.”
Seth Myers on SNL’s Weekend Update this week.
Found on Bill in Exile...
I was not surprised at this, not at all. And yes, it is racial profiling.... this time. However there are other kinds of profiling. People look at other people, and immediately classify them in their heads, putting them into drawers with labels in a split second. It is human nature.
Case in point.... Where I grew up, I lived and worked in the center of the city. It was three blocks from my work to my home, walking. And the police had beats, about eight square blocks, I would imagine, and call boxes to ring in where they were and prove they weren't goofing off, or something. The regulars knew me, and I would close up, drop in the days' deposits at the bank next door and walk home.
BUT: if there were someone new on the beat... the following invariably happened. I would be roughly pushed up against a brick wall, frisked, asked for ID, and got the inevitable rapid-fire series of barked questions. 'Where are you coming from?' 'Where are you going?' 'Who are your parents?' (Don't wanna ruffle some big-wigs' feathers, now do we, Preciousses?) And would invariably be allowed to continue on to my home, with the admonition, 'Don't you know that if anything bad were to happen here, you would be the first suspect, because you were here?'
This went on from the late Sixties to mid-Seventies, and you will be asking yourselves, 'Why would he think it was profiling? He is white enough...'
It was profiling however. Poor vs. middle class. Because, you see, if you were over the age to have a car and were walking down Main Street near or after midnight, you just had to be up to no good. I had to deal with that from the time I was about fourteen till the time I left.
Certainly, it wasn't the same, I didn't get any slurs, but in principle, oh yeah, I know that feeling all right... And can imagine how much worse it is going to be for people who have a sort of dark complexion in Arizona.
I never realised at the time that that isn't exactly normal in civilised countries, I thought it was normal. Until I was in Salzburg the first time, and we would be out till all hours of the night, and just marveled that we never even saw a policeman/policewoman. Here they seem to be busy catching real criminals rather than bothering people out on the street at unseemly hours.
All of this comes from a culture of fear. And I think it will only make the existing problems in Arizona much worse, cause a lot of innocent people a lot of grief, and in the end, will cause more problems than it 'solves'.
(And Blogger is driving me nuts with a specific font problem, but that is irrelevant.)
This is creeping me out, big time....
Am in the middle of a personal mystery at the moment. I wrote about my friend John's supposed demise via suicide? Well I put my NH posse on it. Bob and Claudette were completely shocked and clueless, as I wanted to know, when, why, how, and why the fuck they never told me. It was news to them... Well, 'fancy' Nancy, formerly of Berlin with her fatal marriage to Heinjörg, who turned out to be the biggest rat of the past decade for personal relationships, is re-married in NH. Long story. To a guy who also worked with us and was always in love with her, and never married till she came back. (Someone should work up a spec on that and send it to Hollywood.)
Whatever, after four days of mourning his 'passing', Bob told me he had been in the local phone directory as late as 2009, went through the obit morgue of the local papers, never found anything, except the phone service at his house had been disconnected, and Nancy shot me an e-mail, saying he was working for a pharmacy in Allenstown. It's a fucking VILLAGE. And gave me a number to call at his workplace. Well, you know they frown on personal calls at work over there, as they do here, meanwhile.... But I always have an ace up my sleeve for such things.
'Can I speak to Mr. R please? Am calling from Austria.' Works every time.....
The woman put him on.... maybe.... It wasn't his voice. It confused me, and he said he couldn't talk, and gave me a number to call in two hours. It was late here, and was falling asleep, so I said I would call the next day, and joyously gave the number to the other three. Who went rushing to call, and heard it was a cell phone, and it goes straight to voice mail, and no one is picking up.
It was only four sentences, but it wasn't his voice. Which has left me with even more questions.
1.) The voice. Listen, I shared a room with him for a year in Salzburg, worked with him in Manchester for three years after that, and we went out every night till all hours of the morning. I knew that voice, and they are like fingerprints. You can have them change with smoking and alcohol, but they still have that 'fingerprint'. So I was rationalising, and thinking, 'ok, changes with age...' But am still confused, because they don't change THAT much....
2) Why take off from the only place he ever lived in, his parent's house in Manchester, which he inherited and loved? Ok, the sub-prime mortgage stuff, but fucking Allenstown? Makes no sense whatsoever, and he was at Rite Aid for decades. In Manchester. Why give up seniority there, huh???
3) My last visit there.... he told me something that chilled me. I do not wish to divulge that right now. It would just be speculation.
Since yesterday was Sunday, I figured he would have the day off, and tried three times, and bingo.... voice mail. By evening, I was so fucking irritated, I left a message, totally pissed off at him.
'Why give me a number if you aren't gonna pick up, huh?'
Told him to ring up my number, and I would immediately call him back.
Nothing. Absolute silence.
Something is really WRONG there... It has sort of creeped me out. No, am not going paranoid. Nothing about this makes sense. Nothing.
.
Nancy said she has a mess to do, and it will take a week or so, but she is going to stop by there as soon as she can and find the elusive John R. at his work place. I hope I am over-imaginative at the moment....
However.... . this is really bothering me. If he had just said, 'Listen, I have moved on, and don't want to talk', would have accepted it, and regretted. Of all the people who worked in the cinemas there, we have a very special bond. Sometimes we get wrapped up in our own lives, but if one of us has troubles, everyone comes around and is supportive. I guess that comes from sitting up late nights when we were in our late teens after we closed up, discussing whatever new 'shocking' thing had come out, bonding-----and the 'rent's thought we were doing drugs or worse. It was sort of funny, actually.... intense discussions, sharing our experiences.
So no, am not channeling my hysterical bio-Mom, Lorraine. It's been a week, and I keep trying to take a look at this picture from every angle, and it just does not make any sense to me. So am probably dumb, don't know... but in my gut.... something is wrong.
So can we do an Agatha Christie post mortem Krimi novel now?
It is driving me off the charts for wondering, as John would have said....
Tja, isn't life odd, and I should really stop watching 48 Hours/Mystery on CBS every week on the internets. Gives you brain cavities like sugar to teeth.
Oh, punch to the gut, hey....
One of my favourite things on Monday is watching Bill Moyer's Journal from Sunday on PBS via the internets.
He is retiring. Because he is seventy-six, and has other things he would like to do.
One of the last 'REAL' reporters. I only discovered I could watch a few months ago.
What I learned to like over the past several months:
It's not a 'show', or a 'talking head'. He is thoughtful, very intelligent, and asks hard questions. He has people on who actually know what their subject is, and is fully briefed on the subjects at hand. He is civil, never, or hardly gets emotional, but can discuss passionately about themes of the day without any 'showmanship'. He always seems laser-like in focussing on what issues are.
And above all... he is a gentleman. I like the soft southern accent, but like his mind way more.
Next Sunday is his last broadcast. I am so gonna miss that voice of reason in a stratosphere of static and cacophony.
As we all know.... nothing lasts forever. but was happy to watch while it was worth it...
This is getting a jump-start on things...
But is for the Venerable, before everyone goes crazy, and make a huge fuss... which you should have every day, if I had my way....
People were asking me what you would like best for your cradle fest, you know? I couldn't come up with much, I've said pretty much everything I think and feel... (whether you probably didn't like some of it...) but you were always there. Solid, loving.
On my way to the market this morning, I remembered something. Bob visited us in the Mühlgasse for a week, and we would have marathon night talks, and he said something that absolutely floored me, and still does. And he was looking at our 'fabulous' kitchen, (and our best discussions were in the kitchen, kitchens seem to do that...)....
And out of the blue, he said, 'Gawwd, when I think of Middle Street, and how poor you all were....'
I was astounded, CONfounded, and so speechless, I couldn't formulate a reply. Just couldn't. It was like having a fun-house mirror held up to you, and you couldn't recognise yourself. And I thought, 'WHAAA?' I was rich!'
Money never meant anything to me, and if I had some, would share the joy... I guess he never understood.
'Things' are never important. We had a roof over our heads, and there was food on the table every day, and you worked your ass off to make sure it was. Sure, there was never extra for 'firlefanz', German for frivolous things, but we got so much more.
Values, learning to work for our goals, support, and above all, love. How much richer can you get, hey.... So... you gave me more riches than anyone ever will, and I would kill anyone who would say otherwise.
You know that there are an awful lot of people out there who mess up their children, sometimes purposely, sometimes unwittingly.
So for my part, Dad... you made me richer than imagination could ever conjure up. So for your 'big' day, just another opportunity to say 'thank you so much'. And I can not think of anyone I would rather have as 'Venerable Parent'.
So, enjoy that day. You are unbelieveably wonderful, always will be.
And now that I have done my mash post... will find something 'racy' to send you on the real day. Except I think Annti will out-do me.... I'd check that post on that day, or get a check-up before you open it. (smile).
Again, this is five days early... but wanted a word before the hoopla begins. And know that I love you muchly, Venerable....
Oh, I nearly forgot about Moritz....
Moritz is a really fucked-up doggie. Face like a boxer, but tiny, miniature. Peter and I had just gotten back from downtown, if you can call it that... and I wanted a snigarette before going in. Three ladies joined us on the other bench, and Moritz, the dog, was rambunctious. I wish I could have gotten a photo of him. Whatever, I finished, we wanted to go in, and I said, 'Hey, you look sort of neat', and held my hand out, the back of it, you never show a dog your palm, they think it is a threat. He took three sniffs---and wanted to attack me. (Think: chihuaha jumping a giant...) And the ladies just fell apart. And I said, 'It's always the little ones who bite....' Which broke them up even more. They knew I was talking about people as well...
Just goes to show... you can have 'adventures' in very small ways...
If it is Friday, it must be Gamlitz..... yup
But first a little Spring bouquet for you. Pretty... it is Spring, I guess.
I got a new camera, Peter sprang for one, so this is 
the place I wanted to photograph two weeks ago. The Golden Lion Inn in Ehrenhausen. The Lion is of stone between the two cars.
And this is the plaque next to the door. It used to be a brewery, and processed meats, and the Empress Maria Theresia stopped there for refreshment in 1750. You know, they traveled by horse and coach, and the horses had to be tended to or changed, and the passengers 'refreshed' themselves, so the word doesn't mean she slept there, they all just had a break, so to speak....
The kids in the hood were their usual boistrous selves. Last week it was 'follow the leader' waiting for their school bus, this week it was climbing that poor tree. The tyke on the far left was the one who wanted to know if I was going to SCHOOL, because, y'know, only school kids take the bus, and adults have cars.... He is ALWAYS in motion, running all over the place.
This is where the bus drops me off, in front of the Post Office. Next door is a little place that rents out rooms to vacationers, and in the back you can see the magnolias are still blooming and they have a Japanese cherry tree. I had taken Peter out for a walk, you see, and we were heading 'downtown'. The background? It is the village center... gargantuan, huh?
The front of this place is so beautifully gardened... except they have the largest garden dwarf I have ever seen. And he is waay fuckin' ugly. Normally they are Disney cute little figures nestled somewhere under a shrub or a bush. I had one... Dopey with a hard-on, and I hid him under the rhododendron. (That, Preciousses, was my rebellion against the very idea of garden dwarves. Most people with gardens just lurv them to death, and some really go overboard, but why kitsch your garden up, if it is manicured to perfection, huh? Others, like me, are allergic to them.)
The dwarf in this picture has to be the king of them, or something, and looks evil. (Shudder) Well look, I have to have something to smile about, now don't I? I don't think people where I grew up have them, but can't be sure. But the Germans and Austrians are crazy about them. Stress on crazy, please...
And better than seeing what Peter is looking like right now....
So I pushed him about, and as they say, 'the hills are alive'... again. And if you finished the beginning of that phrase from something from Rodgers and Hammerstein.... I will feed you to sharks. It is Spring, dammit....
Before I went back, I took a look at that Church in Ehrenhausen. Inside, I mean. Jaw-dropper.... Baroque and scary. So much gold leaf, they could feed an army of poor people. And this in a town with 2-300 houses at most???? Beautiful, but actually.... offensive. The white bouquets at the end of the pews with the white ribbons?
Welllll... First Communion is this weekend seemingly. I know this because the posting in the elevator invited the seniors who were interested to play board games with the kids, and they made little presents and presented them to the oldies. Wheww, they really get into community stuff down there, but that seems to be a good thing. Except they start them off awfully young, seems to me....
It all sort of made me shudder. But what do I know... All I know is I got viciously slapped by a nun when it was practice, was told not to talk and was whispering to the person next to me. Yeah, that will get you respect.... Just sayin. I hightailed it out of there today, but didn't get hit by lightning.
Ok... am really finished with the Eurovision Song Contest for the moment....
You can google it and go through all the stuff... You will not like it.
I still to not know WHY people with even bother with it.
We don't, mostly....
Some people in America do. And I cannot figure out why...
But it is a window on your world, which is why I even posted it, so.... take a look if you will, and are interested,
It has become commerical, and sort of creepy.
I can't watch this...... Eurovision Turkey
You decide... they couldn't even put three pragrahphs together... OUCH.
Shudder....
You won't get through this one, guaranteed...
I do not know.....
What the hell is becoming of the country I used to live in. I have not decided to opt out on advocacy, or trying to help in things that really are horrible...
However:
1: I can not for the life of me believe how anyone would think that the health care bill could be harmful to them, even if it fully kicks in four years from now, fully.
2: Financial reform.... and every thime I see Mitch McConnell, (turtle man who is not a ninja), or Bonehead Boehner, or Kantor,. I would so want to verbally hurt them they would never recover.
Y'know... Rachel Maddow, who is getting a lot of flak right now, hosted a two hour special regarding never-before released tapes of Timothy McVeigh. It was very relevant to what some nut jobs are spreading for venom from the Capitol at the moment, and not 'history'.
It was enlightening, and the past isn't what the present is.
Although the present is actually very relevant, when connected to the past.
It is all sort of scary, when I go to sleep, and do not know what I will see the next morning....
And all this game playing regarding Wall Street, and hedge funds, and 'derivitaves' which no one understands in the first place, and I do NOT think that any congressperson or Senator does either, other than the money they get into their campaign funds.....
At least I am not gonna go barf in my bucket right now. But I find it disgusting.
Remind me never to go to Albania
This entry is really very very strange, like the music, and always amazed when they can come out with slang english, I mean, who woulda thunk it? The visuals were disturbing. I thought Dracula was in Rumania... Just sayin'... Enjoy.
Uh-oh.... Gloria Gaynor got reincarnated....
Listen, I know that Iceland has an erupting volcano right now, and all... but if I wanna get up and dance to a disco beat... Preciousses, THAT is so gay.... But I liked it.
oh.... my... gawd... The UK entry isn't a train wreck...
It is a disaster of enormous proportions. If my late friend John were still alive, well, am pretty certain he would be rolling on the floor laughing, holding his sides, and yelling 'Oh please stop it, it hurts!' What totally surprises me, by the way, is how this clusterfuck of a contest got so bad, and that there are some people in America who absolutely love it. Seemingly, I've lost a couple of beads in the ancient abacus I have in my brain.
Train wreck!
Watch what sixty years of US occupation did to Germany. It is only on YouTube. The girl just can't sing.
If this doesn't send you screaming in terror into a corner, sucking your thumb and holding on to your blankey, there is just no hope for you whatsoever. Now where did I put the eye and brain bleach. If you can stand watching this to the end, I will send you a movie ticket to watch something wholesome.
Link Here.
oooo... The Eurovision Song Contest!
Is like watching a slow-motion train wreck, and sort of fascinates people. The best group that ever came out of that was ABBA, and that is a looonnnng time ago. Even then they didn't get instant recognition. Celine Dion got her start there, singing for Switzerland, but we don't want to go there.
Here is the Rumanian entry. It's ok... as far as it goes... (look, this is my way of not venting, ok?)
Ok... you have to go to the last version of 60 Minutes
And call up the last video regarding what some snakes in the grass are doing. I was so angry. People with ALS (Lou Gehrig disease) or MS. And they give these people hope regarding stem cell injections, which do NOT work, and they get about 150,000 dollars, shoot them up with 'something' and it does nothing because the research isn't even near that goal yet. It made me hopping mad, because people can be so desperate, they sell their homes to get that treatment.... in Mexico. Horrible racket, and I can think of some very slow death methods for the people who are preying on those suffering people. Horrible to give such people hope with no solution, and bleed them financially in a very big way. This is worth seeing and is on 'da Google', just call up Sixty Minutes.
This makes me want to go to Greece....
The dreaded Eurovision song contest is coming up. Eye candy... Opa!
Am still trying to process....
this feeling of great loss, and the two posts below were my surfing the internets and trying to avoid crying. John gave me Phoebe Snow's album that this was originally on, just before I left the US for good. He knew that I loved that song, and it wasn't about relationships for me. It was about gathering up my courage, and moving on. (And no... we were friends, we were never intimate in a physical way. I think we were both afraid that it would ruin the rapport we had, but we cared very much for one another.)
So, John, you've released a flood of memories this past night. If you were still on the planet, I would throttle and shake you, am so angry. You just don't up and leave without a word, you know.... That was unlike you, you were kind and very thoughtful. I should have tried harder to reach you, but got side-tracked. And am so sorry. And thank you...
But I do regret. Be at peace....
And you were my 'poetry man', so here's something for you.
Well, this is good...
Obama does something right on the GLBT front. As many know... one of my worst fears and worries is going to a hospital, and not being let in. I have received no negative reactions here, but it should go further. Like having doctors explain what is going on if you are not next of kin. But it is a start...
If you want to make God laugh....
Tell him or her or whatever that you are content. And then you get the double-whammy, yup.
I read that somewhere on the internets yesterday.....
This is in memoriam for one of the best friends I have ever had. It is a re-post, but was written for him at the time, and was about being far away and missing his company.
Nights in the Saline Puppy
The Saline Puppy was a counter-culture haven
in the age of Narcissus, home to the craven.
First bar with genuine barn-board panels
And Tiffany lamps and teevee with ten channels.
There we drank the nights away
and we found so MUCH to say...
And plaid-shirted students dressed in farmer-johnny jeans
Solved the world's weighty problems while philosophers dreamed.
Rowdies with a buzz on tossed down their drinks
maintaining nothing mattered;
they were too burned out to think
And their eyes undressed each girl
in the crowd's unending swirl.
The nectar of the gods, came in pitchers---(dark and light)
Served by liberated ladies, bitter girls who'd bite
with a word or action. They'd no self trust,
Repressed sexuality, believed life was a bust.
Phoebe Snow sang 'No Regrets'.
and we took what we could get.
What wouldn't I give for another round
in that smoky room, watching the sights;
lost in discussion and your laugh would sound
when the talk became raucous
round about midnight.
And Robbie, Carl and Terry would join us now and then.
And the terms coined (love muscle?) Terry'd goose the men.
And the muscle bound bouncers, self-labelled Jocks
chatted with the husband-hunters--Liberation talk.
And we like to be alone,
but can't seem to stay at home..
Sitting at the bar with question-mark shaped posture,
menopausal salesmen debated on the cost or
better said 'investment' of one long-drink
for the young thing beside him, who ignored lewd wink.
And they both went home alone,
disappointed, hearts of stone.
Like the mailmen of old, we showed up in rain and sleet
And we quickly found a place where the heater warmed our feet.
And we analysed and we criticised.
And although the hours flew, we never grew too wise....
It was an uncertain time.
Done and gone with, but that's fine...
What wouldn't I give for another round,
to see how we and the world may have changed.
Or maybe to laugh and discuss and expound;
and to question our fates, so opaque and so strange.
The term 'Saline Puppy' was my late friend's transcription for 'Salty Dog', and it was a real place. And when our cinema business was going down the tubes, we would go there practically every evening and commiserate, and try to figure out what was coming next. We didn't own it, only worked there, but it was all ennervating.
We were very close friends, and when I wrote it, I had been in Austria a year or so, and felt homesick for his company, his humour, and his 'being there', and I was always there for him as well. He was a miserable correspondent.
I would call him on St. Patrick's Day, and we would laugh about a million things, and there was much warmth, and re-connecting was never an issue. There was always a bond there. Friendship I wish everyone could have once in their lives.
Tonight I learned that he has been dead for a few years now. (I kept wondering why he didn't answer the phone... being an idjit.) Last I heard, he was sad, and never laughed any more. Word is... he committed suicide.
Y'know... you carry them in your heart and mind, and all is well... till you find they left the planet, and you are never gonna commiserate about the bad things, or celebrate the good things with them ever again. And all I can think right now is: 'That really SUCKS, John. Not even a postcard? Not even a call to ask for help? What the fuck-hell were you thinking, hey...'
Sorry, fresh grief here of the worst sort there can be. Only two hours old.
But then I think... be at peace, wherever you are, John R. And watch out for my Mom... she still thinks you're the 'black Santa Claus'.
And are you getting your belly-laugh now, God? Good ploy.
Correction, please, I seemingly goofed....
I was so tired last nite, I obviously oversaw a factoid... I re-checked google three times last nite, because I couldn't figure out why a Socialist mayor would be running to Mass in a senior citizen's home. I don't know where the hell I found the socialist reference to the Gamlitz mayor, was reading sloppily.
So both of them are Rethugs--- which makes it more interesting to me, actually. Seems like they carved themselves a little dynasty, down there..... hmmmm....
Will still research this, it caught my interest.
In the end, they are pols, and doing what pols do...
I have no illusions about any of them, really not...
However.... I had hardly gotten finished with my post last night, and called up my e-mails, which I had neglected for two days, being depressed... Only to learn that 'The Venerable's' sister passed on yesterday. She lived in Indiana, and died of complications due to Alzheimer's at age 87.
I know that he played matchmaker after the war, and always referred to her as 'the kid', it being a HUGE age difference, or something.... I know that they had three children, two boys, one girl, who was 'wild' for Indiana standards... I know that their youngest son went into a seminary, and then dropped out, and no one talks about him any more... And I know that her 'wild' daughter was at her bed-side with her when she passed. In the few times his sister, my aunt, visited... I don't think I spoke more than thirty minutes with her, and I wish I had more to tell... she was very nice, but that is little to go on. She seemingly had a good marriage that lasted a very long time. And that is all I know. So he was a good match-maker, I guess...
The Venerable has been concerned about her for quite a while now, and stupidly, I couldn't respond, because I didn't have that 'connection', and could't find the right words to say, but I know that she meant very much to him, as close as he keeps his playing cards to his heart. But yesterday.... well I said what I think and believe, and it will never go further.
This is just a report, and it might be nice if you share your thoughts and feelings.
Peter's eldest aunt, the Nazi, used to rail and rant at her sibs. She was the eldest. And she would wail and rant at them, and if anyone had a chain-saw for a tongue, she came the closest to it, with threats, and dire consequences, and she had three sisters, all younger. The youngest, Doris, died first, from a disease she caught when his aunt sent her to a Nazi girl's camp, and she got sick, and never really recovered, and never forgave her. And Peter's mother died of a mess of things that were incurred during WWII, but died shortly after I got here, and his aunt was soooo pissed off.
And would call fambly conferences and lay down the law.... only she and Charlotte were left, you see... And she remained activist, and would fly to 'Murka, and mix it up in Harlem in her SS coat, and with black activists in Florida.... the fambly was scandalised. She was a piece of work, all right...
And she would absolutely rant at her remaining sister, and yell about her 'birthright'. She was the oldest, she would die first.
Did I meet her? Yes, once. Formidably scary. But she didn't get her wish. Charlotte is still around and doing fine and will be 90 on the Fourth of July, and is lovely in every sense of the word.
(The rest of the family were Socialists, and they got this cuckoo's egg in the nest, or something... but the eldest didn't rat them out.)
So what I am trying to say, Dad: don't get crazy about the issue. It hurts, I know... I know only too well. Don't go getting crazy ideas in your head about birthright, and 'just because you are older', and stuff like that.
Please don't go there, even if it crosses your mind.
Things happen. No idea why.
I really really hate loss.
A Tale of Two Mayors
Yes, it had to be Friday again, so a trek to Gamlitz was on the daily menu.
It wasn't momentuous. Got on the train as per usual, and had my book with me... The plot thickened, and some of the patter made me laugh out loud. (Which is gonna get me pegged as a nut job before I finish it, I guess. I save it for the train rides and the wait for the train back...)
Was fidgeting around on the main square in Ehrenhausen to get my bus to Gamlitz, and the mayor was sort of out and about glad-handing, and there were several children messing around across the way, and I suddenly realised they were playing 'follow the leader', and being very active, and having fun. I hadn't known that was a game kids here play, and it amused the hell out of me.
And suddenly, along comes the mayor, talks to the kids sort of sternly, or better said, authoritatively, and trundled on, and I was very surprised to see them get all active, picking up cigarette butts, and little pieces of paper on the square, and taking them to a waste basket they have all over, and they sort of made a game of it, seeing who could pick up the most, although there was little litter to speak of.... Task accomplished, they went back to playing 'follow the leader'. Later in the day, I learned that the schools down there had sort of an 'environment day', so I guess he had given the tykes a task, but in such a way, they had fun doing it, and they seemed to respect him. You gotta remember, this is a place a bit bigger than Gamlitz, maybe a couple hundred houses, but far more historic, so it surprised me.
My regular driver has the week off, so there was a sub, and I guess he was in his fifties... Got to Gamlitz, talked a while with Peter. He had gotten a bill for 15o Euros, so I had taken the money from his account to pay it. It was six week's co-pay for his prescription meds. If I have a prescription, I have to co-pay 5 Euros for each med I receive. So we went down to pay it at the administration window, and it was as I thought, a long list of 5 Euros for over five weeks.... He has to take a lot of different meds. And the nice young woman there told me she had a question for me.... later. Uh-huh.... (Where I am thinking, oh, good grief, what now???)
Well, I rolled him into the village for an ice cream after lunch, (very small one...) and got back, and it being Friday, they hold an RC mass in the dining room around three p.m., and went outside for my second cigarette of the afternoon... And up rolls the Smart with the mayor of Gamlitz in it, to attend the service with 'his' senior citizens, (and no, Peter doesn't attend them), and 'hizzhonor' was all spruced up, coming in from the parking lot...
Now, the mayor of Graz wouldn't deign to greet anyone on the street, and I would probably throttle him if he tried, because he is tha eptiome of everything I hate.
But as Elke would say, 'Things are way different in the countryside', and the mayors in these places seem to be omnipresent, and everyone knows everyone else anyway, it seems. (shudder) So, being the VIP, I didn't expect him to stop in front of me on his way in and want to shake my hand and greet me. So I did what you do here, and stood up, shook his hand, and said, 'Good day, Herr Bürgermeister'... with a slight nod, not an Obama 45 degree angle bow... He isn't the Emperor of Japan, or something... (smile). He smiled, said 'good day', and went on upstairs to Mass.
To be fair, Peter was sort of stunned at Easter when the mayor and his wife visited each and every one of the seniors in that place, and it is really very big, and everyone got an Easter Jause, and a chocolate bunny. (An Easter Jause is a snack of smoked ham, horseradish, hard-boiled colored eggs and sweet rolls with raisins in them. And the chocolate bunny, of course for after... Sounds weird, tastes very good.)
The substitute driver later asked me WHY I was in Gamlitz. (Toldja..... before, when you blow into a village, and are a stranger, you're just a corn of sand in the eye till they 'peg' you.... ) So I said, 'I visit an ex-colleague at the nursing home here once a week, he has no family.' Well, he did a double-take, and said, 'OH! That is so wonderful! What a kind thing to do...' (Thought, 'aw shucks, if ya only knew..')
Actually, it was embarassing.... So I changed the subject and mentioned that the mayor there had come in to attend Mass with the seniors shortly before. And the substitute driver said, 'Oh, that is one fine guy. He has done so much for the town.' My inner eyebrows reached my receding hairline.... And I thought, 'Now what is this about???' Because, you see, my regular driver pointed out his car last week and said, 'Oh, the mayor of Gamlitz!' and there was so much venom it it, I was taken aback. And since the regular driver is nice, and very funny, I really did wonder.
So now that I had a name for the guy, I googled. Bingo, the mayor is a Socialist... which must mean my regular is a Christian Dem, or worse, a Freeper. Seemingly, the last election there was vicious, and he had ideas about schools and education that sent the Christian Dems (who are our version of Rethugs), into rabidness, from a percursory view of a couple of articles.
'Murkin divisiveness comes to the Boonies, in other words... Something like that. Next week will be 'fun'. OMG, omg, omg... Google tells me that both mayors have to be related, or something, same family names. Karl is in Gamlitz, and Martin is in Ehrenhausen, both eight minutes' ride apart from one another. Brothers? Cousins? Very interesting, especially because the Ehrenhausen mayor is Christian Dem, and the Gamlitz mayor Socialist.
Picture me squirming with inner glee, hugging myself and smiling very snarkily and widely. This is beginning to sound a bit like Peyton Place down there. I never paid much attention to tiny places and their politics, but it looks as if this might be a fun story to tell. If I can keep my face straight and get the real facts of what they think down there. And the family name is sort of unusual, and I suspect, Slovenian in origin. And you know all that Slavic passion. Sounds like the stuff soap operas are made of, and in comparison to the 'big city', that stuff down there is really serious and divisive still.
Oh yes...
Whatever.... the 'question' was: Peter spilled a drink onto his telephone, and it was kaputt, they had to replace it, and did he have a certain sort of insurance, because they could not repair it, and it would have to be paid for. Well, he doesn't, and I can't figure out why they don't have that sort of insurance, and I am really NOT going to get into a fight about it. He's a charity case. I recently learned that the monthly cost at base is €2000,00 a month. He said, he can't remember, and that 'somebody' (read personell) knocked it over. But if it had been an issue, I think he would have told me, so I can't figure it out....
And as we all know... if he is at fault, he'll cover it up fast. Or he really doesn't remember. It was odd. I will have to call my local Communist and ask.
If my regular bus driver only knew.... but then he wouldn't let me on his empty bus.....
Been not so well the past few days
But cheered up immensely, just immensely, I tells ya... when I learned Rachel Maddow is going to be on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart. TONIGHT!!! In New Yawk! I hope she doesn't wear her geek glasses... or gets another pair. I find her to be one very hot woman.
(Yeah I know, go figure... Intellect and good looks and humour, just get me every time....)
I have this very hot fantasy... seeing her and Glen Beck in a cage fight. I would bet good money that I do not posess to bet that she would dissasemble him, and rearrange his parts in very interesting ways, like starting with putting his dick on his forehead, and forgetting all about the balls.... This is metaphorically speaking, and yes, I need a shrink.
Will be able to catch it tomorrow morning around ten our time. Am soooo looking forward.
So what's been your fantasy lately? Who would you like to see dismembered?
Lots of candidates out there....
What not to do in a foreign country....
Thirty five years, hey. Some things get so crass, you become legendary in a way you never wanted to be.
It was my first day in Austria when I came here for good. And Charly and his clique took me to a Gasthaus for a 'snack', which was called 'jausnen'. Bite to eat. But they eat big down here.... and we had the menus, and everyone told me to order a Brettljause.
I was suspicious, and thought they were pulling my leg, or something. I couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be, and thought they were going to laugh at me if it turned out to be something gross. My bad.
So I thought, 'Ok.... have the solution...' And the waiter came over, and I piped up with, 'A Brettljause with pommes frites' (french fries..,.,) A Brettljause is served on a round board, the Brett, and has an immense amount of meat, cheese, veggies, garnishes, it can be awesome.
Everybody at the table absolutely fell apart laughing. It's like ordering a Wiener Schnitzel with sauce.
,
Which some assholes do in Germany, but they have no taste, to speak of....
So it was embarassing, and I got over it.... But two and a half weeks ago, I learned it is legend in that small town... And they still laugh about it.
I am gonna have to take it into my grave. But there will always be the legend of the stupid Ami who ordered a Brettljause with pommes frites. Am glad there wasn't anything worse, at this point....
Gawwd, how I hated being naive.
Just a word about semantics....
If I refer to the greeting 'Grüß Gott' it refers to the South, in Austria, and Bavaria. It means 'God's Greetings'. Which is ok...., It is just something you say in greeting without really thinking about what it means, you know?
My former colleague and very good friend Nancy was working in a Burger King in Berlin, didn' t know German so well yet, and a Bavarian came in one day... And in the north, they just say 'Guten Tag'... good day. So the first time a Southerner came in and said 'Grüß Gott', she assumed it was a Mormon or even worse, a Jehovah Witness, and she yelled, 'NO!'
And that has to be one of the funniest things I have ever heard....
Good grief, hey. Words carry meaning, believe me.
And you can really get it wrong if you just take them at face value. I had a young girl come into the ho-tel one evening and tell me she had been charred to death at home. At least that is what I thought I heard, 'durchgebrannt'. Thoroughly burned. And I thought, 'Odd, I don't see any scars...' A misconception that was finally cleared up two hours later when the Kripo (criminal police) came in and checked our books. 'Durchgebrannt' was slang meaning she had run away from home, and they were looking for her. I was told I had done the right thing, they took her back to her parents in a town up north, and I just cancelled the whole reservation thing and felt stooopid.... But I didn't let on about that misconception, except to my boss, and she never let me forget it, and would laugh and laugh....
I don't know why this came to mind this evening.... guess it was just something I ate, who knows...
This is gonna be a long weekend.....
And words carry meanings we often aren't even aware of.
I found out something very odd yesterday
About the Austrian justice system. Won't wrap my head around this any time soon.... It had to do with Werner's case.
He brought over the court papers and asked me to read them. Basically, the case is closed, and Aranka is not worth believing.
But one sentence jumped out at me.
The reason she wants the case reopened is that the defense never got to look at what the DA had for evidence.
And I said, 'Du, Werner.... what in fuck hell is this about????' (Yeah, I know, am subtle....)
It just made no sense to me. I know about the US justice system, and we all got weaned on it and know about rights, and so on....
But it seems that in Austria, it doesn't go so far as being guilty until you prove yourself innocent, oh no... But the defense doesn't get to look at the evidence the prosecutors have in hand, which sort of shocked me. What sort of justice is that, huh?
I still can't wrap my head around this. Nope, no way, no how. You need an even playing field. All cards on the table if you please...
Ok, as far as I can see, the courts ruled that Aranka was lying, and nothing she said is believable, which I know for a fact. And she seemingly wants to re-open the case, because the defense had no recourse to looking at the DA files.
Except.... They were never asked to and would have opened them if a request had been placed, which didn't happen.So....
Why did they do that in the first place?
Mystified....
Hokay.... this is getting weird...
Just back from the Hauptbahnhof, main train station up the way from my house. And they always had a lost and found office, this I know, because about 20 years ago, I lost something on a train, and got it back.
However.... they renovated the place fully a few years ago, so I wasn't sure where the lost and found office is any more. Therefore, following my late mother's 'rules for living' i.e. 'You got a tongue in your head... USE it'... I asked at the ticket office where it is now.
First a factoid: Graz is the second largest city in the country, and has about 25o,ooo inhabitants last time I heard, so it's a metropole... I mean, you've seen our awesome airport, for instance... (smile).
So I learned that I have to call an office in Bruck an der Mur. And I would pay a Euro or two to have a photo of my facial expression when I was told that and put it in my album, because it was 'WHAAA? Huh?' I missed the day when Bruck became a world capital. I think they have about 20,000 inhabitants, if it is even that much. Just guessing, here....
But it got even BETTER. The place I have to call won't be open before Monday, because it is the weekend. And what is it called, you ask? 'Lost & Found Service Center'.
Will someone please, please tell me why in tarnation I learned German? Werner would say it is the nefarious influence of the 'Murkins, but he's paranoid, so that is no help....
Tja, search me.... but keep the taser in your holster, or wherever you keep it...
Yup... it's just odd, ok?
I forgot something from yesterday, something which intrigued me. We were driving into the 'center' of Gamlitz, and my 'chauffeur' suddenly muttered, there's the mayor of Gamlitz.' And his Smart rolled by, and I was sort of puzzled, because Preciousses... the tone makes the music, and I would swear he really dislikes him intensely.
And it puzzled me, and I wanted to ask, but 300 metres later, I had to get off the bus. Whatever, it sort of surprised me, and having grown up in Peyton Place country, I thought, 'uh-oh, what is going on here', because the driver is a decent sort of guy, and politicians in rural districts are sort of dick-heads.
So I was thinking, 'Let's take a look at this, and re-cap. Peter and I ran into him on the five block stretch that calls itself a town, and he was friendly.... The mayor and his wife were at the home over Easter, visited Peter and brought lots of specialties and goodies to his room, including a chocolate bunny he didn't even open yet, and were very nice, but that is what politicians do, no-brainer....
So am thinking: 'What's the dirt here? What in the world is going on?'
And I didn't bring up Peyton Place for no reason. Small places can be vicious, no matter where you are in the world.
It was interesting, somehow.
Guess who is gonna be sleuthing the next few weeks. He piqued my curiosity.
Don't hit.... it even sounds a bit dirty to me seeing it on screen.
I wanna do a Hercule Poirot number. Who knows what will turn up....
And on that note...
Have a nice weekend.
Summenabitch, hey....
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Theresa_of_Austria
This lady was to be my theme today. The only Empress of the Habsburg empire, and was very progressive for her time, and managed to have sixteen children and ruling an empire. A power Frau, in other words. She warred with Prussia, and lost, but had a secret diplomacy, namely marrying her offspring to other ruling houses in Europe, and thus cementing the influence of her empire. (Only, her youngest, Marie Antoinette... well, as we know, that didn't end so well....)
Why am I mentioning her, you may ask? Well, she did spend a night or so in the palace of Eggenberg, which some of you have seen, and there is a room named for her, and the bed is still there. Doesn't look all too comfortable, but what the hey....
And last Friday, I was restlessly waiting for my 'chauffeur' aka bus driver... but he's my 'chauffeur', as I am normally the only person on the bus... and was pacing about and found a plaque near the door of the Gasthaus zum Goldenen Löwen next to the stop. (The Golden Lion Inn). There isn't a restaurant there any more, but they rent rooms still. The plaque commemorates the fact that the Empress and party stopped there, seemingly for refreshment, in the year 1758! And I thought, 'now that is damned awesome.... America wasn't even born yet. And here is this inn, in very good shape, and it survived all the turmoil and strife of centuries, and the stone lions are still outside the entrance. Little ones, but lions all the same...'
Sigh.... Whatever, I thought that was really sorta kinda cool, you know? So my main objective today was getting a photo of the place and the plaque.
Ya think.
There are some days when I am just a spaz... And if I get my nose in a book, something will definitely go wrong. It was just my everyday garden variety of being distracted and scatterbrained. And being pre-occupied. I took a couple of photos from the train window, and started getting into my book. And before I knew it, we were approaching Ehrenhausen, and the stops are very short, so I thought I packed everything, and debarked.... only to find I had forgotten the camera on the seat next to me, and I wanted to jump back in and get it.... but it just chugged off to the end of the line, the next stop on the Slovenian border.
/end photo op. /end camera. And that is when my first colleague came to mind with what he thought was a real swear word, and I yelled, 'summenabitch!'
Ok, let's re-cap this wunnerful wunnerful day. First Werner, waking me up at six-thirty in the a.m. and totally freaked, because his gypsy woman wants to re-open the assault case against him, which is absurd, because he was sleeping in my house the night it happened, but he didn't want to drag me into it, and goes totally bonkers and gets paranoid that they are going to hang it on him, and he doesn't want me to testify, because... whoa! he was staying in my house. It might reflect on him, or something, I can't get behind what he is thinking in this case....
Hopeless, I tell you.... absolutely hopeless. Gawwwd! If he had been dangerous, I would have been the one to be afraid, and believe me, he's pretty strong, but I never was afraid. He is basically good, and he probably did awful things in the Legion, but.... uh-uh. He's decent.
Then came the losing the camera thing, and I was really, violently pissed off about it. So I didn't get the picture I wanted, and everything is beginning to bloom, and I saw a mess of opportunities, and nada, nothing, and it made me even angrier at myself.
My 'chauffeur' arrived, and I vented. And made him laugh while doing so. I sort of like that, and he thinks I'm 'funny'.... as in humorous... And it sort of wound me down, so when I debarked, I was calmer... sort of....
Did it end there? Oh no, Preciousses... it was another beginning. I grabbed a corfee on entering, and there was this intern on the reception, and she asked me what I was doing there, and I said I was going to see Peter, and she wanted to know if I knew what room he was in, you know? She is probably nineteen or so.
And before I could answer, the regular administration lady came out and wanted to read her the riot act. 'When someone comes in here, you say 'Grüß Gott'!!! And you don't give them the third degree!'
And I jumped in to her defense and said, 'Listen, I think it is totally right to ask a question if someone comes in, and not let them walk all over the place, and it is good security... She did the right thing, as far as I can see.... And I found nothing impolite.'
I absolutely HATE it, when people criticise others in front of third parties. That belongs in four walls, and between two people. The kid was instinctively doing the right thing. There is a lot of responsibility there, you know?
Besides which, it made me feel good, that they just aren't automatons running on empty, and going through the motions.
Yup, I know, am crazy...
So I got up into the dining room, as lunch was still being served, and Peter was really angry, as he hadn't gotten his yet.
And oh.... Jeebus H. Christ. His table is the one with the charmers. Not... Two ladies who are going way into twilight time. And there were a guy and a gal from Slovenia, it turns out.... and Slovenia is just across the border not far from there, and they were cutting their food, and mashing them up, and spoon feeding them.
However... they did that with great care, and I don't think they found it was a chore, or something. They were careful, didn't hurry them, and it took as long as it took.
The rest of the room wasn't much more fun. I told Peter, 'I don't know why, but every time I see this, it reminds me of the film 'Oliver'.... Please Sir, I want some more. I guess it is the long tables.'
Yeah, just shoot me, y'know?
But of course it isn't like that at all.
They had deep-fried chicken, green salad with potatoes in it and pumpkin seed oil, a specialty here, and pudding for dessert. You can't get more Styrian than that, believe me.
So, back to his room, got him into bed, and the duo from lunch came in to dress the wound in his foot, the remaining one. Oh boy, that was 'fun'. The woman went at him with a scalpel, and cut away the dead tissue around the old wound, and had to look at the new one. In stuff like this... you can have a wound, and it sort of creates a tunnel and festers, and comes out somewhere else. It is pretty gross, in other words. And being the bundle of joy I am and spreading cheer everywhere, I chirped up with 'I am so glad I didn't bring my 3-D glasses with me today...' It was gross enough, and I still can't figure why they didn't send me out of the room, as is usual.
He has no feeling there, so they didn't hurt him. And they called in the head nurse, and she said he was gonna haveta go onto antibiotics, and he was getting into his ornery mode, and I called her aside, and said, 'Listen... I KNOW FOR A FACT: he doesn't respond any more to about over ninety per cent of them, and it became very difficult. You should run tests before he gets a prescription.' Well... I didn't get any thanks for that piece of advice... But I tried....
So we got through that. And it was a gloriously beautiful day, so I said, 'How about a tour of the town? And he said yes, and I got him into his wheelchair... and he wanted to go to the grocery store because he wanted bananas. (Huh? ok....) So I pushed him the five blocks, because that is as big as this village is gonna get, seemingly.... Got him his bananas, and yoghurt. It was sort of surreal...
He really enjoyed being out and about. 'Oh, the sun feels so strong.' 'Yup.'
Aaand.... we got back, I got him back into bed, and whaddaya know... Blood on the sheets.
Sigh... I have to be the most idiotic jackass going. I didn't put on his footrest, because he never likes them and holds his foot out in the air, always does. Well today... he dropped it and scraped his heel and has a new wound that he really does not need.
And I thought, 'oh fuck, how stupid can you be, hey?' So off to the nurses' station which is next door to his room, gave a report... the Slovenians came in again, and I said, 'I'm going out and have a cigarette, because this is freaking me out.'
So I was sitting on a bench, wondering why some days go so horribly wrong, and who put some sort of curse on me, and suddenly the administrator lady comes out RUNNING, asking me if I'M ok... Say what?' It was surreal, believe me.
I was so glad to get to Ehrenhausen and my purgatory of waiting forty-five minutes for my train. And to get to sit outside.
Gasthaus culture has a very special and very own dynamic. A Gasthaus is sort of like a clubhouse. And only the locals are the members. If you go into one, and have a slight accent, as I do..... oh boy, you are the outsider who is never gonna get in.
UNLESS... you get introduced by a member... OR...... you just stay quiet and respectful.
So... my first times waiting were 'uncomfortable' for me and for them. I ordered my mineral water with lemon, and read a book till my train arrived. I was respectful, polite, tipped well, and after about the fourth week, the ice broke a little.
Today... after trudging up there... lots of stairs... a few people were passing me, and recognised me and said, 'Oh, Grüß Gott!' And I thought, 'Well, that is nice.' The woman at the bar was really not friendly at first, but now I get a smile.
Whatever, two people were on the platform when I was going back, and wanted to begin a converstaion. And I thought, 'Whaa?' Odd. They got on my car. They thought I was German. Say what? At least I got closer as far as language goes.... (It wasn't so long ago ....for me... that someone told a colleague of mine to tell 'that Greek guy to wake him up at a certain time, and he said, 'What Greek? He isn't Greek....' And the guest said, 'Well he comes from 'somewhere down there....' sigh...-
At least they think I'm German now. I don't know if that is progress, and would never denigrate Greek people. It was just so odd.
I got off in Leibnitz, and Elke was there, and we walked to her house. It isn't far. Her daughters are beautiful, and her husband is very nice, and she drove me crazy, putting up a huge plate of food, which was so unnecessary. After today, I really wasn't so hungry. And I know it is the rule of hospitality, but I said, 'Please don't do that again. It feels like an imposition just stopping off, and wanting to talk. I don't NEED that, ok?' We sat out in the garden, and that was very very nice. And just talked.
And her daughters are spectacular, and very bright, and somehow.... it saved the day. Even if it makes no sense. And her husband is cool too, and I met her mother, the matriach, and she is lovely....
Civility and politeness.... y'know... there is so much vitriol that I see on the intertubes, and it leaves me spitless. And despite my really awful day.... I'd prefer it to a day in 'Murka any time at all.
This is long, und good night.
Amazon rocks... it really does
Am getting ready to leave the house, and my book was in the post box yesterday afternoon. They are so prompt, I could hug them.
So yeah, am going back down to Gamlitz today. And I know I am going to have fun with this latest novel by Joe Keenan. I swore I was gonna crack it open on the train this morning, but last night I wanted to make sure it would be as good as the two previous ones. Always the same characters, and wildly funny.
It began with the I narrator lamenting about reaching a certain age, and how la vie bohème can be colorful, but despair sets in when you get the feeling you aren't going to reach the goal you set for yourself, which in his case means becoming famous.
And although I appreciated the depiction, been there, felt that.... was thinking: 'ummm... this doesn't sound like it will be fun...' The beginning ends thusly, however:
"For the first time, he allows himself to wonder if his life twenty years hence will be any different than his present existence. 'Of course it will be different,' coos the voice in his head. 'You'll be old.'
From this icy thought, a short road leads to panic, and from panic to despair, self-pity, desperation, and finally, Los Angeles."
And THAT made me laugh out loud, and heartily. It was unexpected, and that is why I like his novels. And goodness knows I haven't laughed all too much in a very long while.
I love that sort of dead-pan throwaway humour, and I know that everyone's sense of humour is different, and what I may find funny other people do not. One thing I learned working in a cinema was never recommend a comedy... ever.
You can bore me to death with slap-stick, for instance, never really get it. Most of Monty Python escapes me. Dumb and Dumber put me to sleep. Mel Brooks is so outrageous on the other hand, he can knock me dead for laughing.
Whatever, have to mosey on up to the train station. I didn't look at anything more than the first page and a half of 'My Lucky Star', but I'm gonna savor this one.... And know it will make me smile, and probably even laugh out loud again. And that is a good thing.
Stopping to see friends in Leibnitz on my way back this evening, so it will be a long day.
W. came by this morning. He's going away to some uncle near Vienna. Who will give him a job, or something. He is still freaked by his ex, who is still maintaining he stabbed her. I have told him a thousand times.... he was in my apt. the night it happened, and listen.... that guy would never do that anyway.
Let's see, he hates gay people, he hates Americans, he spent three and a half months sleeping on my floor till he could find an appartment, and never once did anything near threatening me, or being violent.
That woman is a sociopath. His problem.
Ok, off to Gamlitz. It's a beautiful day.... so far. My tabocconist lady told me it was going to rain later, and I said, 'Oh jeez, just thanks for that one, I need it at seven a.m....' She looked so stricken, I broke the sternness, and we laughed. Another nice person, y'know???
Hope everyone's day is nice.
Did you ever meet a true, honest-to-gawwd prince? I did...
I am planning to post something tomorrow, and it got me on the topic of monarchy, and that sort of thing, which set off some explosions in what is left of my brain... and I remembered the prince. It is an odd story that spans thirty years. Here is what I wrote:
The hotel I worked in was called the three ravens... and had three ravens placed around a crown. There is a pretty story connected to that... the heir was a baby, wandered out on the grounds, and the family went crazy looking for him. And they saw three ravens circling a tree, and found the child sleeping beneath it. Which is how it supposedly became the central part of the family coat of arms.....
I sort of love stories like that, am incurably romantic. It probably isn't true, but always found it nice, somehow.
So tomorrow, I am gonna GET that photo.... and post it.
I did know a real prince for many years. He was one of the most powerful and richest in Germany. He showed up one night my first year in the hotel. It was raining cats and dogs, and he came in dressed in a plastic poncho, and I thought he was a farmer. So I signed him in and needed to see some ID, and he gave me his passport, and there it was, black on white: The Prince of Schaumburg zur Lippe. I froze inside, how to address him? And then I thought, well fuck it, am American and stuck with the polite form of adress. It was way weird.
He stayed with us yearly for thirty years. Always took the most modest rooms, and was one of the kindest, most interesting people I have ever met. His passion had to do with railway systems, and he was always here for seminars on the subject. We became a little closer over the years, well, as close as you can get to a prince.... One evening I told him about my first reaction that night, and he smiled, and said, 'Oh, my dear young man! Who cares about those things nowadays???' And smiled.
Proust was right about one thing: the higher the title, the more gracious and kindly they are.
A few years ago, he came in and told me it would be his last visit with us. He was pushing ninety, and had become hard of hearing, so he couldn't follow the lectures at the symposium. 'I really can't expect them to speak louder so that I can hear, you know...' It moved me so much, I did something unthinkable. I reached over, and took his hand, and covered it with both of mine. And said, 'I am so very sorry to hear this, but I wish to thank you for all the people who work here for being such a wonderful and loyal guest for all these years, and I hope that you will stay well.' It was sort of unheard of, and his first reaction was sort of being upset that I would touch him... But then he relaxed and smiled. And said, 'Well, I should hope so...'
He died six months later.
Listen, I have never been some star-struck idiot, and have dealt with famous people, and left them their room to be who they were, and never got in their face, or wanted autographs, they just wanted to be alone and as anonymous as they could be. And I never did any sort of social climbing. Find that sort of thing hideous.
And I never invaded the Prince's space either. For me, he was a window into history, and a remarkable man. And I came to like him very much. Because he was modest, and kind, and very funny, and he wasn't Prince Charming, or all the clichés you can imagine about princes... He was just a nice person.
Ok, so that is what I wrote. I was remembering a real gentleman. He had immense power, you can't imagine. But he was genuine. I would equate that with really being behind a politician, one who is out there, and works quietly behind the scenes, and achieves something good. It isn't about 'royalty'... it's about people who do good and do not advertise it.
It probably makes no sense. Except to me.
How was your day???
Sometimes people are awesomely nice...
Millie. I save all my plastic bags, and she needs them to pack them and sell potted plants. She runs the flower stand at the market, and have known her for a decade.
It's just another form of recycling.... And she needs the stuff....
So she got all 'Mommy' on me yesterday morning.
'Are you eating?'
'Ummm no not really, have no appetite...'
'Do you make a hot meal, at least, and I know you can cook very well.' (I have been giving her my recipes for years...)
'Ummm... yeah, I make a lot of rice, mostly with vegetables in it. Cooking for one isn't any fun.'
'Ren, you are really making me worry. You are so pale and look lost.'
'And I KNOW that you are suffering, and being with Peter and you can't go there every day, and it is eating you up. But you have to look after yourself, Herrgottnochmal,!' you are cutting yourself into small pieces.'
I didn't like that conversation, particularly.
I deflected it all. So I changed the subject.....
But she was right, I guess.... and isn't some sort of superficial person, but a friend. That has a very high value in my book.... and she knows, without my having complained and whined...
And that is awesome.
Am not so good these days...
Apropos books....
I ordered one a few days ago and will probably have it in time for my next train journey.....
Some of you will sort of be surprised by that statement. For over forty years, I was never seen without a book in my hand. My 'places to escape to'.
And books are like that for me. Always were. Sometimes you didn't escape to some place nice, which made you feel your life was tolerable and preferable to what you were reading about... Sometimes you escaped to something so wonderful, you would wish to be there forever, and those books would give you something to strive for.
Books are something that form you, delight you, make you laugh, or cry, they are powerful.
And inform.
And right now.... I have been taking my own books on the train to read. Because I do not want to think about grim stuff, you know? So when I go by railway, I need something to take me away into a fun place, and keep my mind off what I am going to see. So books can be a shield as well.
That is why I was taking the 'Tales of the City' by Armistead Maupin with me these past weeks, and re-visiting all of his amazing cast of characters. I recently learned that he wrote another, dealing with them, but I do not want to read it right now. I don't think I can take reading about Mouse dealing with HIV and Anna Madrigal in a coma. I will read it.... definitely, but this isn't the time for that.
So I turned to Joe Keenan. He's like Noel Coward and Wodehouse, only not in the closet. He has only written three novels in this series to date.... because he does screenplays for Law and Order, seemingly.
And didn't have time, or something...
I have the first two... 'Blue Heaven' and 'Putting on the Ritz'. He can set up situations that are so hilarious, it gets infectuous. Every other paragraph has zinger where you think, 'oh, gawwd, why didn't I ever think of that?' And it all fits. Delightful reading, in other words....
The sort of thing I need when facing awful things, in other words.
Both books have the same cast of characters. Phillip, the narrator, who writes lyrics, and Claire, who is grounded and does the music for shows, and the dastard Gilbert.... who is probably the most chaotic idjit who got onto paper and in books.
Phillip always gets into Gilbert's hare-brained schemes, and Claire always has to get them out of their dilemmas. 'Blue Heaven' begins with Gilbert wanting to marry a New York girl for her connections, and they both scheme, because they want the wedding gifts in order to hawk them. Except... the girl's family are in the Mafia, and it turns into the worst nightmare anyone could imagine, but it is extremely funny.
'Putting on the Ritz' is to die for. A VERY thinly disguised Donald Trump, and his wife wants to sing in the Rainbow Room in New York. It is the best train wreck I ever read about. Keenan really sends up what New Yawk is all about.... it is devastating, and I laughed tears.
Those two were quite a while ago, so I checked Amazon, and whaddaya know.... After ten or so years, he's baaaaccck! Same cast, and they destroy Hollywood. I can't wait to see what they are gonna do there.
The book is called 'Star'.
S0 I can fasten my seat-belt on the train, metaphorically speaking.
Books have always been my escape if my world was threatening, I guess.
I wish and hope that you never read for that reason.
But sometimes, it can be a life-saver.
