Shall I apply for the position of Sampling Girl?
Although that sounds more like a misdemeanor than an actual job.
I think I’ll apply, along with a picture of myself looking good in swim trunks.
The lack of russian might hurt.
as does the requirement that the applicant be ‘pleasant looking’
I still think I’m overqualified.
Why do people bring cellphones to the gym? What’s the point of putting on all that carefully chosen spandex and matching sneakers, then spending 20 minutes sitting on the peck deck, chatting with your friend? A real friend would tell you to hang up the damn phone and get to work on that fat ass.
An adjoining problem is that I am starting to understand enough czech that everyday, inane conversation is filtering its way into my brain. I hate that.
I hear albanian is difficult…
In the exciting search for my next abode, my gifted readers have suggested “Connecticut” and “Milwaukee”.
Milwaukee, I could consider. Any city once considered a ‘brewing powerhouse’ would probably suit my tastes. Spaceships are also a favorite of mine. And having the world’s largest music festival is certainly an attraction.
Connecticut, on the other hand, sucks in every conceivable way. The proud diplomatic tradition of the state includes a short war with Pennsylvania. The state insect is the European Mantis, they’re not even patriotic enough to use the American one. But most importantly I lived there for two months, and hope never to return.
And let us all pause for a moment of pity for Sarah, who must endure the crappy boringness of Connecticut.
I bought a bike this weekend. Not because I’m ‘green’ or any crap like that, but just because I want to see more of the countryside in one shot than foot-based travel allows.
And although I have this new bike and new salary and everything, I would enjoy just getting rid of it and moving somewhere new. It’s like I have an egg timer in the back of my head that clicks after 3 years and says ‘I’m done’. And, lo and behold, as of Oct 11 2007 I’ve been in CZ for 3 years.
So, my clever and geographically dispersed readers, I will ask you: Where should I go next?
As winter rapidly closes its icy grip around my undefended neck, I look back fondly at the days when I could lounge about under a warm sun, dismissing servant girls and their overabundant grapes.
Actually those days were last week, if a bit exaggerated. Winter has indeed descended upon me, but let us not concern us with such disgusting matters. Today I would like to describe that most enchanting of countries, producer of Alexander and Zorba, great statues and bad accents, that cradle of civilization, Greece.
Jana and I decamped to Rhodes for a week of decompression and amnesia, as we tried to forget that we were gainfully employed middle-class wage-slaves. We took a package deal with a large number of middle-aged czechs, who spent the week lounging by the pool and eating free food from the cafeteria. Jana and I attempted to relax by the pool one day. We quit after an hour to go explore the historical city of Rhodes.
Rhodes has beaches and clubs and other crap people like, but it also once had crazy knight-monks who harassed the turks with a mix of piracy and religious fervor. I’m talking about the Knights of Malta, the Knights Hospitaller, and the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, and the Knights of Walt Disney. I made that last one up, but these guys were seriously cool for two reasons: 1) they were hospital workers who eventually evolved into one of the most potent military forces in the mediterranean, and 2) they built big, massive walls.
I can’t expain my fascination with old, big walls, but it must have something to do with sexual frustration. Of course, according to Freudian psychology everything had to do with sexual frustration, which negates the whole idea. Anyway I like taking pictures of old, big walls. Like, for example, Dubrovnik. Or Windsor. Or like a million places in Bohemia. Technically you could say all I’ve done over the past three years is drink beer and take pictures of old crap, and you would be right. But I digress.
Here’s an example of one of their big, massive walls. Cool. After they got kicked of of Rhodes they went to Malta, where they turned the whole island into one big stone fortress, eventually helping to defeat the Ottomans at Lepanto and forever break the power of the Turkish military in the Med. Then the Knights got kicked out of Malta by Napoleon and eventually replaced by the British, whose pasty skin and bad cooking somehow propelled them into great-empire status.
Rhodes was never occupied by the british empire, but today it is happily ensconsed as a sex-party fuelled destination for dim, drunk english youngsters. Their home base is Faliraki, perhaps one of the foulest destinations I’ve ever visited. It is the epitome of every dingy seaside village, hyped up on the steroids of modern tourism and mixed with a bit of nostalgia for Irish beer. It’s so bad that typing this paragraph has made me ill. Let’s move on.
Jana and I spent most of the week exploring various island destinations during the day, and visiting Rhodes town in the evening for some greek food and beer. And I mixed in a bit of photography as well, check out my flickr set here. I would definitely like to visit greece again, but without the whole package-deal thing, that was boring. Perhaps an island-hopping trip is in order for next year, when Jana and I should have enough money to retire and do what we always preferred to do.
Which is, of course, take a plane to some weird plance, look at some old town, and find out who built this giant wall, and why.
I was in Greece last week, enjoying some end-of-season beach-related laziness. I have returned to work to find that I have too much to do, and my blog-time is non-existant. I shall return soon.
Music and beer mix well together. After an evening of convivial beer consumption, rousing the crowd to a poorly sung rendition of half-remembered songs is the crowning achievement to any gathering.
Last night’s pub club meeting ran a bit long, ending up in some sort of dive bar around 2am. I was gathered with two Italians and an Irishman, drinking bad beer in a smokey room. A man sat at the bar with either a large dog or small horse, I couldn’t tell. But the animal was frisky and confused, running around us and out of the bar with frequency. We finally decided to leave, but not before I put a few songs on the Jukebox.
1) Depeche Mode – Personal Jesus. This song is weird and cool, and encouraged our patrons to exchange toasts to long-forgotten friends and pubs. The bass line alone makes this a good drinking song.
2) Led Zeppelin – Stairway to Heaven. The first few notes of Jimmy Page’s guitar come on and everyone goes quiet. And no one says anything for the next 8-16 minutes, or however long this song actually lasts. I have a few flashbacks to the more exciting parts of the ‘lord of the rings’ movies, but generally just enjoy one of the greatest songs ever.
3) Pink Floyd – Anything from ‘Dark Side of the Moon’. At this point the esoteric mysteries of the universe become vast and uncontemplatable, therefore we decide to conclude our convocation. Hands are shaken, the horse is humoured, and everyone departs into waiting taxis or night trams.
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