laziness

being 26 has made me lazy.

last week was my birthday, and i'm still trying to find a picture on the internet of the berlin street, "Strasse des 17.Junis," to adorn my blog with. because i don't think there are many birthdays out there that have their own street in a major city named after them.

but i can't find one. so i've asked a friend in berlin to take one and send it to me.

otherwise, i'm just going to work, coming home to play with my new pet macbook, and lazing around.

heidelberry finn?

mark twain became beloved to me only after i realized that he too was an international traveler. and also after i realized his connection with heidelberg.

in one of those touristy bookshops on the hauptstrasse in heidelberg, there is a book by werner pieper called "mark twain's heidelberg." i bought it one day after lunch at the excellent chinese buffet at "dong dong" (yes, the name of that restaurant was the source of much mirth among friends while i was there, but you couldn't beat their buffet). it takes excerpts from twain's "a tramp abroad," a book in which his affection for the germans is apparent only when you look past his jokes and jibes. he was after all a humorist, and i wish we had focused more on that side of him when studying him in high school. "huckleberry finn" put me to sleep, though i haven't gone back and read it again since, and perhaps now, that opinion may change.

damn computers

i have a love-hate relationship with technology. and computers. mine for instance was down all of last week because it wouldn't connect to the internet. scheiss schlepptop.

oops, almost forgot...

what funny german men used to do to their mustaches during the leinfeldener krautfest:

i kid you not, there was an entire stall where they did this to your mustaches. it's a schwaben thing apparently. the men in town would grow these 'staches for months, because at the end of the festivities, there would be a competition to see who had the most luxuriantly styled mustache. if you had a beard, you could make cool designs incorporating the two.
gotta love it.

on destiny

destiny is a tricky thing - not all of us know exactly what it holds for us, but for some, the red arrows pointing in a certain direction are inescapable.

take the strange case of unity mitford, one of the 6 talented, lovely, and thoroughly mixed-up mitford sisters. according to the book "the sisters: the saga of the mitford family," unity mitford was conceived in swastika, canada, while her father mined for gold there in the early 1900's. looking for a name that would counteract the peacable moniker "unity," her grandfather gave her the middle name "valkyrie."

traveling gourmand

just read the ny times blog, "the frugal traveler." it's a great idea, and this is one of the many reasons i now wish i had discovered blogging while living in europe and not after - my stories now seem to be pure nostalgia and sentimental reminiscing, and i'm sure i'm forgetting things (what with old age and all...i turn a wise old 26 in 13 days Reader).

in a new york minute...

see, that last post was supposed to be about new york city. though i took the u.n. statistics and veered off seamlessly into a completely different direction (from cities and city life to cultural identity), i curbed my urge to veer wildly back to my original thought process, which would have consequentially destroyed the flow of thought. to many, the post would have been rendered incomprehensible.

aren’t you proud of me Reader?

on culture, part 286...

a recent u.n. report found that half the world’s population lives in urban areas. the npr reporter working the story spoke from karachi,
pakistan, one of the fastest growing cities in recent times. the estimate is that 12 million people live in karachi today, though pakistanis say the number is close to 15-18 million souls. in the background of the reporter’s narrative were the familiar sounds of cars and motorcycles, rickshaws and honking horns.

i wonder if a person’s birthplace subconsciously influences a person’s psyche for the rest of their lives? even if no recollection exists, there must be buried memories somewhere.