Jew? Where are you? What's happened to your side of things? Did you give up on me?
I don't know if it's even a good idea to talk about this. I mean... what's happened to me.... and what happened to Heidi... You will notice that I am a much changed man, Jew. Let's just say, after running afoul of the Austrian milch mafia, my dapper and statesmanlike mien had become a liability. Fortunately, Petey knew a reall good plastic surgeon here in Northern Cyprus. Jenny and I were able to hoe the barque down the Danube to Turnu Severin, where friends of Irina accepted 50 euros from each of us to drive us down to Thessaloniki in their mititei delivery van.
At Thessalonki, Irina's friends helped us stow away on a cruise ship headed for Antalya. Boy, that was an unpleasant trip. I came down with trichinousisf rom snakcing on the raw mititei in the Zalinescu's van, but Jenny never let go of my hand, even as I shed 18 pounds -- moost of those gained from a surabundanceo f Vienneses Sachertorte... which I guess doesn't make it that bad -- while consuming a strict liquid diet of the airplane bottles of Ouzo whcih Jenny was somewhow able to obtain from the ship's bartender, Isaak. Any was, once we got to Lefkosa, Dr. Avci was able to eliminate the infection while completing the reconstruction of my face.
From Antalya, we bought a couple of bus tickets to Mersin, eating only hard-boiled eggs and black olives while watching some kind of movie about vampires fighting werewovles, but dubbed into Turkish. It was all very strange, but in a somewhat poignant sort of way. Mersin, anotherr 200 euros got us place on a fishing boat bound for Girne. Jenny and I lay aboard under the full moon surrounded by nets full of mezit and levrek.
We whispered of alife of stopping running, of fishing tranquilly along the coast of Bilbao, of preparing our favorite recipes for each other, one day schnitzel, another day bouillabaisse. Sitting on the terrasse of a dusty T1 of T2, quizzing each other on whether we were "the mother" or "the mistress" according to the latest issue of Elle's criteria. I talked a bit about you, LIJ. Of houw I wanted Jenny to meet you one day -- that is, if we could every clear our names. I'm sure you'd get along great!
We arrived at Girne as the sun was just poking above the horizon, Jenny's hand warm and moist in my grasp. The flies had begun to amass and their bites stirred me from the sweet loukoum dreams of yesterday. Once I had shaken the stiffness out of my legs, I helped our hosts build an improvised brazier on the quai of the fishing port. We improvised a copious breakfast of grilled mezit, tomatoes, and a modling block of kasar peynir that had begun to stink more than the boat -- hell, what am I saying, more than I, myself, di.
Thus sated, Jenny and I began to make our way on foot across the countryside, relying on the renowned hosptiality of the Turkish Cypriots. As we approached Lefkosa, I unfolded one more time the crumpled SPAR receipt on which Pete had scrawled the address of Dr. Avci. It's been almost 6 months since I first stepped into his office. I first saw my face without the bandages shortly after I heard the news of the election. Jenny and I made custard for our hosts in order to celebrate.
Yes, I am staying in safety with certain people whose names I cannot mention for obvious reasons. Again, Irina has been very helpful in connecting us with some of her more esotreric networks who, for whatever reason, understand more than you or I about how to make as if some people don't exist. Some days, Jenny and I will go out into Lefkosa, or take a road trip to Gazimagusa, just to pretend that we're leading normal lives. Right now, I'm in a cybercafe in the capital. I don't want to say anymore for fear of compromising my hosts. As you may be able to tell from the picture, I am putting on some weight, perhaps not so much the bountiful generosity of our hosts as the constraints on our activity occassioned by our fugitive status.
In fact, the only reason I am able to say anything right now -- I just got a telegram from Pete. The capture of Laurent Nkunda has actually gotten him out of the sticky mess he's been in, due to the massive debt he had run up with certain elements of the Viennese underworld trafficking in Belgian chocolates and sachertorte on behalf of the Congolese rebels. They say that Nkunda might talk. That might be a good thing for Pete -- Heck, maybe even for Jenny and me -- but only time will tell...
Monkey, after reading your last post, I thought you should see this comic strip.
You're last post confused me quite a bit, and seemed to contain at best a 1:5 ratio of information to words. In fact, I think you might be keeping poor company, after all. For your story held for me a rambling incoherence not dissimilar from this Babyshambles song:
In any case, I finally have been able to take a breather from Cooties Camp. Not only have I missed blogging, but I had to digest your last two posts all at once. Of course, this is only a momentary respite, as we have quite big weekend plans for the boys. Tomorrow we're heading up to the 'burbs to take them to the Kohl Children's Museum, where they will be challenged to not touch anything despite whatever encouragements they might receive from museum staff.
Then, the real test will come on Sunday, when we take them to the Shedd Aquarium,where, not only will they have to avoid touching starfish, but we will provide them with repeated tales that dissuade them from any draw the sea or itsvariouscreatures may have upon their impressionable young minds.
To wrap up our camp, we have planned out an evening full of surprises for our adepts of "the Cootie-free life"
I'll let you know how things go once it's all wrapped up.
Meanwhile, the faculty lounge has provided some interesting conversations. I just learned that one of my fellow faculty mentors was holding a workshop on "UnlearningGrey's Anatomy" At the end of a busy day, when we all gathered round to bang the drum a little bit, I asked one of his pupils what he learned in that workshop. All he could do was keep repeating "Isaiah Washingtonwas right." My colleague later explained to me, "These boys' mothers watch a lot of Grey's. Sometimes I worry, that if they don't keep repeating it, these kids may start to grow breasts."
I'm like, "Dude! Haven't you heard of the SciFi Network?"
Verdammten Schnitzel!!!!!!! Can I not even hier excape that bastard, Chris Noth!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Like Pete's Katie, teh so-called Mr. Big follows me through every frickin' press juncket in the Hapsburg Empire -- and he's not even on the efrickin' Continent!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!L It's worese now, bescasuse aeverybody is fawining all over his "life-partner" and little 5-month-old spawn!
And now, it's all I can do to keep my schnitzel together, what with not having slept but 6 hours over teh past five days!!!! Everything is like in a dream. Even my dreams are like dreams. LIke I'mm dreaming my dreams and not living them, like it s all verwirrungt, you know what I mean?
I have been talking more frequently with Jenny, recently. We have talked about having to learn what to do when you're dreams crash upon the shores. She tels me that before ending up doling out pickles and Grey Goose in the Schatz im Freud, she was a pirate. I thought about how you would repsone in a similar situation, and I asked her fi she was acutally like an "Old School" pirate, or one of the kind of pirates that sink French yachts. She tells me neither, that she used to film US blockbusters and package them for illegal sale in wet streets behind butchershops spattered with sawdusts and under bridges outside tawdry Hungarian spas.
"What mad eyou change your lief?" I asked her.
She told me there wasn't no change, but that she had bmet a guy, who had dreams of his own and led her here to Vienna, and that she guessed we all follow our dreams sometime, until they come crashing down agaisnt the rocky shores of the New Europeean reality, where one day, every movie will be a Dogma film, and pickles wil cost an extrra 10 kronigs with your drikns. I told her, "but, Jenny, there isn't such a thing as a Kronig" and she tells me, "That's what I mean, Monkey, and soon we'll all be pirates, won't we."
And I had the impression that she had said something very deep right then. I didn't know what about it was so deep, but its obvious conclusiveness gave me the impressions that I should have leaned in and kissed her right then, and maybe I would have, if it hadn't been for teh fact that she was Pete's girl now, and then there was Heidi.
Yes, there was Heidi. But where was Heidi, now? I thought. Jenny and I sulkily strolled among the Kokoschkas at the Albertina, reflecting upon our own confused identities, the careful and remarkable precision of the contours of our alienation, our own exiles from our feelings, from our dreams, and the vast borderless landscape in which we were swimming like the gold flakes in a bottle of Goldschlager.
Meanwhile, Heidi was getting made up by Irina (returned from her shoot) to attend the FM4 opening gala for the 8 Festival for Fashion and Photography. Irina had come back, wheich was a good thing, since Jenny was too knew to be indulgent, and Pete needed a helping hand to hold in case Kate would be on the town somewhere with all the hubbub over the festival. Heidi also needed Irina -- I guess, in that sense, we all needed Irina -- in order to know how to conduct hereself and hobnob with the various designers and artists whose eye she hope dto catch, in order to have the promise of something greateer than the rolling hills of Kitzbuhel and the drip of milk from a cow's udder. Perhaps I couldn't promise her that more. Perhaps that's why you've never sought to console or gain pardon from Dagmar -- bugt I'm not trying toi ciriticize you, now, Jew. That is n ot my purpose. The task at hand, now, is to telll my story:
Jenny went off to work as did I, and it must have been 4 in the morning, still dark at least and my head only vaguely weary, that Pete and Irina and Heidi stumbled past the desk toward the elevator bay. Pete jerked still of a sudden, which resulted of Irina and Heidi tumbling to either side of them, so had he been their balance. He turned aroudn and approached me.
"Almost forgot this, Mate," he told me, as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something brown and sticky, rolled several times in plastic wrap until its form had become unrecognizable. "Saved you a spot of Sachertorte -- he said. Thought you could yoose it, y'know, pick you up a bit, i'n'it?"
"Thanks Pete," I said, lifting up the mushy chocolate treeat as if I were toasting him, like men do amongst themselves, as if hiding their feelings behind mannish rituals -- but who were we, Pete and I to hide our feelinngs. I almost felt like we were mates. "G'night now"
My words followed him as he reached out his arms and conducted Heidi and Irina to the elevators.
I unrolled the Sachertorte adn didn't even notice how messy and sticky my fingers became as I filled my mouth with it morsel by creamhy morsel.
The call came a couple of hours later, as a pale violet glow illuminated the pavement out front.
"Konig von Ungarn, Gruss Gott!"
It was Dagmar. "Monkey, is that you? What are you doing?"
I told her I was the NIght Porter, for whatever that would mean to her. Anyway, she urgenlty needed to speak with Heidi, she told me.
I tried the room. Pete answered on the fifth ring, but not altogether out of it.
"Yeah, Monkey that you?" Cough Cough, then I heard the gagging. It must have lasted several seconds before someone else grabbed the phone. No luck, it was Irina this time.
"Can you get Heidi on? Her sister needs to talk with her and quickly!" There was a brief pause, the sound of Irina's palm covering the receiver. She was laconic upoon returning to the phone. "Yeah," she said. The phone dropped and echoed against the Biedermeier mahogany surface of the six-drawer dresser of the Konig von Ungarn.
For some moments, all I heard were petulant cries that filled the luxurious air. "Get away from me... I can 'andle it meself..." It continued, but then a breeze swilred against the receiver and Heidi picked up. I told her it was Dagmar, and patched her through to her sister.
Some time later, I was polishing off my chocolate fingerprints fromthe phone at the front desk, and Klaus came to relieve me of my duties. I hadn't exactly remained awake the rest of the shift, but my mind recognized a certain low level of concern over the reason for Dagmar's unexpected call at the crack of dawn. That left me inquisitive and worried engouh to keep my eyes heavy but open.
The stench of puke greeted me as I got off on our floor. I could tell whey as I prgressed along the hallway. In front of Pete's suite someone had set out a room service trey with four flutes of champagne (I recognized them from the night before) a couple of empy platters, and the silver ice bucket full of thin, gruelly vomit, whose faint chocolate aroma was overwhelmed with the overbeering nastiness of bile. Goddamm Pete and his Sachertorte I though momentarily, my own stomahc heaving, but, I suppose my muscles were too weary to stir a more violent reaction to the grotesque still life. I paced further down the hall to collect my thoughts, then returned past the doorway, and finally reached the courtesy phohne by the elevator.
"Klaus," I said, "send someone up to clean the Doherty suite, bitte."
It was nearing noon, that Pete, Die Presse in hand, slipped into the koffeehaus where I had stationed myself, wearily poring over the faux marble surface of the table and sipping black tea loaded with kandizucker and cream to keep from sinking into sleep. As he order strudels, he caught me out of the corner of his eye.
Pete grabbed the strudels when they were all in the bag, and pushed his 100 euro note to the baker -- "You keep it, luv," was his charming admonition. His gaunt form held me in its shadow for a moment, then he leant down and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "Monkey! Wotcha doin' 'ere?" Then it stopped, he pulled back and took a strudel out of the bag and placed it on the table in front of the teapot.
I restrained myself from shoving the strudel right back into his pasty face. Instead, I asked calmly, "What was that about, the call earlier?"
"Dunno, mate," Pete said, "you'll 'ave to asker yoursewf."
I settled up for the tea and followed Pete out the door. When we got back to the suite, the tray was gone, and the stench had subsided. Walking through the doorway, though, was like a journey once more into the night. the shades were drawn and little light penetrated beyond the three inches of carpet underneath the luxurious, cream satin curtains of the Konig von Ungarn. Heidi, when I found her, was rolled up in Pete's Union Jack with Irina's head nuzzled into her armpit. Her other arm lay at a right angle with spread fingers snug among the rich, silky threads of the thick carpetting of the Konig von Ungarn.
I knelt down and raised her chin slightly, caressing her golden locks with my free hand. I must've sat over her for at least a quarter hour before her breath became more pronounced and her lips parted with a muted cough.
Later... over a strudel and some viennese coffe taht I had Klaus send up, Heidi explained to me what was happening.
"There's a Milk Boycott on throughout Europe! Dagmar doesn't know what to do with out me. Sunday's World Milk Day, and she wante sto know whehter we deliver or not. I have to be there for her. Monkey, I have to go back tot Kitzbuhel, tomorrow!"
Pete was sitting in the lotus position watching CNN-Europe while Irina was still putting on her face in the bathroom.
"Pete," I said, "Let me see your paper."
Heidi and I spread out Die Presse on the table and there we saw the confirmation of what Dagmar had said.
Wir sooooo tired... all of us! What kann ich say, Jew, but that we'ver bin all micsed up with everything's that's gone on in the past few days... I'm sooo tired. It's like everything's suddenly turned schnitzel!
And, now I log in to give ou an update, and I find that you're away at some kind of Cootie symposium... Whos'e going to hear my complaints about how tragic life is without you areound?
But, I will proceed, because I have to get this all off my chest. But I must be quick about it, because I start work in two hours. I haven't slept in days. Yes, I finally came throug with that job as Night Porter at the Konig Von Ungarn. I think everything started going schnitzel when we wpke up in Petee's suite on Sunday morning after our huge Sachertorte binge and watching Carl Barat get mutilatted at the Hans of Austrian thugs. I don't know what ahppend but the four of us -- Heidi, Pete, Jenny (the waitress from the Schatz im Freud), and Yours Truly -- were all lying there naked, pased out, covered up by Pete's Union Jack! The wurst part of it is, I have no recollection of that night afetr Room Service brought up the two Magnums of Perrier Jouet, green apple mentos, and a plate of roast pig.
I wiped the sleepfrom my eeys and dashed to the bathroom -- suddenly the urge overcame me to dry heave into the bidet. Fortunately the thick towel s at the Konig von Ungarn helped me to wipe up the clear bile creeping down the wall sof the procelaine, like rivulets of tokaj down the sides of a wineglass. I stood at the meear, balefully looking at my drawn face -- barely recognizing the soullessness of my gaze, when Pete slams into me, knocking me bback in to the doorknob -- I hadn't shut the door behind me, so great was the urge to puke uout what remained of my guts. I took the seafoam ceramic knob full on in the kidney and doubled over in pain. Mwanwhile, Pete dumped his face in the toilet and his body convulsed violently as he emptied the night's dark memories into the renovated plumbing of the luxurious Konig von Ungarn. I regained my composure enough to reach out a fresh white towel to him, which he promptly wrapped around his dripping pasty head. Then, without saying a word, he stumbled over me and out into the room. I tried to santd up and follow him out, but the blood rushed from my head, and I passed uout.
ich later woke up undeer the placid blue gaze of Heidi, whose hand was stroking my stubbled chin. Her lips bore the marks os worry, chaffed sink peeling back like birch bark and the dried, yellowed leaves of a long neglected volume of Morike. The peace vanishe d abruptly, intruded upon by the cacophony of broken glass and the atonal thud of antiquated ornaments dropping on the luxurious plush carpeting of the Konig von Ungarn. I made my way back on my feet with the assistance of Heidi, and saw throught the fog of returnign consciousness, first Jenny cowerred in a corner, hands over her face and blong tressess spilling over her spread fingers. Then a blur of movement first revealed to me the origins of the noise: Pete had lifted one of the bed lamps from its credenza and was swinging it wildly, as if blingeded by some animal rage.
It appeared, if I udderstood correctly the story that Heid i related to me after we had subdued Pete with a mouthful of Sachertorte, that Pete had gone out to ick up some strudels for our breakfast and get his copy of Die Presse from teh newstand (as is the irrigtaging habit of these luxury European hotels like the Konig von Ungarn and Intercontinental blah blah ablah, to only offer copies of teh Herald-Tribune in the lobby) when he saw the cover of the Kurier's Freizeit supplement.... Kate Moss, and practically in her Geburtstag suit!!!!!!!Ll!!!!!!!!!!
He seriously threw an apoplectic schnitzel fit wehn he saw that! He couldn't stand seeing her, just a year ago, a warm, disintegrating presence in his arms, his muse, gracing now the cover of a popular Austrian newsweekly and in the full flush of Albion good health. I mean, how was he supposed to make his daily visit to the newsstand anymore when she would be there, reminding him of every fcuk-up he had ever made since fame had preyed up on his talent?
"Bloody 'ell," he later told us, as I swept up the shards of his tantrum, and Heidi held him tight against her bosom to calm him, "she were like my Sachertorte, y'understand wot I'm sayin? Blimey, per'aps I loved her be'er than my Sachertorte, din't I?"
And I said to him, "Buck up, Petey! Yu remember what happend to Carl, last night? Seriously it could be worse."
Somehow, he wasn't comforted by my tought love. So, at that point, I ddecided to do what every right-thinkinng man does in those circumstances. I walked him down to the sauna. And tehre we were, sharing the sight of our bare chests, our dignity maintained only by the thick, cream-colored towels, monogrammed with the letters KvU for Konig von Ungarn that were wrapped around our wastes. We sat against the hard woodd in silence, feeling the toxins evacuating our bodies through every one of our pores.
When we got back to the suite, some sense of order had been restored. The earthy instincts of womeanhood had regained the upperhand and Jenny and Heidi moved blithely the lenght of the kitchenette, like two kids discovering the joys of the movign walkways in the airport, crossing paths, going opposite directions. They were preparing the ultimatein comfort foods: Palatschinken filled with pork butter. They had filled the ice box with Zipfers, and I tossed one to Pete and popped one open for myselt, the beer went down cool and repalced all the liquid we had sweated out in the sauna.
As the Palatschinken sizzled in the pans, the phone rand. I answered.
"Herr Doherty?"
"No, this is Herr Monkey, would you like to speak to Herr Doherty?"
"Ach so," the voice continued, "You're the one I was looking for, Herr Monkey. This is Klaus from the executivatsburo, I wanted to let you know that you hat the job. Kann you start tomorow?"
I looked anxiously over at Heidi, but without consulting her, I decided to go ahead. It's what Pete needed from us, after all, a little bit of support.
"OK, be there at midnight promptely!"
I didn't know how hard that would happend to have to work out with our plans...
Ten minutes later, we wree literally snorting down teh palatschinken, and Jenny had opened up one of those magazines for women. Maybe it wasn't the best subject to be talking about aftyer wheat hasd happended earlier, and maybe tjust talking about it in front of Pete could only lead to trouble.
"Hmm..." Jenny started and turned the magazine around so we could see the announcment, "Fashion and Photography? Anybody interested?"
I guess that's when I should've known that things were gonna turn schnitzel... and how!
But for now, I gotta get my uniform on and maybe shave... you know, work.
Yeah, ASM, I guess I've been a bit absent this weekend. For one thing, I'm trying to work on a couple of proposals for a conference, and then I guess I kind of got caught up reading upwards of 65,000 comments on blog postings about Hillary's infamous RFK reference. "I find it curious," but judging from what I've read, it seems Hitler has had a lasting influence on the modern Democratic Party, and that the specific social and political context of Weimar Germany is actually much broader than I had previously believed, such that various phenomena related to the rise of the Third Reich (enthusiastic college kids, for example) are actually quite applicable to today's political dynamics. Now, I knew that Jonah Goldberg was on that train, but I was surprised to find quite a number of blog readers riding shotgun.
While, I was at first concerned about the poll showing that over 25% of Democratic voters wouldn't support Obama in November, I realized from my readings that 90% of that 25% would spontaneously combust between June 3rd and the convention.
It's funny that you ran into Carl Barat, though. I was just thinking how one of the Dirty Pretty Things' songs would be appropriate as the new Clinton campaign theme:
Wow. That's all I kan say. Wow. Last night, Pete, heidi and I all went out to theis new club in the Pflugzeit quarter (maybe I misheard that when the concierge was giving me direections). It's calle d Schatz im Freud, which I'm told means something like "Darling in Freud" I doon't know who made that up, but it's kind of a weird name for a nightclub. Anyway, we walk in the door and all these old men with moustaches are dancing with ugly women and Pete turns to me and is like, "Wot's all this then, Monkey, you ta'in me to a gay club or sum'ing?"
And I'm like, "No, there's gotta be a reaoson awhy all these men are dancing with ugly women." and like Heidi seaz to me, "I'm not going to dance if only ugly women are dancing." I don't know why she said that 'cus the music was tight. They were bouncing out some Kraftwerk, some Gorillaz, some Gus Gus... you know, all that good stuff. And, it had theis really cool ambiance with like these blown up photos of Dr. Freud (did you know he was Austrian?) on the walls in like that pointillated newspaper photo kind of pop art look, and it was all lit by blacklight.
Anwyay, we got settled in to a plush corner booth and called over to the waitress, who was actually quite stunning, one of those stacked blondes, you know with like flowing goldern tresses -- she looked actually a lot like Heidi, but with less of an earth mother thing going on, if you know what I mean -- you remember? So it weren't five minutes had paassed she brought us over our plate of pickles and a magnum of Perrier-Jouet, like grand brut. Only the good stuff when you're with Pete, you know what I mean?
The pickles were so good, that we ordered more -- some of the mixed, with large chunks of cauliflower and sliced tomatoes. And I was scarfing down pickles and sipping the bubbly when this guy shows up from like out of the blue (except he was out of thee blacklight, get it?) and he putts hi s mitt on Heidi shoulder, like his fingers giving her a little squeeze -- which I thought was inappropriate. And he's like -- in English -- "How 'bout a dance, luv"
And I didn't think she was going to dance with him, because she already said she wouldn't dance if only ugley women were dancing, but then I guess a few more classic Viennese beauties had filed in wheile we were busy eating pickles -- you know that kind of rosy complexioned, gold-plated type women, with like patchwork dresses and dark flowing manes. It was hard to tell they were there at first, 'cus they really like blended into the backgroun.
Anyway, Heidi didn't get to tell this JAG Officer either way, 'cus all ova sudden, Pete looks up and is like, "Blimey, don' tell me you're here, Carl!"
Amd the guy with the greasy hair and indiscrete paws, that was Carl Barat of all people. And Carl's like "Forget it, Pete! YOu bloody aren't bloody here! I'm not seeing you. I'm goin' close my eyes and you shan't be 'ere when I open 'em, right?"
And, Pete was like, "You bloody bastard, I don' wanna see you anymore than you [I couldn't here the rest of what he said, 'cus it was like half-mumbled or I was out of it on a vinegar high]"
Anyway, Carl was like, "So wot you doin' 'ere in Vienna, you waster, you 'ere for the Sachertorte, eh?"
And Pete, he wasn't having any of theat, and he's like, "So wot if I am, Carl, what's it to you, I'm still sellin' more records with Babyshambles than you'll e'er sell with your bunch of wasters!"
Ans so , Carl is like, "You're done, Pete, you can't keep off the Sachertorte, noone's goin' be listening to you 'cus you'll be dead of a coronary!"
All of a sudden, there was like this major hush descended on the night club -- there was th tune "Fire Fire" pulsating in the background and then it was like not there. Dead silience.
Then some moustachioed guy with big eyes and a marichiono cherry sticking to his chin, like he had been slobbering Shirley Temples just a second ago, he calls out something in German that sounded like "KhuuuKhuuuTseiKhuuuTseiFeernuuvenleider" In essence, I ddin't quite catch it.
I turn to Heidi, and I say, "Baby what'd he say?" And she puts her ehand on my face with a look of profound understanding and tellls me, "Monkey, he said that he's never heard more shameful words spoken' and that Carl should getout of the club."
Then, some fello from the edge of the dance floor who had been freak dancing with a bony redhead just a second ago threw a banana at Carl. It didn't reach all the way, but I could tell taht Carl was upset that he'd had a banana thrown at him and he was like, "No, blimey, you Krauts don' understand... Pete's my mate."
And this burly fello with hot coals in the place of eyes and a gleaming skull belt buckle the size of a can of creamed spinach seemed to emerge practically from nowehere, but I suppose he was always lurking there in the netherwold of the black light he looks at CArl with eyes full of bile and sayz to him, something in German taht sounds like, "Neeandsprakhevonmordertodbleichemutter"
And I look at heidi again, who by now is becming quite exasperated with me like thinking, "where's all the german I taught you" but I'm like thinkgin "I can't think straight after plateful of pickles and all that cahmpagne." but she tells me something like the guy was upset about someone evoking death in the nightclub.
Anyway, next thing I knew, Carl was on the floor having like a wiggly worm, with a mob of unruly austrians kicking the crap out of him. At first, Pete's eyes were wide with horror, he's like, "Waiyt a minute, Monkey, that's my mate... wot do I do?"
And I'm like, "Pete, you know, there' s nothing to do. Best not to get involved."
I don't know, Jew, you may think ill of me, maybe, but I have to say that standing by and watching Carl Barat get teh crap beaten out of him after the way he put his mitts on my lady, it was like deep inside of me somewhere, the blood was moving anew and my heart was smiling. Nothing that I could admit to -- except to you of course, and to Heidi afterwards when we were, you know, talking about the weather... but it was really special experience. He deserved it that asshole.
Anwyay, we decided collectively -- Pete settled up with the waitress -- to split at that moment. I can't tell you how beautiful the boulevards of Vienna aer at night. We eneded up circling the Ringnstrasse a few times... It was good to get the fresh air, until the dogs started nipping at our heels. So we ducked into a cozy koffeehaus for some late night -- it must have been at least 2AM -- Sachertorte.
And then, of a sudden, I noticed something unusual. The waitress from the club was sitting next to Pete, her hand jealously clinging to his thigh. And I was like, "Pete, how'd she get here?"
And Pete's like "Mate, didn't ya notice, she been wit' us since the club?"
And I'm like "No."
The lamps of the koffeehaus danced wildly for a moment until they increased in intensity and the flames rose up from their glass houses so tall that they cast long shadows against the walls. I tried to peer through the shadows and out the windows, where I could hear the dogs barking but everything was blurred by condensation. The firelight intensified for a second. And then it all spun into darkness.
I woke up -- I don't know when -- in Heidi's soft embraced; I was slick with perspiration and curled up in a ball like I was her child and not her lover.
I don't know, I hope you're out there, Jew. I haven't heard from you... maybe you've been on some kind of raki bender to celebrate the ESS victory... maybe you've been like me, curled up in fear and sweat.
Things are going awesome here in Wien (that's what the folks here call it). I'm learning so much about this place, things in general and myself. Did you know that there are about 2 million people in Vienna? They speak German, but they call themselves "Austrians." Who knew?
Anyway, Heidi, Pete and I (Irinia had to be on the runway in Belgrade) thought we'd clear our heads a little, and get a taste of the countryside in the city -- which Heidi says she misses a little: It's like her Sachertorte; she needs a dose every so often. So yesterday, we went to the petting zoo. That was so fun. I was surprised though, because there were so many pigs. I took this picture: It's a bit small, but thats because they're baby pigs.
When we got back to the hotel, guess what we did... That's right, we enjoyed some creamy coffee and Sachertorte! As they say here in Wien, "es war ausgezeichnett!" Anyway, hope that I don't get sick in the next few daze, because all the doctors are going on strike! Obviously, they haven't figured out how to make these people responsible to market forces yet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
By the way, Jew, I was reading your post about winning over hard-working voters. didn't they already try that in Uganda? Don't know if that's really a good model for your guy, Obama.
ASM, woa... I saw your post this morning, and I'm still reeling from information overload. I still don't think I can manage to compose a response -- so, instead, I'm going to try to communicate how I feel through song:
Gruss Gott! Hey, LIJ, di dya miss me? You'll never believe whats going on here! You see, Heidi and I -- yuups, she and Dagmar had a bit of a tiff recently -- decided to go to Vienna for the summer, you know, just get away from the countryside. She has also been looking for maybe some secretarial work or maybe a modeling gig. I don't knwo. I thiink she can do something. I have utmost confidence in her abilities.
Anyway, It's just amazing to be here. I might have a job a s a nIght porter. I just had an interveiew where we're staying at the Konig von Ungarn. It's a really nice historic hotel -- lots of character... we're crashing there for a while -- but that's not what you'll really go crazy about. Let me tell you, I bumped into Pete Doherty in the men's room of the Arena the other night -- about a week ago -- there waws this raucous group playing that calls themselves the Schwein Toten... I guess it's kind of like Toten Hosen, but in reverse and with pigs. My German's improved a lot, you know, with Heidi and all -- she just grows more beautiful every day. Something about her is very earthy and fertile, almost nurturing, but more sensual than like -- you know -- my mother. Anyway, the big news is that Pete and I were, like, washing our hands side-by-side and talking about how so few people really wash there hands after peeing.
Anyway, we found out that, other than impeccable hygiene, we've got a lot in common. So we hung through the rest of the concert, and I introduced him to Heidi, and he introduced me to Irina -- no, they're not back together, but just kind of comfortable -- you know how it is. Anyway, after we got out at I don't know, like 3:00 AM. Pete was like, "Y'knowwot mates, I coul' bloody well do me with some Sachertorte, right abouts now!" And, I'm like, "Funk soul brother, you said it!" Wow, that guy can really put away the Sachertorte... He is like a total Sachertorte fiend!!!!
Anyway, so we've been totally like crashing at his suite at the Konig von Ungarn. I'ts been really amazing... Or, as they say, here "Wunderbarr!" Anyway, Pete's really cool, like cooler than even in his songs -- I wish you could meet him.
Even when he's like really busy lining up gigs and such, he always stops his day for like he says "a spot of Sachertorte" in the afternoon, and invites me and Heidi. You won't recognize me for all the wate I've gained!!!!
Oh, that reminds me, it's not like Heidi and I are totally leeching, or anything. I mentioned the job prospect. Well, you know, Heidi really can sing, and, as you know, I've always been a bit of an organist myself. So we've made some good money on the streets recently, with the few polkas I know -- until the guys come around with the German shepherds to disperse us.
And I don't want to brag or anything. But the Euro is totally stronger than the dollar right now.
Anyway, I'll be checking in from time to time with news about how things are going with Pete and all them. If you still have Dagmar's number, you really should call here. I think that might change things. I know there's nothing you have to say -- like we al know it's over between you 2, but I think she needs someone familiar to talk with about her issues.
Yeah, so sorry for leaving you in the lurch for so long. I've seen you'be really been posting quite a bit without me. (I hope you didn't vomit the other night when you were drinking all that raki ;))
Yo, LIJ, Where the frog are you? You despondent about not seeing me or something? Don't worry, it's all gonna be OK! I'm a comin' back... sometime. I've discovered how to love life again. I saw the following poem in the comics yesterday, and it got me to thinking:
PATCH UP THE HOLES PATCH UP THE CREASES. PATCHE UP THE CRACKS. PATCH UP THE PIECES. PATCH UP THE CUTS. DRY UP THE TEARS. PATCH UP THE HEARTS THAT'S BEEN BROKEN FOR YEARS. PATCH UP THE PAST. STOP THE INTERNAL TALKING. PATCH UP YOUR BOOTS. AND JUST START WALKING.
Yeah, that's right. I saw it in Night Lights and Fairy Flights. It got me wondering about that penultimate period. Isn't "and just start walking" part of the same sentence as "patch up your boots"? Anyway, it's been a time of renewal for me... Seriously.
I landed in Kitzbuhel about a week ago. That's right. I've spent the last week with Dagmar and Heidi. They've foregiven us everything! More than that: Using their milk money, they have paid off my bookie. So, I can come home now. Maybe after a few more days of hitting the slopes and living in the clean air. Dagmar sends her love. She says she hasn't forgotten you.
