Rock out, Budapest!

I have excellent news. You have been, perhaps, all these last 15 years, biting your knuckle in dismay at having let your last chance to see your favorite glam band of the 1980s live and in person slip through your fingers. Well, pack your Bic lighter and a pair of acid-washed jeans, because for the price of a round trip ticket to Hungary, you can once again relive those glorious days while rocking to the beat of any of the following acts now playing live shows in Budapest:

Sting
Billy Idol
Toto
Eric Clapton
Whitesnake

You may have thought that having reached their mid-fifties, the gentlemen rockers of Whitesnake would have packed it in. But it seems that they are still pursuing their art, now on the eastern-European circuit. I can’t confirm this, but it’s possible that Def Leppard will be playing here later this summer. Stay tuned.

Weird foods I have eaten recently

1. A super-sized croissant with each tip dipped in chocolate and which, in retrospect, was in fact suspiciously heavy. Kind of like those fake rocks that you pick up and Surprise! they’re super light and made of Styrofoam. Only the opposite. Too heavy to have been filled with chocolate, which was of course my fantasy. But my heart really nearly did stop when I broke it open to find what appeared to be sausage inside. But never fear, it was instead some sort of glob of sweet paste that tasted like bubble gum.

2. A chocolate bar that was flavored with mustard. Not some kind of special exotic chocolate-flavored mustard. But a yellow “wish I had a hotdog handy” kind of mustard.

3. A dessert confection that was shaped like a bowler hat and filled with cottage cheese. It said cottage cheese on the menu, but I assumed, as anyone would, that it was some kind of loose translation from the original Hungarian. Nope, cottage cheese.

4. A pastry, shaped like a cannoli, with what appeared to be shredded coconut on each end. Filled, I was sure, with some kind of creamy filling. True enough. But as I put it to my lips, I heard my husband, who had just that moment bitten into his, exclaim with some urgency, "No, don't do it!" I realized that it was creamy, yes, but also salty. And the filling was some sort of smoky white cheesy substance. That shredded stuff on the end? Dried bits of cheese. Had this been presented with a beer at about 5 PM, perhaps it would have been consumed. But over breakfast with my latte, well, I'm afraid not.

5. Cold fruit soups with a yogurt base. These are actually very tasty. One even had a scoop of ice cream in it. Pour it in a glass, and you’ve got yourself a smoothie.

As you can see, I have been doing a yeoman’s duty in sampling local desserts. I leave the various local dishes made of goose liver to others. Until, of course, it turns up in one of my chocolate-dipped croissants.

The tough questions

When in a sort of eastern-European equivalent of a 7-11, but a somewhat charming, mom&pop version near the big cathedral that stocks local wine, and when faced with the choice of two flavors of scented toilet paper, chamomile or strawberry, which would you choose? Given that, to be perfectly honest, neither one is a flavor that you ever had previously even remotely associated with toilet paper.

Embarrassing travel moment #3: the third installment

There are those new mothers who are somehow able to gracefully breastfeed their adorable infants in public, the picture of grace and harmony, Madonna and child, busy train, teeming plaza, bustling sidewalk, no matter, these women are above and beyond it all in perfect communion with their tranquil offspring. They are comfortable, unselfconscious, and seemingly at perfect ease. There are others of us, their child having expressed hunger, who locate a place to sit as much removed from the action as possible, growing sweat spots on our clothing in every spot we are in contact with our adorable infants, and try to discreetly do the deed without making too much of a fuss. The infant, however, waits until precisely the point where breast is fully exposed and waving hello to everyone passing by when she wishes to do precisely the same, craning her neck in every direction but the one you might have thought. Well, I thought I was hungry, she must be thinking, but if I stop to eat now, think of all the things I might be missing. Well, fine. But after several of these episodes in the course of a couple of hours on a touristy boat ride to a folkloric village in a sweltering heat, the adult in this scenario suddenly finds herself walking around with a yellow mustardy stain that has mysteriously appeared on the bottom of her shirt, sweat spots in odd places around the rest of her tank top, and her nursing bra unsnapped for who knows how long, leaving her womanly attributes dandling about as she tours the folkloric village. At long last, it is time to get back on the boat and head up the Danube towards home...

A crash course for packing for international travel 101

1. Always pack a 5-month old so that you can curry favor with elderly Hungarian women who reserve their smiles for international tourists younger than .5 yrs. Who, from all appearances, speak Hungarian quite well.

2. Always pack someone to dandle your 5-month old so you can go out and have a beer on the square with the rest of the tourists with sunburns and shopping bags.

3. Always pack flip flops. They don’t take up any room in your luggage, and sneakers are just not primo footwear during a Brutally Hot European Heat Wave.

4. Always pack shorts and a tank top, along with your modest savvy traveler jeans and long skirts. See number 3 for further explanation if necessary.

5. Always pack a bathing suit. Especially if the city where you are headed specializes in thermal baths and outdoor pools. And especially if you plan to be going there during a Brutally Hot Heat Wave.

6. That set of travel speakers for your iPod? Not doing much good in your desk drawer at home, now is it.

7. Deodorant soap. Need I say more? Oh yes, especially if you are traveling during a Brutally Hot European Heat Wave.

8. If you are headed to a country with more zeros in its currency than your average annual salary, and if you are puzzled by trying to calculate the price of a beer on a daily basis, then perhaps a calculator is in order.

9. You can leave the jogging clothes at home. Who are you really kidding, anyway?

10. Always pack some kind of minimal but still somewhat modest garment for lounging around your euro flat. Especially if you plan to travel during a Brutally Hot Heat Wave, plan to live in a flat with no AC but, instead, huge open windows overlooking a busy street, and if think that you will probably, on every occasion of crossing the threshold, strip down to your underwear and lie in front of the fan. Unless, of course, you don’t mind providing a modicum of entertainment for the neighbors across the way. Which perhaps you will. In which case, you can disregard this item and save that space in your suitcase for folkloric handicrafts.

I hope that these tips will be of some help on your next trip. Happy travels.

Embarrassing travel moment #2: second of a series

What’s better than lounging in a sidewalk café, bustling with tourists and locals alike, on a grand boulevard lined with imposing ornate buildings, these buildings stained with soot itself older than any similar edifice back home, bouncing a gurgling adorable infant on one knee while sipping an ice coffee in the other? And by ice coffee I mean that in the best eastern-European sense, in which the coffee is merely drizzled over a healthy portion each of vanilla ice-cream and rich whipped cream. Except that said adorable infant is feeling a bit jet-lagged, and therefore is not exactly enjoying just sitting and watching the world go by, and after discarding two menus, chew toy, pacifier, and crinkly lion that both jingles and vibrates to the ground, takes up a piss and fire tantrum. The rather too laid-back waiter finally arrives with the ice (cream) coffee just then, which must be consumed rapidly whilst standing, in the middle of this idyllic outdoor café scene, bouncing adorable but now red-faced and screeching infant up and down and up and down. Coffee goes down quickly with a straw, but as the spoon has been considered by the infant and deemed Not Very Entertaining and thus cast to the ground, the ice cream itself becomes rather hard to eat, standing up. After this, it is evident that it is nap-time for all. And that perhaps the ice coffee is next time best ordered to-go…

Embarrassing travel moment #1, no doubt of a series

Listening to Doug the tennis pro from Chicago go on and on and on and on as Chicagoans are prone to do about the great aspects of our second city on the third coast as the stewardess, strapped securely into her little stewardess seat during take-off, smiles, and nods, and smiles and nods, and etc etc. Not necessarily embarrassing, but slightly unbearable. But after having already made ample use of your own air sickness bag in your seat front pocket tucked between the SkyMall mag and the Swiss Air in-flight magazine (featuring a cover story on Chicago, The Windy City, no less), you have to borrow -- if by borrow you mean lunging desperately with a glazed look in your eye across your neighbor’s lap into their seat front pocket-- an airsick bag from said neighbors, a nice couple from Macedonia expecting their first child (he looks a little like the computer nerd techie guy on Alias). Sympathetic looks from the stewardess, offers of a Coca-cola quickly and firmly refused, and a politely stifled gasp from the neighbors. Sigh.

On that note, I highly recommend Nick Hornby’s new book, “A Long Way Down” which I have enjoyed immensely after arriving. That is all.

Important new product concept

Memorandum

To: CEO's of all major auto manufacturers

RE: new product concept

Having completed some intensive product research while travelling the streets of our fair city by foot, by bike, and by car, I am pleased to report that I have discovered a small but growing market for what I've determined should be a new optional feature in automobiles for possible rollout in 2007. The demands of today's technology have made driving a car increasingly difficult for many on the roads today: the 21st century motorist must contend with a battery of communication devices while maneuvering through intersection after intersection in what is often a congested driving situation. It is no wonder, then, that many drivers are simply unable to utilize their manual turn indicators, as their hands are tied up in chat mode on their Blackberry or in grasping a cellphone. To alleviate this cumbersome burden, I propose that automakers consider a new feature, the target market for which is most likely to be drivers of Sport Utility Vehicles: an automatic sensor that anticipates which direction the overburdened motorist would like to turn. Known to industry insiders as the "Butthead Blinker," this device will ease the stress a driver must certainly feel while approaching a busy intersection in his or her Ford Expedition, knowing that he or she will simply be unable to manage to indicate a right or left turn.

I am confident that this new feature will only enhance your Sport Utility Vehicle luxury packages. Thank you for your consideration.

Neighborhood characters #3: The Nightwatchman

When you've got a construction project going on in our neighborhood, you're bound to attract some attention. Like moths to a flame, they come to weigh in. We are rich in unsolicited advice.

My heroic husband has been building a garage, and with the exception of some invaluable help from intrepid visiting family in June, he's been a one-man garage-building machine out there. He even saved $140 by not having the lumber yard deliver the gigantic plywood sheets to the roof of the garage with a boom, opting instead to do it himself.


By the way I figure it, he probably will have consumed the equivalent in Advil to soothe the back pains caused by single-handedly heaving 4x8 sheets of plywood to the top of the ladder, but who am I to say... And after all that, the poor guy is now on the disabled list: not from being crushed under a pile of plywood, but from a probable broken toe from stubbing it on the dang couch. The injustice of it all.

So we're out in the alley, admiring the progress--all construction projects must have a certain amount of standing back and admiring the progress--when up waddles one of our neighbors, a guy I'll call The Nightwatchman. The Nightwatchman is a pudgy, soft man with a unnervingly vacant look in his eye, a perpetually slightly perplexed look on his face, and a speech mannerism somewhere between a lisp and a guy trying to say the alphabet with a mouth full of saltines. He has two uniforms: by day, he's most commonly seen in a dirtly sleeveless man's undershirt and khaki pants, belted tightly around the middle so that he squishes out on both sides. By night, he's a security guard somewhere, so he changes to a more formal uniform with squeaky shoes and a badge, and drives off in the family's brown mini-van.

So The Nightwatchman wanders up, and we go through the usual whole routine with my husband--what's your name again, oh that's right, it rhymes with Santa Claus (not really, but whatever works.) He gets the details on the garage progress, gives his approval, and after a blessedly short interlude, makes off to provide some high security for something somewhere. As this is a guy who, I learned after a previous conversation, only made it to the 3rd grade after attacking his teacher with a chair, I've always been a little curious to know what kind of security detail he's on. But not quite enough to ask.

Anyway, it turns out that The Nightwatchman may be selling his share in his house and moving to Alabama--his family owns some land out there, apparently--so perhaps we won't be seeing him around quite so much. But until then, I guess our alley will continue to be exceptionally well patrolled.

Show me the money

As I sit here at my computer, with my elbows sticking to my desk, I curse the underfunding of public education in our fair state. We didn't know the word "recision" until recently, but it's a catch word on campus these days among administrators in the know. Apparently, a budget recision goes something like this: you get your allowance for the week on Monday, and you allocate it all to ice cream, movies, whatever, but you've got a full week ahead and things are looking good. Then somewhere around Friday, your mom, your dad, whoever gave you that pocket o'cash, comes back and says, well, you're going to have to give some of that back. Maybe you can return something? Or just do without ice cream for the next two days? Not our problem how you manage it, but we need to have some cold hard cash back.

So you're wondering where my elbows come in to play in all of this. Well, in this era of state budget recisions, we're really starting to feel the pinch down here on the ground. I can deal with the whole "pass the hat to fund the water cooler" routine every three months. But today, I've really had it. After spilling nearly an entire can of Sierra Mist Lemon-Lime Soda all over my desk and keyboard, I walked to the bathroom to get some paper towels, forgetting that for the last several months there has been a large sign posted on the paper towel dispenser, in bold print, no-less: "THERE HAS BEEN A SHORTAGE OF PAPER TOWELS AT THE UNIVERSITY. YOU WILL HAVE TO USE THE BLOW DRYERS FOR THE TIME BEING."

ok, fine, I can use the BLOW DRYERS when I wash my hands, but I CAN'T USE THE BLOW DRYERS TO WIPE UP THE LEMON-LIME SODA THAT HAS SPILLED ALL OVER MY DESK. My conclusion, after several trips back and forth to the bathroom, is that toilet paper is meant for only one purpose, and for one purpose alone. So, thanks to the state of public education funding here in Illinois, and the resulting shortage of paper towels in the ladies washroom, I will be spending the rest of the afternoon sticking to my lemon-lime scented desk.

It's a hard job, being Chief.