Chuck's (mis)Guide to the Universe

2005-09-13T03:56:00.000+02:00

A Hen in the Fox House

2005-09-13T03:54:00.001+02:00

I had a friend, Hope, visit me from Naples a few weeks ago. She was in town for a conference, and spent the weekends on either side of the conference with me. On the Sunday after she arrived, we decided to take a quick trip to Cologne to see the cathedral and meander around the city.

2005-09-13T03:54:00.000+02:00

2005-09-13T03:53:00.001+02:00

Cologne is a true jewel of a city here in Germany. Unlike Frankfurt, which was also heavily bombed during WWII, Cologne managed to reconstruct the majority of the old city using the original pieces of the buildings that were bombed. At the heart of the city is the Dom- the cathedral. This was the tallest church in the world until very recent times, and was in fact the tallest building in the world until the construction of the Washington Monument was completed.

2005-09-13T03:53:00.000+02:00

There is a huge plaza in front of the cathedral, and there are always war protesters, street artists, and skater kids competing for space and attention. With the dark, ominous church in the background, the effect is awsome.

2005-09-13T03:52:00.000+02:00

After a quick tour of the church, Hope and I climbed the spire. We stopped and had a look at the bells (which chimed the 3/4 hour while we were standing there), and then made our way to the top of the spire. While walking around at the top of the city, the bells rang the full hour- about 10 minutes of song. I can't describe the effect of standing over this ancient city, at the peak of this monument of a church, and hearing the giant bells. It's the kind of thing that makes life's problems seem very insignificant.

2005-09-13T03:51:00.001+02:00

2005-09-13T03:51:00.000+02:00

After we made our way down the tower, we decided to attend a mass. It seemed like a good culminating event to the experience. After finding a pew and settling in, I told hope "I won't take communion- I haven't been to confession in over a decade." I said this to reassure Hope, a non-Catholic, that I wasn't going to leave her alone in the pew looking like a sinner while I went to receive the gift of Christ. Hope's reply was "Confess now." I explained that I really couldn't do that- that Catholics were supposed to use the intercession of a priest to... to do something... but I wasn't really sure what. Hope whispered, "Chuck, don't you think you can talk directly to God? Don't you think that you personally can ask for God's forgiveness and He will give it? I'll make a deal. We'll confess our sins right here and now, and then I'll take communion with you."

2005-09-13T03:50:00.000+02:00

It was classic peer pressure. In the moment I was 12 years old and she was a classmate that was exercising the power of "the cool kid" to make me do things I wasn't suppose to do. But in this situation, we weren't just talking about stealing a car and going for a joyride, we were playing with God... And the CHURCH! I looked up at the altar. There was an assembly of men of the cloth, with coordinating outfits. One of them was decidedly more decked out than the rest. "Great," I thought. "A bishop." An image of the holy man sensing my sin and blasting me to hell with lightning bolts from his fingertips crossed my imagination. But I guess I realized a fate worse than hell would be to be mocked and made fun of as a "God Boy" or something, and I finally nodded my head in nervous agreement and dropped to my knees to pray for forgiveness of the sins I had committed and the the ones I was about to commit. The kneelers were not padded (standard in Europe). As I kneeled there in agony I convinced myself that these were actually "Kneelers of atonement." And that like the ascetic sects of years past, I was actually paying for my sins through pain of flesh.

2005-09-13T03:49:00.001+02:00

Throughout the mass, I was nervous about my deal with this... protestant... and having difficulty following the German service. Just immediately prior to the point where the collection plate was passed, an elderly woman collapsed in the second row of pews. Immediately, a gaggle of men who did not "know" women surrounded her. Seconds after, a paramedic arrived and hauled her off. During this whole exhibition of mortatlity the priest never stopped the service. I'm not even sure he noticed. As the paramedic was working with the woman, the deacons passed the collection plate over her body! These people were serious about not dealing with interruptions.

2005-09-13T03:49:00.000+02:00

Finally the moment came, and I entered the aisle with Hope behind me. I told her to hold out her hands, and to say "Amen" when the priest gave her the Host. We approached the communion rail and immediately to my left were two Asian men. When the priest approached them, I heard him ask "Are you Catholic?" The first man looked at him with surprise. "He pronounced it in German "Cat-o-lik?" No response. Finally a suspicious look came over the priests face and he made the "no-no" sign with his index finger and walked away. As he came over to me, I could feel the beads of sweat on my forehead... I knew he knew... He knew I knew he knew... He looked at me with a firm eye. I looked at him with guilt. A single split second before I blurted out "I haven't been to confession since the early nineties, and she's a protestant!" he put the wafer in my hand. I made the sign of the cross and went back to the pew to pray and hyperventilate.

2005-09-13T03:48:00.001+02:00

2005-09-13T03:48:00.000+02:00

Following the mass, Hope and I decided to stop in the town square to watch the people and have a glass of wine. Soon after the drinks came to our table, Hope looked serious and said "Chuck, I have something to tell you." I looked at her with concern. "I am a Lutheran."

2005-09-13T03:46:00.000+02:00

That's right... The same Lutherans who so long ago desecrated God's plan and started the inevitable decline of civilization. The same Lutherans who nailed propaganda to church doors. I had lead one into the very midst of God and allowed her to use her charms to lead me astray. I think I'm going to buy a wooden kneeler just to keep around the house.

Dog Story II: Chuck, Dogs, and 3rd Parties Just Don't Mix

2005-04-15T10:21:00.000+02:00

Apologies in advance. The pictures in this story do not match the story itself. I just don't take that many pictures of psychotic dogs.

2005-04-15T10:18:00.000+02:00

Pets are extraordinarily expensive in Japan. Cats will set you back $1,000 bucks, and dogs start at about $1,500. Yellow labs I'd seen in pet stores generally went for about $2,000. I give you the price list because I've always respected the amount of appreciation the Japanese must have in household pets (hamsters: $75), for them to make the investment. My neighbors had a yellow lab named Jacku (for a long time I thought they were calling him Chacku- which is what they called me). Jacku was a cool dog; In spite of his one bad habit.

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Jack sometimes liked to bark. He was known to sometimes let loose in the middle of the night with a quick barrage at an imaginary intruder, and sometimes in the early evenings just to chat with the dogs down the street. Not a problem, I'm sure I was just as noisy from time to time. Worse, however, was that sometimes he would get on a barking jag that could last for hours. It was seldom, maybe twice a month, and it usually happened during the day (thank God), but it was intense. The dog could bark non-stop for so long you'd think he had a coke habit.

2005-04-15T10:16:00.000+02:00

In America, this would have been pretty easy to fix. Some people (I'd like to think myself among them) would wait until the middle of such an episode, knock on their neighbor's door and have a gentle conversation asking if something could be done. Others would pound on their neighbor's door and tell them to shut the dog up. Either way, the problem would be resolved, and chances are any hard feelings would be forgotten in due time and with the presentation of a bundt cake. Well, this isn't America. One time Jacku was mid-jag when I asked a Japanese friend to walk over to my neighbor's house with me to discuss the problem. My friend got a funny look on his face and said, "I can't do that. You shouldn't go there." I was a little surprised, but he went on to explain that the proper way to handle such things in modern Japan was to go to the neighborhood association, and they would write an anonymous letter explaining that "some people" had voiced concerns about "a barking dog" and then ask the neighbor to do something about the problem. If there is no established neighborhood association, then I should go to a nearby elder and ask them to do my bidding. I'm sure when he was telling me this, the rolling of my eyes was nearly audible. In my most condescending tone -and I'm pretty good at it- I said, "it's a barking dog. Surely they're not going to get upset if I just ask them to bring him inside when he's going off like this." He shook his head and with a face of grave concern said "Chacku, don't do it." As hard as it was, I suppressed my desire to shut the dog up, ignored the challenge he'd set before me, and did nothing about the problem.

2005-04-15T10:15:00.000+02:00

Sometime after that conversation, Jacku was at his finest. He started barking at about 10:00 AM, and was still full stride at 1:05 in the afternoon. That's when I had my meltdown. By way of explanation of how loud this was, I should remind you that Japanese houses have no insulation, and they're maybe two feet apart at some points. Even with my windows and doors closed, I could hear my neighbors washing dishes. When they would climb their stairs, it would sound like they were in my house. Jacku's doghouse was maybe 15 steps from my front door. If he got a drink of water out of his bowl in the middle of the night, I could hear it. Anyway, the barking went on and on. I sincerely wanted to walk over and talk to my neighbors, but to be honest I think I was past the point of civil conversation. Finally, at 1:05, I'd had enough. I opened a small window that looks out towards Jacku and said in a firm (but to my credit not mean) voice, "Jacku! Knock it off!" The dog came unglued. His volume went from rock concert to jet engine. He was pulling at the end of his chain so hard that his eyes were bulging. Because I was sure that my neighbors had heard me yell at him, I was a little panicked that they were going to associate me with the dog's psychotic break and eventual suicide. I had images in my head of the quiet conversations that would go on for the next 700 years about the American who taunted the dog to the point that it killed itself. Hoping to make things better (for myself and the dog), I ran downstairs and out the front door to face the dog. He was standing on his hind legs with his chain pulled tight, head thrashing with a barrage of what I'm sure was foul language (I assume in Japanese) directed towards me. In a loud but gentle voice I said, "Jack... Buddy... Get a grip." The dog immediately dropped to all four feet and started barking a little more quietly. I continued talking, and in just a few seconds he was standing silently paying attention to me. I'm guessing the medication must have regained control. As I was talking to him, my neighbor came out of her house with her head dropped, walked silently across the yard, unleashed the dog and lead him into the house. I tried to smile and wave as if to say "No hard feelings... no apologies necessary," but she never looked at me.

2005-04-15T10:14:00.001+02:00

Jack didn't come back outside on Saturday night. I noticed this at about 7:00 when I ran out to pick up some dinner. I noticed as well that my neighbor's house was dark, so I figured they must have taken the dog with them wherever they were. This was uncommon, the dog always stays home when they're gone, but I figured they might have been a little embarrassed (or angry) and decided to take him along wherever they were.

2005-04-15T10:14:00.000+02:00

At first this troubled me, because I didn't get the chance to smooth things over. But the more I thought about it, I remembered that for the most part my neighbors don't acknowledge me (or each other) when they're in their yards. Driveways are fine. If I'm in my driveway I got lots of waves and decent attempts at conversation, but yards are apparently personal spaces where we would pretend other people don't exist. Owing it up to this, I didn't give the matter much more thought.

2005-04-15T10:12:00.000+02:00

Jack, nor my neighbors, appeared to be home on Sunday, either. By the afternoon I had decided that my ugly incident coincided with some pre-planned trip and that they were off at the beach laughing and forgetting the whole thing. On Sunday night, however, I noticed that the curtains had been pulled closed and the TV was on. Now I felt bad. My neighbors were home but were avoiding me. They weren't coming to their yard and they were keeping that big dog in their house. I didnt know if this was because they were embarrassed or, more likely, because I had gravely offended them.

2005-04-15T10:11:00.000+02:00

By Thursday I had yet to see my neighbors or any signal that Jack was still a member of the family or even alive. I had these horrible scenes running through my head of what might have happened after the incident:

- That night, the family (Mom, Dad, and 2 elementary age kids) sat around and tearfully decided that Jack had shamed the family and must go "be with grandma and the elders;"

- Jack, recognizing the shame he'd brought down on the family, committed Seppuku with one of those big samurai swords (actually, he strikes me more the type that would emotionally overdose or shoot himself); or,

- Jack was sold into a Korean prostitution ring in Tokyo, and never understood why his family abandoned him.

2005-04-15T10:10:00.001+02:00

I'm sure I was over-reacting. I'm sure Jack was fine and was happily receiving treatment in a psychiatric hospital for dogs run by the state, and I'm sure my neighbors had gone no further than to approach my "elders" (AKA the US State Department) to start deportation proceedings. What is the lesson here, you ask? When your Japanese friend says "Chacku, don't do it," listen.

2005-04-15T10:10:00.000+02:00

At any rate, things were looking bad on the community front. The dog was gone. My neighbors had quit turning on lights in their house as if to make me think they were not home. Nobody was speaking to me. You would think that because this is a reasonable and structured society, in time all would blow over and this would be forgotten. Maybe a cake given to the right people would soothe hurt feelings. Unfortunately, this is Japan and... well... I don't think so. I remembered after the fact (day late, dollar short) being told when I moved here not to offend my neighbors. I heard how communities "ignored" problem people to the point that they had to move. They called it "being shunned." The person who told me about this said in small towns the store clerks wouldn't even talk to someone who has been shunned. I'm not saying this happened to me (all of my evidence was self-observed and circumstantial) but it was six days... Fortunately, I had already planned to move, and was leaving about 10 days after this happened. The effect would be great! It would appear that I was so ashamed of my bad behavior that I moved away. The neighborhood would speak of the "honorable American" for decades to come.

2005-04-15T10:09:00.000+02:00

A little lantern outside my house

2005-04-15T10:08:00.000+02:00

Cherry Blossoms. Worth a story themselves. Maybe I'll write one.

Easter in Paris

2005-04-04T13:01:00.000+02:00

Cindy, Patty and I went to Paris for Easter weekend. It was a short trip- we left on Friday afternoon and came home on Sunday evening. But still, it was my first time in Paris, and I was pretty excited.

2005-04-04T12:55:00.000+02:00

Driving into the city, we started seeing signs prohibiting exploding vehicles. At this particular intersection, it seems that trucks, people, and bicycles are also not allowed. It didn't say anything about hamsters, tho.

2005-04-04T12:50:00.000+02:00

Seriously... No exploding vehicles.

2005-04-04T12:46:00.000+02:00

They REALLY mean it. NO exploding vehicles! Well...
Unless you happen to be on Route 5 behind a yellow truck... Then it's OK. But only then!

2005-04-04T12:40:00.000+02:00

Cindy got us a room at a lovely little hotel called "La Petite Hotel d'Horrors." Trouble started when we had difficulty finding the hotel, were out of gas, and couldn't find a place to park. We finally double parked and Cindy went into the hotel to ask where a garage was. Coincidentally, a space opened up while she was inside, so we parked the car and went into the hotel. Walking into the lobby, we found Cindy speaking in the slow quiet tones of somebody preparing to kill a hotel desk clerk. Apparently when Cindy asked where to park, the clerk told her to park on the street. When Cindy said there were no spaces, he said "Then find a garage." When Cindy asked where one was, he told her "Two blocks over, but it's full. You should park on the street until a spot in the garage opens up."

It must be easy to read into this that the guy was being smug and unhelpful. No... He was just dumb. Terrified and dumb. I could see by the look in his eyes that he knew he was inches from his own mortality, yet he could not seem to formulate a response that would save him.

The room was interesting as well. With interior designs by Helen Keller and bedding by Pol Pot, comfort and luxury were well... Not there. That's not entirely true, there was a towel. We shared it. To sleep in my bed I had to wedge my toes under the frame at the foot of the bed, and hang on with both hands at the head of the bed so that I wouldn't fall into what the desk clerk fondly referred to "Le Pit d'Eternal Slumbere." You can see it in the center of my mattress above. The housekeeper tried to disgiuse it with a blanket, a'la Wile E. Coyote.

Cindy and Patty didn't fare any better. Their bed had only one pillow, that was the size, shape, and softness of a large telephone pole. When we walked into the room, Patty flopped down on the bed and need six stitches where her forehead smacked the pillow.

2005-04-04T12:35:00.000+02:00

Paris is, of course, most famous for it's city scapes and sweeping vistas (and some art, I think). No other view exemplified this dedication to the panoramic better than the view out of our hotel window. Unfortunately, by the time I grabbed my camera and got back to the window for this shot, the body of the dead hobo had rolled off.

2005-04-04T12:30:00.000+02:00

This is a picture of Cindy, Diane, and Patty. Diane and her husband are friends of Cindy's who migrated from Texas to New York City, and then due to a series of wrong turns trying to transfer subway lines, they've found themselves living in Paris for the past 14 years. Diane is an artist, and her husband is a English/French translator. They're a wonderful couple who have an apartment in the city, a "country home" (presumably in the country), and a son who as settled in the States.

On Saturday evening the couple had invited us to dinner, and we met at their art-stuffed apartment in central Paris. They had been drinking champagne before we arrived, and were already into their second bottle. We joined in the fun after we got there, and I personally helped in the cause as much as I could. When we started off for the restaurant, the evening quickly became an accurate reproduction of "Whose Afraid of Virginia Woolf." We had trouble getting onto the right subway train, and then when we got off at the station near the restaurant, Diane's husband said "I can't really remember which way to go, but I think it's down here." Diane had already become irritated because of events leading up to this moment, and she was downright mad that she had to climb the stairs out of the subway. The lack of direction then presented by her husband sent her into near hysterics. The two argued back and forth as they wandered down random streets and alleys. Diane would lead for a few minutes until her husband would convince her to turn at a random corner. He would lead until she was screaming foul names at him, and then she would turn us down some random road.

With each turn the neighborhood became more.. umm... intensely urban. We were finally walking down a dark street with shady characters in dirty clothes leaning against the buildings when her husband (I wish I could remember his name!) turned through an arch into a dark alley. I was seriously wondering if he was trying to make a crack buy. With this last turn Diane became apoplectic. Eyes rolling back in her head, fists clenched, she turned to yell. I entirely expected to hear, "OUR SON IS DEAD!! YOU KILLED HIM!!! YOU KILLED OUR SON!!!" (Makes sense if you saw the movie).

Eventually, we got directions to the place and ended up having a great dinner. I avoided all snails and raw food very successfully.

2005-04-04T11:38:00.000+02:00

This guy Mark Flavenhill sure knew how to live!

2005-04-04T11:36:00.002+02:00

Patty and I did a quick walking tour of the city. We started at the Eiffel Tower, then to the Arch de Triumphe, and then along the Champs Elysees to the Louvre, then ended up at Notre Dame. Here are some pictures from the walk.

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Arch d'Triumphe

2005-04-04T11:36:00.000+02:00

Arches at the Arch

2005-04-04T11:35:00.000+02:00

The woman knows what she likes

2005-04-04T11:34:00.001+02:00

Dog Attacks Communist

2005-04-04T11:34:00.000+02:00

This was great... We were at the plaza in front of the Louvre (I'm sure it has some famous name), and at one corner a camera crew was filming this guy in a Chinese flag t-shirt with two Chinese flags doing a routine. A woman walking past lost control of her dog, who really had something against communism. As the woman called him in her thick French accent "No, McCarthy, NO!!" the dog tried to remove the man's mainfesto. Amazingly, the guy never stopped his routine. Even after giving up his left foot to the dog immediately after this picture was taken.

2005-04-04T11:33:00.000+02:00

I.M. Chuck

2005-04-04T11:31:00.001+02:00

If those damn pyrimids weren't in the way, you could see the really cool building behind them

2005-04-04T11:31:00.000+02:00

Did you read "The DaVinci Code?"

2005-04-04T11:30:00.001+02:00

Sailboats on the fountian

2005-04-04T11:30:00.000+02:00

Notre Dame

2005-04-04T11:29:00.000+02:00

I like this statue of John the Baptist

2005-04-04T11:28:00.001+02:00

Patty, buying her way into heaven.

2005-04-04T11:28:00.000+02:00

Downtown Paris

2005-03-11T18:10:00.000+01:00

Many western people have the mistaken impression that the Japanese people are primarily Christian with some heretic religions thrown in among the masses. In fact, virtually all Japanese identify as being Shinto, a very open religion that encompasses every other religion. Many Japanese people will claim another religion when it suits their needs. There’s a Japanese saying that goes something like “Shinto at birth, Buddhist at death.” A friend of mine was trying to explain Japanese secularism. I asked him if everyone in Japan is secular, then why are there so many temples? He replied, “We all die sometime!”

2005-03-11T18:09:00.000+01:00

One afternoon I convinced my buddy Kaz to help me do a little yard work at my house in Sagamihara. It was a nice fall day, and we were taking our time pulling weeds, talking to neighbors, and generally goofing around as the work progressed.

2005-03-11T18:08:00.000+01:00

At one point the conversation had stopped, and we could hear the song “Let it be” playing in the background. After a few seconds of the song, Kaz asked me “Chuck, is this song about the Virgin Mary?” “No,” I replied, “I believe it is about Paul McCartney's mother who died when he was young.”

2005-03-11T18:07:00.000+01:00

This seemed to satisfy Kaz for a few minutes, but then he asked “Chuck, why do they call her the Virgin Mary? I mean, she had a baby.” With a little bit of a laugh, I replied “Well... Christians believe that God put the baby inside Mary, and she never actually had sex.”

2005-03-11T18:06:00.000+01:00

“Bullshit!” came the reply. “They don't really believe that, do they?” “Yes..." I assured him. "Yes they do.” “Bullshit!” he proclaimed again. After a few more minutes of work, Kaz paused and asked “But Chuck, you don't believe that, do you?”

2005-03-11T18:03:00.000+01:00

“Yes,” I replied. “I have to or I will go to hell.”

Headline: Dog Hits Car

2005-03-03T00:23:00.000+01:00

A friend of mine I used to work with in Japan, Jon Bennett, sent me this picture and a note that read, "I thought of you this afternoon. I thought, 'If I were Chuck, I'd have a concussion right now and I'd be wearing a dead dog on my head.'" Jon's e-mail reminds me of a story...

2005-03-03T00:15:00.000+01:00

When I was five years old my family took a vacation to the Pacific coast of Central Mexico. My dad's best friend, Jack Jordan, joined us in Mexico, and he brought his dog, a Shih-Tzu who's name I have blocked from memory.

We were staying at an old beach hotel with exterior hallways running the length of the building. The rooms were boring, so my brothers and sister and I spent a lot of time exploring the old hotel, climbing the fire escapes to the roof, and generally doing things that, in retrospect, I know my parents would not approve of. The hallways had solid masonry short walls instead of regular metal railings, and I remember I was too short to see over them so I had to pull myself up on my forearms to be able to see the beach.

2005-03-03T00:01:00.000+01:00

One afternoon, my dad and Jack had gone somewhere and my mother was trying to get us kids together to go to lunch or something. As all of this was going on, I was running back and forth along the exterior hallway outside our third-floor room. Jack's dog was playing with me, chasing me down the long tiled walkway running the length of the hotel. I would run in one direction, and when the dog would catch up to me, I'd switch back as fast as I could and run in the opposite direction. The dog would try to turn and run with me, but he would slip on the tiles and slide backwards a good ten feet before he regained his grip and could come after me.

We were both having a great time with the game of chase. At one point I ran for a distance, then stopped short and turned earlier than I had been doing. The dog didn't expect it, and was even slower in switching the direction of his momentim, giving me time to duck into an alcove and hide from him. The dog slipped and spun as he tried to turn, but eventually gained traction and started running as hard as he could. He flew right by me and I thought "Aha! Tricked him!" And then I watched as the little dog reached the end of the hallway, and with one giant leap, jumped over the wall and off the balcony.

What I had witnessed took a few seconds to register. I had just watched a dog I was playing with accidentally commit suicide. I didn't realize this at the time, but this would be the start of a recurring theme in my life (see the soon-to-come "Dog Story II"). I stood for a second, waiting for clarity of thought, and then slowly walked to the wall. I pulled myself up by my forearms to look, and saw that the dog had landed on the hood of a car pulling into the driveway. The driver was getting out the car with a shocked and hurt expression on her face; her hand covering her mouth in that classic "OH MY GOD!" pose. A groundskeeper of the hotel was standing hearby looking completely perplexed.

In a period of no more than 15 seconds, my five-year-old mind experienced joy, elation, sneakiness, shock, horror, guilt, depression, amazement, depravity, remorse, and most every other incongruent emotion I can think of. My first coherent thought was "Oh my God! He's dead!" Then, as I hung from the edge of the wall looking at the scene of the crime, the true colors of my personality surfaced and my second thought was "I can get away with this! Nobody saw what happened. Well, except that gardener who is pointing at me. And he doesn't speak English!" No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I heard my brother, Don, say "Uuuuuummmmm... I'm tellin'..." Dang. It wasn't the perfect crime after all.

By way of coincidence (and because this is just the way these things go) my dad and Jack were in the car behind the car hit by the doggie kamikazi. Possibly the only thing more unexpected than a little boy watching a dog fling himself off a building to his death would be for that dog's owner to see his pet fall from the sky and onto the hood of the car in front of him. Only more unexpected, of course, would be for the dog to hit the car the owner was driving. Fortunately, karma wasn't entirely out to get me, and this did not happen.

My dad's friend was seriously pissed off. He was convinced that I had murdered the dog and wasn't just an "accidental accomplice." There's a saying that goes something like "A friend will visit you in jail, but a true friend will help you hide the body." I would like to think that Don would have covered for me had I actually thrown the dog off the balcony. He's a nice guy. I think he probably would have my back. So it turned out it was actually good fortune that Don had seen the whole thing and could attest to my innocence.

For the record, the dog suffered only a broken leg. Jack found a vet to set the leg, and everything was fine, although Jack never let me near the dog again.

It's not what you say, it's how you say it...

2005-02-27T08:20:00.000+01:00

My brother, Freddie, and his daughters, Emma and Hanna, were driving. Emma (at the time about four years old) announced, "Hey Dad... I can say 'darn.' Mom said it's not a bad word." Freddie confirmed this and added, "Yes. You can say 'darn.' You can also say 'dang,' it is not a bad word either." Emma agreed, saying her mom had told her that 'dang' was OK as well.

2005-02-27T08:10:00.000+01:00

A few seconds passed, and thinking there was more to the story, Freddie asked, "Did you say something that sounded like 'darn' but was a bad word?" "No," said Emma thoughtfully, "it sounded like 'sonofabitch' because that's what I said."

2005-02-27T08:00:00.000+01:00

Sonofabitch. I wish it was my birthday...

Blondie Meets Blondie

2005-02-25T15:21:00.000+01:00

A German friend of mine, Mario, has to be Deborah Harrys number one fan. He told me the story of how he met her and became friends. I thought it was a great story, so I asked him to send it to me with some pictures so I could put it on my web page. Heres Marios story, and the pictures he sent to go along with it. Thanks, Mario! Great story!

2005-02-25T15:19:00.000+01:00

the first songs I heard when I was a kid and my mom was listen to her.....in the flesh...call me.......denis......heart of glass.........that were the first songs of blondie I heard when I was kid and I was so proud when I met debbie for the very first time......I never thought that I d ever met her......

2005-02-25T15:17:00.000+01:00

it was here in germany....rüsselsheim......debbie was on tour with her jazz band....I had a seat in the very first row....and somehow debbie got on stage very early...and read any lyrics or so....and the security guys were walkin around in the hall and I had a big bag with presents for debbie and I took the chance to jump on stage.......I gave her my presents and also some of my own lyrics that I wrote....and she gave me 3 kisses left right left...and we had a small talk.....and when the security came she told em its ok....and we kept talkin.....then the gig began and I went back to my seat and later they had a break in the middle of the concert and debbie gazed to me and was talkin to me...she talked into the mic....to me....and said that she s gonna have a look at the presents I gave her.....and she perfomed a kewl jazz version of ONE WAY...I love it I love that song....and when she was headbanging she almost fell off of her chair :)

2005-02-25T15:14:00.000+01:00

after the gig when most of people went outta the hall she took me backstage....and I asked her if its ok to take my friends backstage too....it was ok....she said that some of the guys also read my lyrics and said they are very personal and its a cool way to write lyrcis that open about personal stuff and she was afraid that she dont know any helping people in germany.....and we kept talkin for a while and then the pizza service came...she and the guys ordered some food...and when they drove to the hotel we drove right behind their little bus and it was summer......we had all windows open...the tide is high was playing and we screamed the song so loud that they could hear it in their bus...and they screamd back and both drivers horns were to hear all the time LOL and when they reached the hotel we drove home....later the same year debbie was on tour again but with her blondie band....and she recognized me....in the first row...and when I opened my hair and was head banging when she sang ATOMIC she pointed at my hair when she sang the line "oooohhhhh your hair is beautiful tonight- atomic" :)

2005-02-25T15:13:00.000+01:00

my nick name was blond angel and debbie added "atomic" so atomic blond angel was my most used nick name.....I met her after the gig....after several gigs...I travelled to any city she performed.....and I was like WOW when she called my name...I did not expect her to remember my name....and she put me on her guest list when I told her that I also follow her to the uk tour....and in london she performed in big big arenas...and we were seated....that was not that good.....I never sat during a punk concert....when she perfomed the punk songs especially ONE WAY I couldnt sit still......I got onto my chair and started screaming and headbanging....and I fell backwards into a small crowd of gals :) lol they wre not laughing....but I was.....:)

2005-02-25T15:11:00.000+01:00

it was a pitty that at many gigs it wasnt alowd to take the camera inside...so I hardly have pix of any meeting with debbie :( and she looked so fuckin hot last year....cos I met her before the gig and before she was sweating :)))))

and in cologne she saw me again...and pointed at me and said to the audience "! I know that guy I know that guy.... so hi atomic blond angel, how ya doin...nice to see you" and then she said to the others...that shes also glad that all others are there :)

2005-02-25T15:07:00.000+01:00

I also met the band...but I wasnt that interested...I prefered to talk to debbie :)

Hmm.. Can't Think of a Good Title... I guess, PISA

2005-02-13T12:16:00.000+01:00

Tower, cathedral, and baptistry

2005-02-13T12:13:00.000+01:00

While I was still living in Tokyo, Cindy, Patty and I all found out that we were being transferred to Germany. Cindy, the ever-efficient life planner, was immediately on the Internet finding inexpensive get-away spots for the three of us to check out. Long before I even started packing my stuff to leave Tokyo, Cindy had bought us tickets from Frankfurt to Pisa on RyanAir- $39.00 round trip! It ended up being Cindy, Patty, me, and a rather odd co-worker of Cindy's named Cheryl (I think).

2005-02-13T12:09:00.000+01:00

Street market in Florence

2005-02-13T12:05:00.000+01:00

We met at the train station in Wiesbaden. I was trying to be gracious and engage Cheryl in conversation. Instead of the friendly banter generally exchanged between strangers in a new social situation, Cheryl gave me very flat, one-word answers to even complex questions, such as, "How are you dealing with the abruptness of German culture?" To which she would answer, "OK." Followed by awkward silence. Finally, as we were near the doors of the station she announced, "You look just like my ex-boyfriend." "Really?" I asked. "Yes," she answered. "I hate him."

2005-02-13T12:02:00.000+01:00

Cheryl, Cindy and Patty (L to R) on the stairs in the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

2005-02-13T11:59:00.000+01:00

For those of you who aren't familiar with RyanAir, this is a low-cost airline out of Ireland that flies all over Western Europe. Generally, you can fly between any two major cities for less that $40 bucks, and they're always having specials where one leg of a round-trip fare will be 99-cents and stuff like that. Sincerely, if you're coming to Europe, and you think you'll want to travel around, check out RyanAir.com. Anyway, we all eventually boarded the plane and found open seats (there are no assigned seats). My first impression of the plane is that PlaySkool decorated it. The backs of the seats were royal blue, hard, molded plastic. The cushions were canary yellow vinyl. Three things come to mind: A) Everything can be hosed down easily after the great unwashed masses (AKA: people who buy cheap airline tickets) disembark, B) No sharp corners, so baby won't chip his teeth on impact, and C) if you're considering opening an airline, for God's sake hire a homosexual to help you with the decorating. We landed after 8:00, and it took us about 2 hours to get our rental car (longer than the flight). By the time we got the car, everyone was a little tense, and then we had to deal with the problem that we hadn't made hotel reservations. And we had to drive in the dark to find a place.

2005-02-13T11:54:00.000+01:00

Yet another picture of the cathedral in Pisa

2005-02-13T11:40:00.000+01:00

If anybody ever tells you that driving in Italy is easy, they are liars. There is a saying about driving in the three regions of Italy. In the north, they say, "Of course you must obey the traffic signs." Around Rome, they say, "The traffic signs are a good suggestion." And in southern Italy, they say, "Traffic signs?" I sort of agree with this, except I really didn't get the impression that the northern folk were all that committed to the signs, either. The scary part, however, is that Cindy was behind the wheel, and most of her Italian driving experience comes from when she lived in Naples- the city where I had the single worst driving experience of my life. Cindy completely ignored any signage, lights, or other vehicles. She seemed to take great joy in swerving across lanes of traffic for the opportunity to cut off another car or to endanger the life of a pedestrian. I'm sure that Cindy's version would be that the other drivers were accosting her, but from my perspective they were wholly innocent (and terrified), and she was out to kick some Italian driver ass! We finally found a very old, beautiful, small hotel at the base of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We sat on the terrace and drank wine while looking at the lighted tower. It was an unbelievable way to end the evening.

2005-02-13T11:34:00.000+01:00

Hanging out on the steps of the cathedral in Florence

2005-02-13T11:31:00.000+01:00

Over the course of the next few days, we woke to the sounds of the tower bells, ate cheeses and olives, visited Florence and Luca. The only word that seems to fit is luxurious. Patty, Cindy and I genuinely enjoy each other's company- not just as friends, but also as people with interesting lives and perspectives. Lazy afternoons filled with happy conversation was the order of the whole trip. Yes, Cindy's co-worker was more-or-less a fifth wheel, but I think she had a nice time. Well, at least we had a good time at her expense.

2005-02-13T11:21:00.000+01:00

View from the baptistry

2005-02-13T11:18:00.000+01:00

I'm not capable of putting into words what this area was like. And based on the pictures I took, I'm not capable of photographing it, either! Old... no, ancient... clean, scenic, friendly, laid back, warm... Those are the words that come to mind. I stood at the base of the statue of David. I saw works of art that I had only seen in photographs. Paintings from every grammar school textbook and Christmas card you can imagine. Each city was filled with beautiful sculpture and amazing architecture. I waded in the Mediterranean and I woke to the bells from the Leaning Tower of Pisa. This was an excellent three-day weekend by any account. I'm sorry to say this was one of the few trips in my life that (short Cindy's driving) was without anecdote. Maybe I just genuinely enjoyed the place and my company, and I didn't need an anecdote to make it fun.

2005-02-13T11:06:00.000+01:00

Street artist in Florence

2005-02-13T11:04:00.000+01:00

Taking a break

Prague Stories

2005-02-09T18:35:00.000+01:00

I have been lucky enough to visit Prague twice. I went for the first time while Cindy and I were traveling through Europe in the spring of 2002, and I went again this past fall of 2004. Prague is a cool city because the communists had control for most of the last century, which meant there wasn't any interest in things like urban renewal or things that ripped apart many other European cities (world wars, etc.). The city pretty much looks like it was put into someone's attic in the late 1800's, and has been brought back out still in tact, albeit a little dusty and with some mold. The streets are still cobblestone, and people still hang their laundry out of the windows to dry. So near as I can tell, the temperature has never risen above 48-degrees. The food is generally pretty bad, but I'm not sure if this is a cultural preference (they really started enjoying awful food during the Soviet times), or if it's because the growing season is about three weeks in duration. Everything is canned, pickled, and served cold. Apparently, the Czech Republic has thus not discovered the wonder of spices. In spite of the omnipresent past surrounding you in culture, architecture and infrastructure, the spirit of the people is happy. Since the fall of the iron curtain, Prague has become one of the strongest economies in Eastern Europe (if thats saying much), and the people in Prague are dancing in the streets (See the above picture).

2005-02-09T18:30:00.000+01:00

If you go to a restaurant or bar, or walk down the street in Prague, chances are two things will happen: You'll eventually end up in a really warm conversation with a stranger, and you'll get ripped-off. This isn't like the Bahamas where people set out to scam you and have nice conversations as the set-up. No, the conversation is genuine and friendly, and stealing from you is just a way of life. I read recently that when a young boy was caught stealing in ancient Sparta, he was beaten not because he was stealing, but because he was caught. I think this is kind of the same thing in The Czech Rep. You steal... I steal... Everyone steals! But that doesn't mean we can't have a beer and be friends! For example, I didn't understand the exchange rate at all when I first arrived, and one evening got in a great conversation with a few people in a bar, including the bartender- who was charging me $25 per beer. Everyone else was paying less than a buck. The bartender was personable, approachable, and generally friendly, he just saw a chance to make a buck. I had a wonderful conversation with a little old lady at a street vending booth who was telling me about the old towns outside of Prague, and at the same time was trying to explain why she wanted me to pay more than double the price posted on her sign for the trinkets she was selling at her stand. Even the thieves you never meet are friendly. The person who stole my car radio, for example, was nice enough to be very careful about taking it out as to not damage anything. He even put the wire nuts back on the frayed wires! Now that's a friendly thief!

2005-02-09T18:25:00.000+01:00

The high point of my first visit was a tour of the city. It wasn't the high point because I learned so much, or saw so many things. In fact, at the time, it was downright scary and intimidating. It wasn't until I could look at the event in retrospect that it became the highpoint. The tour started with the group of us being ushered into one of those airport busses. I'd say there were about 25 of us, including the driver and the tour guide. The guide was a very attractive woman I'd place in her early 50's, with nice clothes and perfect hair. I was surprised to see her walking between the seats speaking to people in Czech, German, English, and French without any effort. I wondered what would cause someone with her looks and ability to work as a local city tour guide. I figured that good jobs must be hard to come by- even for the educated or talented. I can't say I was wrong about good jobs being hard to come by, but I soon found out why this woman wasn't working at a job of higher status. Two words: People Skills. Do you remember that old Wendy's commercial where they had the Soviet fashion show? Remember the phrase, "Ist neeexxt. Eeeveeningveer..."

As the bus took off, she stood at the front of the bus facing us, picked up the CB radio style microphone and started her monologue. "When you are quiet, I will begin... Be quiet... I will wait for you to be quiet." She stands for 30 seconds staring holes into the people who ignored her request. Finally, satisfied that we were in line, she continued. "While we are on the tour, I will tell you what you will see and what you need to know. If you have questions, I would ask that you please not ask me. I will tell you what you need to know."

2005-02-09T18:20:00.000+01:00

What followed was a seriously deadpan presentation of every minor point in Prague. At one point we were driving along the river (a beautiful section of the city) and there were large palace style buildings on the opposite shore. Her description of the area included, "In 1998 all of this was under water. There was a flood. Many people suffered." And, "At this corner is an entrance to the underground rail system." Noting the lack of reference to the buildings we were passing, the woman across the aisle whispered to me, "I wish she would tell us about some of those places." I whispered back "You're going to get us in trouble!" She giggled lightly and whispered, "She's really something, huh?" And the tour guide's monotone litany of the uninteresting came to a stop. Frau Blooker stared daggers at the woman across from me. "You are talking... Maybe you have a question? Maybe you want to tell me something about the city? It is possible, no, that you know more about the city than I?" Dramatic pause. "Maybe you should like to give the tour!" The bus continued for the remainder of the trip with silence from the tourists.

2005-02-09T18:15:00.000+01:00

The high point of the tour was to be our walking tour of the old castle atop the hill. In the castle is the cathedral where "Good King Wenceslas" is buried. It was cool that we were going to tour the cathedral itself, and see his crypt. The castle complex is actually quite large, consisting of several palaces, a cathedral, a monastery, and a small village (now all tourist shops) inside the castle walls. After silently exiting the bus, we all stood in a group awaiting direction from the Der Kommisar. She started, "The walking tour will conclude at 2:00 in front of the doors of the cathedral. The bus will be waiting there. If you are not at the doors of the cathedral at 2:00, we will leave you." She then turned and started walking at a breakneck pace. There was an elderly Canadian couple in our group, and the wife was using a walker. Immediately the gap between our leader and this couple was becoming an issue. Fortunately, for the first part of the tour, she had to stop and give us uninteresting information every few hundred feet, so the couple had a chance to catch up. After about 30 minutes of this catch-up game, the husband said, "We're having a little trouble keeping up, and I think we're missing a lot of what you are saying. Would it be possible to slow down the pace a little?" Dar Kommisar lashed at the man, "I told you this was a walking tour. If you cannot walk, why are you here?" She then turned and did not acknowledge him again. As the tour went on, and the stops became less frequent, the gap between the group and the couple grew. Terrified of the guide, but not wanting to lose the couple, our group formed a line that more or less stretched from the guide to the couple so that they would not be lost. This of, course, caused her to have to wait a few seconds whenever she would stop so that a reasonable sized group could accumulate to listen to her drone. This pissed her off to no end.

2005-02-09T18:10:00.000+01:00

At the very end of the tour, the group had gathered in front of the doors of the incredible old cathedral. We were all excited about seeing the inside of the cathedral and people looked happy. Blooker waited for the entire group to come together, even the elderly couple, then with a twinkle of evil glee in her eye she said, "You have taken too long. There is no time to see the cathedral. We will return to the bus." And she walked away. It was 1:35. We walked 50 feet, out a set of gates, and waited 15 minutes for the bus to come. When the bus showed up, we all boarded dutifully and silently (and five minutes early), and headed back to the starting point of the tour.

2005-02-09T18:05:00.000+01:00

Oh, I had an interesting conversation with a woman in the main train station in Prague. I was in the station at 9:00 Sunday morning trying to figure out how to catch a train to a neighboring city. While looking at the timetable, a kind of rough looking young woman walked up and said something in Czech. I replied, "I'm sorry..." Her eyes lit up, she got a smile on her face and she said, "Oh! You're an American! Do you want to have sex with me?" I can only imagine how my face must have looked at that moment. Considering the situation, I stammered, "Well... It's Sunday morning... Early... I'm leaving..." Her face registered complete incomprehension, as if I had just started talking about a completely unrelated topic. She replied, "So? You don't want to have sex? Don't you like me?" Lost in the ridiculousness of the situation, I stood puzzled for a few seconds, and then said, "Nothing personal, I'm gay." as if the fact that it was 9:00 on a Sunday and I was carrying luggage wasn't enough to decline sex with a rough looking woman in a train station. Her eyes lit up again, she smiled and excitedly said "Gay! Stay here! I'll be right back! I'll get my brother!" and she took off running up a flight of steps. I didn't stay right there. God knows I wanted to see what the next turn would be, but I just didn't have the courage. And I had a train to catch.

2005-02-09T18:00:00.000+01:00

Balloon man in Wenceslas Square

Hong Kong and China

2005-02-02T20:00:00.000+01:00

Probably one of my most interesting trips was my trip to Hong Kong and China. A group of us from school made plans to go to Vietnam for Thanksgiving in 2002, but after the bombing in Bali the government put travel restrictions on us that prevented us from going. As an alternative, seven of us went to Hong Kong. I'm trying to think of a way to describe this city, but it really isn't easy to do. First, I guess I should say that from my own little experience of the world I sort of figured there was an east, a west, an Australia, and an Africa. When I got off the plane in Tokyo and everything was different (except the clothes), I wasn't surprised. I expected completely different. Hong Kong didn't quite fit into my tidy model of the world. The city itself is as jam-packed as Tokyo, although it's only about 1/3 of the size.

2005-02-02T19:55:00.000+01:00

It is hilly, like San Francisco, has a lot of British architecture, all the signs are in Cantonese, and all the people speak English. Oh, and they name their streets. Not that it helped me find anything, the names of the businesses are in Cantonese, but at least you know you're standing on Peder Street or Miller Avenue. There are neon lights EVERYWHERE, constant music and traffic noise, and about a gazillion people on every block selling everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, from chicken feet to company for the evening. I think I said in one of my postcards that Hong Kong is what the world would look like if MTV controlled the government.

2005-02-02T19:50:00.000+01:00

Our trip there was short- only three full days- but it was busy. I was traveling with several friends, including my friend, Cindy. She was the one who'd knock on my hotel room door and say "I hope you don't mind, but I put in a wake-up call for you at 5:00. That way we can have an early breakfast and hit the road.." I think I slept a total of four hours on the trip. It all ended up with me getting really whiny on the last day and my friends sending me back to the hotel. Hong Kong is the largest seaport in the world. Anything going to or coming from the west passes through here. Needless to say, we did a lot of shopping. The city is known for its street bazaars. Picture a flea market that stretches for about two miles covering every city block with people jammed in as if it were a rock concert.

2005-02-02T19:49:00.000+01:00

There are several of these, and the prices on everything being sold are negotiable. For example, I found a little scrapbook of old Chinese post cards and it was marked $150.00 HK (about 20 bucks). When the guy saw me looking at it, he wrote $100 on a sheet of paper (he was the one guy in the city who didn't speak English. Of course I found him). I shook my head no, and smiled politely. He seemed a little ticked-off and wrote $95 on the same paper and shoved it at me like he was starting a fight. I gave him a dirty look and said "NO!" and shoved the notebook back at him. The man screamed something at me, tore the sheet of paper off the tablet, and shoved a blank page at me- still yelling. Ticked myself by his lack of Asian politeness, I wrote $25 (about $2.00 American) on the tablet and shoved it back at the man. This sent him into hysterics. He was screaming and waving his arms as if I'd just said something nasty about his mama. I rolled my eyes and turned to walk away, and that's when I realized that the 250,000 people standing closest to me were watching everything. I became very embarrassed and tried to blend in with the crowd. Suddenly I heard the man screaming as he came up behind me, and I was pretty sure I was going to have to fight him. I turned around and gave him my best "I'm gonna kick your hiney" look, and he shoved the postcards at me and held out his hand for the money- both dollars. I bought the postcards- they're now a prized possession.
As I walked away, my friends, who watched the whole thing, asked me "How do you manage to make people you don't even know so angry so fast?" I don't know.. I guess it's a gift. And for the record, I could have taken him.

2005-02-02T19:45:00.000+01:00

The next day I went by myself to China. I took a train from Hong Kong to Lu Wan (just across the boarder). I had a little bit of difficulty getting a visa and a stamp on my passport, but now I can say I'm one of the few Americans who've visited this country. Lu Wan is a big city, so it wasn't the peasant/farming place I expected to see. Things I did see included new skyscrapers, men in suits, women and children eating out of garbage cans, two lepers, and more bootleg DVD's than you could watch in a lifetime.

2005-02-02T19:40:00.000+01:00

One thing I've learned about Chinese people is that they don't respect lines. While at customs, men, women, children, and various farm animals jumped in front of me while I had my back turned. While I was in Lu Wan, I had to go to the bathroom so I found a little restaurant. I tried to go into the men's room, but there were already three guys in the tiny space meant for one, so I stood patiently outside the door waiting for one (or several) of them to come out. While I was waiting, with my nose literally 10 inches from the outside of the door, a man walked up and squeezed past me and through the door.

2005-02-02T19:35:00.000+01:00

I turned around with my mouth hanging open staring incredulously at a customer who saw what happened, and another guy got past me and into the bathroom! There were now FIVE grown men crammed into the tiny space, and me- pretty desperate for the facilities by this point- standing outside. Half-panicked and realizing if I didn't do something I'd never get in there, I shoved the door open and made the group an even six.
Once inside, I found a space squarely against the door to prevent any more people from coming in. Before I got the chance to do what had to be done, at least three other people tried to jam in there with us. Those kooky Chinese!

2005-02-02T19:30:00.000+01:00

The other interesting thing about China is their choices in stores and automobiles. American cars are rare in Japan. I understand President Bush (Senior) negotiated a trade pact in which Japan was free to flood American markets with Japanese cars, and in return, Japan would buy a Chrysler. Then he threw up on the Prime Minister (remember that!). During my short visit to China, I saw several Buicks and a Wal-Mart! We don't even have a Wal-Mart in Tokyo, and it's a capitalist society here! I should say, though, that it wasn't a Super Wal-Mart.

2005-02-02T19:25:00.000+01:00

They sell Pepsi and Coke in China, but unlike Japan, they don't use English letters (Romanji) on the cans- It's Mandarin, but still recognizable because of the logo. I heard a story while I was over there that Coca Cola tried to find the Mandarin symbols that sounded like Coca Cola when they started to sell the drink in China. The literal translation ended up being "Bite the wax tadpole."

2005-02-02T19:20:00.000+01:00

Oh.. One other interesting thing about China is that because it's communist (short the Buicks and Wal-Marts), there's very little advertising. It just felt odd to be in a land of only very few billboards and such. Advertising is one of those things I wasn't even aware of until it wasn't around me. Sort of makes a guy think..