La Entropista

Maybe my imagination isn’t grand enough for ideas like this, but the other day I opened up the bathroom door and saw the sweet potato engaged in a pretty serious game of Bricks of Egypt while on the throne. While I had previously wished I could take my blogroll into the bathtub with me, I know that it would suffer the same fate as Neon and Marie Claire and is generally not a very good idea for the electronic things. But playing video games! While on the pot? What a revelation! Almost as good as watching tv while pooping, which is probably as close to nirvana as one can get (outside of that one time when my friend, with the plate of fried chicken balanced on the hamper… uh, never mind).

nothing to do with pooping, nor video games- sunset on the way to Austria

Anyway, Bricks of Egypt has replaced BeJeweled as the prefered method of distraction in our little two person household, and many things, like packing, like work, like that thing you do before sleeping, what was that? reading in bed? have gotten replaced by rounds of Nefertiti-themed Pong. Questions like “do you want me to unlock that level for you? Because I can if you want me to, darling” have replaced other courtship-ritualistic speech. I have no idea what is going to happen when Age of Empire III and Sim City are successfully installed on his Mac and my PC. Aren’t we too old for this? More sophisticated? Uh. We’ll make up for it by being extra snooty while drinking cappuccinos at Cafe Einstein. It’s been nice knowing you, babe.

Over the weekend, Salzburg again. This time with a quick tour of the Mirabell Gardens, where the von Trapps cavorted, and one of Mozart’s birthplace. Excellent meal at the Blaue Gans, and a not so great one at the restaurant at St. Peter’s. But what can you expect from a restaurant that has been open for 1,200 years? They are bound to get into a rut. But then there was Sazburger nockrl with raspberry sauce and it was amazing.

Today we drive to Berlin. Easter on the road, through Saxonia, what a pretty picture, no? I’m totally wearing my sweatpants and will blend in with all the East Germans taking a smoking break at the reststops.

We stay here until the 26th or so (pool!) and then here until May 2nd. That place crazy. Owned by an old friend of the liebling and sure to give me the biggest migrane on the planet if it doesn’t provoke massive amounts of LSD ingestion. Make sure to flip through some of the rooms and decide for yourself whatt you would be willing to spend a week in.

In between Miss Maya comes to stroll the streets of the Haupstadt and will return with us to Toytown.

Berlin! Yay! See you there!

Here are new linkages:

Chez Pim, blogging from the Bay Area on Thai cuisine and posting pics like this of Home Sweet Home. Also, photos of every course at El Bulli.

Then, Rettet das Mittagessen, right outta Munich, and a neighbor of Delicious Days.

Here is a new one I’m going to completely obsess about- food history daily via Australia at The Old Foodie.

Sushil is flickring Nepalese food through a So Cal filter and coming up with things that make me insanely jealous.

Rebecca and Orion are throwing their fabulous dinner parties again. Someday I will actually reciprocate. I swear.

Upcoming: lunch at The Ivy and post-theater Mintleaf.

I spent half the day today freaking out that I couldn’t find my W2, that I *thought* I so diligently brought with me. All I found were Federal Student Loan information and my Social Security statement. Which looks a bit pathetic, as I saw in my salary history that at 25 I was making just over $57,000 a year and that in no year since then have I made as much money, and in fact have accrued billions more in debt. Okay maybe not billions but at least $40,000 more. Negative income growth. Peaking at 25. Am I catch, or what? This unfortunate reality that I have been angry about for the last five years became particularly pointed when I returned to grad school and realized that while I would have a far more satisfying occupation as a result, it definitely was not a great financial decision. Seeing that in government-sanctioned black and white, instead of the nebulous, numberless bitterness that dominated conversation with friends, really.friggin.sucks.

Anyway, the point of all this is to say that because I am currently residing abroad, I have an automatic 2 month extension not only to file, but to pay. All I have to do is attach a note that says that I qualify when I do submit it in June. And will I need to pay? No! They owe me! Why? Because I am poor! But not for long, bitches! When I get back, I am totally getting myself a phat job at Jamba Juice at like, Victoria Gardens, and my uniform is gonna be totally awesome, and I’ll probably even get discounts at the Panda Express next door, yo.

I will only quickly mention that it is snowing again.

In other news, for dinner tonight: popcorn and lettuce. Actually, it’s going to be a pretty decent salad with red onions and sliced plums, a light vinegrette and a baked camembert (how 70s!) but just lettuce, darling sounds much more pathetic, don’t you think? I am also on a “see every english language movie in town” kick, and just watched the guy from Black Adder make the sweet love to the Kristin Scott Thomas. A decent night’s entertainment.

Someone suggested a while back that when in London, I should have a decent fry up. So I did and I have to say, a singular experience. As in, only once ever and never again. Just kidding, I’m sure when I’m back I’ll sneak away and gobble some up and pretend I went out for muesli or something.

We went here, of course, because here, there’s EATS. Actually we came across it while we were out looking for a pony whip and decided to pop in.

Look at that Formica. God, you don’t see that every day. Though maybe here. My cappuccino and his tea.

Right away I realized I made a mistake and should have gone for the better-than-airport but possibly still sweepings-from-the-floor tea.

The menu was posted, but I knew what I wanted: eggbaconchipsandbeans.

Behold, the glory that is the bacon. And french fries! For breakfast! I want to live here forever!!!! The beans, I wasn’t so fond of, but I ate the whole thing.

This was his version. Not quite as good as the sausage was a mystery of mushy glandularness. I thought his beans were yummy, as I tend to like overcooked green beans in general (childhood issues) and fried they were extra delicious, almost enough to cover the fact that they were in the process of turning.

And, then dessert! Alas, we didn’t partake. On offer: Treacle Sponge- covered in lashings of golden syrup, Spotted Dick, Jam Sponge Pudding- the perfect choice as a finale.

Thank you, New Piccadilly, you were absolutely lovely. Infinitely more pics with a brief history here. Will interest historic preservationistas and other urban planners.

The liebling had been gone since Tuesday morning and I’ve only slipped into a slight depression. I’ve been sleeping in, using both comforters, catching up on bedtime reading. But I miss the late night dinners, the sexual harrassment, the general sweetness and routine of having him around.

Meanwhile, I’m recovering from a migrane that put me down for a day and a half, what a total waste of time that was. I’m still sore from falling on the U-Bahn escaltor. I’ve started to do the social withdrawal thing that I’m prone to- I made sure that I went to the market today so that I spoke to someone, even if I have no desire to eat that 25 cents worth of sauerkraut from the metzgerei. I have no ambition to contact friends for activities here, even though they are emailing me. I gave up on Prague or Barcelona. Probably a bit of a depression thing, but also the lack of desire to travel to another cold place alone and the reality of having to go back to California and having to face rent first and last, reviving the car, finding a job, etc. that makes me want to hold on to whatever money I have left with a vice grip.

He’ll be back home (this home, our home) in less than a week. When he’s gone he’s almost perfect to me: he is an artist, he is an intellectual, he is a sensualist. He is gentle and loving. He will never make me snowboard. It’s so good and so easy with him here, I sometimes forget how really complicated it is. It’s vividly clear to me that whatever weirdness has to happen when I go back, I know I don’t want to live apart from him. At least not for long.  

U-Bahn Linien 4/5. But which station is it?

Dearest Muenchen, I take it back. All the “how lovely is your Spring” stuff. The day after the liebling takes all the winter clothes back to California, you SNOW. WHAT IS GOING ON??? I refuse to acknowledge you and your wiley trickster ways and will go about my business as if you have been behaving as expected.

More Salzburg here

The only place that is allowed to have snow right now is the Alps. And it may stay until next weekend. I have more mountains to climb and more streams to ford and there definitely is more rainbow following necessary, dream finding, etc, etc…

Ah, Spring, you finally made it. I love you for your crocuses pushing through the earth, for your green grassy muddiness, your outdoor cafes, even for your strange bursts of wind-whipped rain and the slight smell of thawing detrius and dog poo in the air. To celebrate the season we went to Cafe Ignaz for outdoor hippie brunch and had this: banana, strawberry and herring cheesecake.

Better “Spring in Germany” blogging here and here, where I’m very jealous that Mike beat me to the DB bike photo. We have that here too! Dangit.

Now, packing for Salzburg, where the sweet potato will get himself a choir boy, I will get a Sound of Music Tour, and we all shall become gay, so very gay.