We went to Brugges for the day today. It was beautiful and calm. We walked about and ate fries with gravy and garlic mayo. Then we had some beers. There was more walking. Now we're back in our hostel having a Trappist dubbel.
Tomorrow we leave Belgium for the Netherlands. I still need a waffle. I guess it'll be breakfast.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Belgium
I am in Belgium and Lyla and I had dinner at a place called The Beer Circus. I feel like nothing else really needs to be said.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Away!
Tomorrow I leave on Spring Break. I am going to Brussels, Brugge, the Hague, and Amsterdam.
Internet will be spotty. Fun will be had. I will return in a week's time. And now it's time to stop doing this thing I love to hate to do, where I stay up all night before a trip, and get myself to bed.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Fireflies
When the snow falls and sticks to the ground, cars, and trees in Budapest, there is one place that I particularly love to go. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the muffled silence throughout the city. I love the cold wet flakes dropping onto my cheeks. I breathe in the air, and it smells clean and crisp, and I am happy.
One place is particularly special, though. It's a dirty busy street corner near a loud square full of buses and homeless folk. It's in front of a posh hotel full of loud tourists shouting at each other and snobby doormen. Why do I love it, then? Simple. The sidewalk outside this hotel is lined in bright colored LED lights. They slowly change from blue to red to green and back again.
The snow piles up, and the lights shine through it, glowing faint colors into the Budapest night. Sometimes you can barely tell the difference, and the lights are nothing more than a faint glimmer of color that you might almost be imagining. These are the best nights.
One place is particularly special, though. It's a dirty busy street corner near a loud square full of buses and homeless folk. It's in front of a posh hotel full of loud tourists shouting at each other and snobby doormen. Why do I love it, then? Simple. The sidewalk outside this hotel is lined in bright colored LED lights. They slowly change from blue to red to green and back again.
The snow piles up, and the lights shine through it, glowing faint colors into the Budapest night. Sometimes you can barely tell the difference, and the lights are nothing more than a faint glimmer of color that you might almost be imagining. These are the best nights.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Fandom
One of my favorite things to do is to fall down the black hole of a fandom. The internet is helpful in this, though perhaps my sleep schedule doesn't appreciate it so much.
The steps of fangirling:
The steps of fangirling:
- discover something new and cool
- explore that new cool thing in the normal ways (ie. watch the episodes, read the stories, whatever)
- visit some more mainstream websites about the cool thing
- start thinking about cool thing while zoning out
- discover the fanpages
- spend hours on tumblr
- talk about cool thing way too often
- annoy others
- scare yourself
- find kindred spirits of fandom and get super nerdy and excited with them
- find acceptance
- back off of fandom a bit, and just love that thing
- discover something new and cool
I just find it so fascinating to devour all the little bits of something, and to witness other people doing the same online. Overanalysing, nitpicking, and failing to see the forest for the trees may occur, but it all happens with such love. Huzzah fandoms. Huzzah internet.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
That's one way of looking at it...
From my 7th graders:
Definition of a dragon: a mythical animal that protects the princess from that blonde jerk with a white horse
term starting with "i" to describe something that cannot die: incredibly awesome
When I defined the difference between horror and thriller films by stating that in horror films all but one person must die: So Shakespeare's dramas are horror films?
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Exotic Animals
Now I have a tiny syringe of antibiotics in my fridge to administer to them over the next five days, which they are less than psyched about.
I just hope that Dexter gets better, and that the antibiotics help prevent Smokey from developing the infection himself. I don't want them to be ill or stressed out. It's such a responsibility, being a pet owner and having little lives depend on you. Especially when you live in a country where you don't speak the language natively and therefore struggle to achieve anything. It can certainly make you feel helpless.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Soreness
There have been few days in the last year or so that my muscles haven't ached. A week or two over a few holidays, a few days here and there. But for the most part, I have been at least somewhat sore somewhere on my body for over a year. It's a bit crazy to contemplate.
I bike, run, swim, do yoga, do pilates, flail about at zumba, and lift weights. It's a pleasant soreness, but it's there nonetheless. Stand up from a chair and wince just a little, stretch my arms above my head and hiss out a bit of breath. Laugh too hard and have to rub at my stomach.
I feel good about this. A lot of the time I get strange about weight loss. I don't like that I can't eat whatever I want. I don't like that I have to log my food to be successful. I don't like that I have to be careful about something that most of the world doesn't care about, or doesn't have to.
Bench-pressing 100 pounds, running for over an hour straight, squatting my body weight, though? Those things I love. So I'll take the soreness, and keep pushing. I really want to see what I can get this body to do.
I bike, run, swim, do yoga, do pilates, flail about at zumba, and lift weights. It's a pleasant soreness, but it's there nonetheless. Stand up from a chair and wince just a little, stretch my arms above my head and hiss out a bit of breath. Laugh too hard and have to rub at my stomach.
I feel good about this. A lot of the time I get strange about weight loss. I don't like that I can't eat whatever I want. I don't like that I have to log my food to be successful. I don't like that I have to be careful about something that most of the world doesn't care about, or doesn't have to.
Bench-pressing 100 pounds, running for over an hour straight, squatting my body weight, though? Those things I love. So I'll take the soreness, and keep pushing. I really want to see what I can get this body to do.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Did nothing today
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Bureaucracy
I spent the whole morning in Hungarian bureaucracy, attempting to get my fingerprints taken. Finally, a few hours and a whole day missed of work later, I was successful, and my fingerprints were in the mail, certified, and on the way to my father. So I went for a swim.
Here's me on Sunday at the Budapest St. Patrick's Day parade. Over a thousand people showed up, they gave away balloons and Jameson-and-gingers, people played bagpipes... over all it was a good time, even if the parade itself only went around four blocks!
And, because I found this today, if anyone is interested in learning a bit of (somewhat slanted?) history about this little place that I call home, feel free to click for a clear and interesting infographic.
Here's me on Sunday at the Budapest St. Patrick's Day parade. Over a thousand people showed up, they gave away balloons and Jameson-and-gingers, people played bagpipes... over all it was a good time, even if the parade itself only went around four blocks!
And, because I found this today, if anyone is interested in learning a bit of (somewhat slanted?) history about this little place that I call home, feel free to click for a clear and interesting infographic.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Words
My parents have a pond at their house. Well, my mom does. Well, she did. THEY did. Well, she still does. For now.
I trip over words. Adjustment takes time.
Where are you from?
I'm an Air Force kid. I grew up all over; now my dad lives in New York and my mom lives in Pennsylvania.
Words flow out of me without thought, and the reality I state is still a bit of a surprise.
I trip over words. Adjustment takes time.
Where are you from?
I'm an Air Force kid. I grew up all over; now my dad lives in New York and my mom lives in Pennsylvania.
Words flow out of me without thought, and the reality I state is still a bit of a surprise.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Three movies
Three movies I watched this weekend (it was that sort of a weekend):
Seven Psychopaths: I expected this to be funnier than it was. Though there were still certainly moments where I laughed, it was more of a barked shocked laughed than a laugh of genuine pleasure. It was directed by the same person who did In Bruges, a similar dark comedy, but I feel like the story was too spread-out in this one, and it lacked the (albeit messed-up) heart. Also, the women in the film were basically non-existent and drawn as horrible caricatures. One literally existed to show up in her underwear and then be shot; the only place she was clothed was on the movie poster. This was actually addressed in the film (the main character was a screenwriter, and he was accused of not knowing how to write women), but I don't know if that really addressed the situation enough to make it okay. Of course, Christopher Walken was there, and he was, as always, a creepy delight. Christopher Walken plays, naturally, Christopher Walken, but since he is better at that than I am at playing Lauren off-camera, I always enjoy his addition to a film.
Hunger: This film depicts the situation of IRA political prisoners in 1981, ending with the hunger strike and death of Bobby Shaw. It is goddamned brutal. The prisoners, in attempt to earn political status, go on "blanket" strikes where they refuse to dress in anything other than a blanket, and "no-wash" strikes, where they, well, refuse to groom themselves and make their cells as disgusting as possible: smearing food and excretions on the walls and such. The prisoners are also brutally treated: beaten, forcibly searched, and so on. At the same time, the guards live in fear and some are even killed on the street for being prison guards. The IRA at this point considered itself to be a resisting army, but they often used terrorist methods. This fact raises interesting questions: is there such a thing as political murder? when prisoners refuse their rights, which basic rights do they retain? should hunger strikes even be permitted? and so on. The film itself, though, mainly served to make me just feel uncomfortable and sad. I know that life can be dark, and I know that things so often don't have a resolution or answer. Still, making a film just to shine a bright light on a hard bit of history must have a purpose. It's just not one that I often understand.
Ruby Sparks: This movie is about a deeply unstable young writer who published his first wildly-successful novel at age nineteen. Now, ten years later, he's adrift and alone, unable to write and without friends beyond his brother and dog. He has a dream about a woman, and starts to write a novel about her. One day, this same woman appears in his apartment. He has created her, and he can control her though his writing. For a long time, he refuses to write anything about her, but when she grows unsatisfied with their relationship, he starts to change her. This eventually culminates in a horrible scene in which he forces her to bark like a dog, jump around, declare him a genius, enumerate the ways in which she loves him, and so on. It is a horrible, horrible scene that has such undertones of rape and abuse that it literally made my stomach clench up. He does eventually "release her," but you never see any real repentance in the character; to my reading he did this feeling like a benevolent god, and he, sure enough, gets his reward in the end. I enjoyed a lot of this movie, and its thoughts on loneliness and the depths to which a person is willing to crawl in the name of "love" and control. The last twenty minutes made me hate it, though. I ended it so angry. I don't want this horrible character, who shows no true repentance, to have a happy ending.
Seven Psychopaths: I expected this to be funnier than it was. Though there were still certainly moments where I laughed, it was more of a barked shocked laughed than a laugh of genuine pleasure. It was directed by the same person who did In Bruges, a similar dark comedy, but I feel like the story was too spread-out in this one, and it lacked the (albeit messed-up) heart. Also, the women in the film were basically non-existent and drawn as horrible caricatures. One literally existed to show up in her underwear and then be shot; the only place she was clothed was on the movie poster. This was actually addressed in the film (the main character was a screenwriter, and he was accused of not knowing how to write women), but I don't know if that really addressed the situation enough to make it okay. Of course, Christopher Walken was there, and he was, as always, a creepy delight. Christopher Walken plays, naturally, Christopher Walken, but since he is better at that than I am at playing Lauren off-camera, I always enjoy his addition to a film.
Hunger: This film depicts the situation of IRA political prisoners in 1981, ending with the hunger strike and death of Bobby Shaw. It is goddamned brutal. The prisoners, in attempt to earn political status, go on "blanket" strikes where they refuse to dress in anything other than a blanket, and "no-wash" strikes, where they, well, refuse to groom themselves and make their cells as disgusting as possible: smearing food and excretions on the walls and such. The prisoners are also brutally treated: beaten, forcibly searched, and so on. At the same time, the guards live in fear and some are even killed on the street for being prison guards. The IRA at this point considered itself to be a resisting army, but they often used terrorist methods. This fact raises interesting questions: is there such a thing as political murder? when prisoners refuse their rights, which basic rights do they retain? should hunger strikes even be permitted? and so on. The film itself, though, mainly served to make me just feel uncomfortable and sad. I know that life can be dark, and I know that things so often don't have a resolution or answer. Still, making a film just to shine a bright light on a hard bit of history must have a purpose. It's just not one that I often understand.
Ruby Sparks: This movie is about a deeply unstable young writer who published his first wildly-successful novel at age nineteen. Now, ten years later, he's adrift and alone, unable to write and without friends beyond his brother and dog. He has a dream about a woman, and starts to write a novel about her. One day, this same woman appears in his apartment. He has created her, and he can control her though his writing. For a long time, he refuses to write anything about her, but when she grows unsatisfied with their relationship, he starts to change her. This eventually culminates in a horrible scene in which he forces her to bark like a dog, jump around, declare him a genius, enumerate the ways in which she loves him, and so on. It is a horrible, horrible scene that has such undertones of rape and abuse that it literally made my stomach clench up. He does eventually "release her," but you never see any real repentance in the character; to my reading he did this feeling like a benevolent god, and he, sure enough, gets his reward in the end. I enjoyed a lot of this movie, and its thoughts on loneliness and the depths to which a person is willing to crawl in the name of "love" and control. The last twenty minutes made me hate it, though. I ended it so angry. I don't want this horrible character, who shows no true repentance, to have a happy ending.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Loneliness
I am a self-imposed loner.
What this means is that I choose to be alone, most of the time. Or, I choose to spend my time with only a few select people. I'm not much of a fan of clubs (though I do enjoy chatting at a bar) or large parties. Crowds make me nervous. I, generally and genuinely, am not interested in making new friends. This doesn't mean I'm unfriendly, but I don't feel the need to be social with everyone at work. I don't feel the need to talk to people at the gym. I must say that I do not understand the appeal of having 50 "friends" to keep in touch with beyond the Facebook level.
I do like meeting people, particularly while traveling, and then allowing ourselves to slip quietly out of each others' lives. My favorite way to be alone is while traveling, or in the middle of a city. Sometimes I put in my earphones and pretend to listen to music, so that I can walk through a busy or deserted square in silence. A pigeon near my foot, a couple in love on that bench, a fountain wrapped in plastic for the winter, and I together with myself.
I should feel lonely, I know. Sometimes I do.
What this means is that I choose to be alone, most of the time. Or, I choose to spend my time with only a few select people. I'm not much of a fan of clubs (though I do enjoy chatting at a bar) or large parties. Crowds make me nervous. I, generally and genuinely, am not interested in making new friends. This doesn't mean I'm unfriendly, but I don't feel the need to be social with everyone at work. I don't feel the need to talk to people at the gym. I must say that I do not understand the appeal of having 50 "friends" to keep in touch with beyond the Facebook level.
I do like meeting people, particularly while traveling, and then allowing ourselves to slip quietly out of each others' lives. My favorite way to be alone is while traveling, or in the middle of a city. Sometimes I put in my earphones and pretend to listen to music, so that I can walk through a busy or deserted square in silence. A pigeon near my foot, a couple in love on that bench, a fountain wrapped in plastic for the winter, and I together with myself.
I should feel lonely, I know. Sometimes I do.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Snow
I've already failed at writing a daily post! Forgive me, nonexistent readers, for yesterday I was out of my house from 0745 until 0230. I went to work, then I went to the gym, then I went to trivia night at the local Scottish pup, then I grabbed some drinks because today is a national holiday here in Magyar-land and there is no work today! So, no post.
The original plan for this long weekend was to head out this morning around noon to Hajdu'szoboszlo' in eastern Hungary, where there is a famous medicinal spa and where a friend lives. We can crash with her, spend all day Saturday at the spa, and then come back Sunday morning refreshed and revived. That's still the plan for the long weekend, only now it is a little bit delayed.
Yesterday, it started to snow. The snow in the air was beautiful: large white fluffy flakes drifting lazily to the ground. When it hit the ground, though, things got slushy since the ground was still so warm from the amazing weather we've been having. So Hungary was covered with a thin layer of slush, and as the temperature continued to fall, that slush turned to ice. That ice has the highways closed and the trains running weirdly if at all. So, instead of leaving this morning, we will be leaving tomorrow morning. Not a big deal, and thank goodness we're not in western Hungary today, where cars are buried in snow and villages are totally closed down. Or stuck on one of the trains that left town last night, and just arrived to its destination this morning, a 3 hour trip transformed into a 16 hour one. Or stuck in a car on the highway. This storm, which out of my window seems to be nothing more than just a little bit of snow, is really devastating the country. Ice and wind will do that, I guess.
Today's snow also means that all the protests and demonstrations scheduled for today are cancelled. I'm not sure that I'm sad about that, since most of them are usually hateful.
The March 15th holiday commemorates Hungary's 1848 revolution against Austrian hegemony. This really started as a lovely revolution: totally bloodless, led by intellectuals, and originally successful. The revolutionaries even took a lunch break during their revolution, knowing that a mind craving rakott krumpli was not a mind that could be depended upon to be rational. This revolution eventually failed in 1849 when Austria retook control of the country, executing most of Hungary's military leadership and several of the revolutionaries after a brief war.
But, for a brief while, the revolution succeeded. Hungarian language flourished, and the now-national-poet, Petofi Sandor, wrote his most famous works. Modernization, tolerance, and liberalism flowed.
So, yeah, it sort of bothers me that this holiday is now so often celebrated by angry people wearing t-shirts of pre-Trianon Hungary. Which is a whole other can of worms that I will discuss some other time.
The original plan for this long weekend was to head out this morning around noon to Hajdu'szoboszlo' in eastern Hungary, where there is a famous medicinal spa and where a friend lives. We can crash with her, spend all day Saturday at the spa, and then come back Sunday morning refreshed and revived. That's still the plan for the long weekend, only now it is a little bit delayed.
Yesterday, it started to snow. The snow in the air was beautiful: large white fluffy flakes drifting lazily to the ground. When it hit the ground, though, things got slushy since the ground was still so warm from the amazing weather we've been having. So Hungary was covered with a thin layer of slush, and as the temperature continued to fall, that slush turned to ice. That ice has the highways closed and the trains running weirdly if at all. So, instead of leaving this morning, we will be leaving tomorrow morning. Not a big deal, and thank goodness we're not in western Hungary today, where cars are buried in snow and villages are totally closed down. Or stuck on one of the trains that left town last night, and just arrived to its destination this morning, a 3 hour trip transformed into a 16 hour one. Or stuck in a car on the highway. This storm, which out of my window seems to be nothing more than just a little bit of snow, is really devastating the country. Ice and wind will do that, I guess.
Today's snow also means that all the protests and demonstrations scheduled for today are cancelled. I'm not sure that I'm sad about that, since most of them are usually hateful.
The March 15th holiday commemorates Hungary's 1848 revolution against Austrian hegemony. This really started as a lovely revolution: totally bloodless, led by intellectuals, and originally successful. The revolutionaries even took a lunch break during their revolution, knowing that a mind craving rakott krumpli was not a mind that could be depended upon to be rational. This revolution eventually failed in 1849 when Austria retook control of the country, executing most of Hungary's military leadership and several of the revolutionaries after a brief war.
But, for a brief while, the revolution succeeded. Hungarian language flourished, and the now-national-poet, Petofi Sandor, wrote his most famous works. Modernization, tolerance, and liberalism flowed.
So, yeah, it sort of bothers me that this holiday is now so often celebrated by angry people wearing t-shirts of pre-Trianon Hungary. Which is a whole other can of worms that I will discuss some other time.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Students
I complain about my students a lot. But, really, I do quite adore them. I wonder what it is about human beings that make us so focus on the negative, and complain about the bad things rather than praise the good things.
This is something I really need to work on. More awesomeness, less whining. Life is good.
This is something I really need to work on. More awesomeness, less whining. Life is good.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Hollows
Background: I have, in the past year or so, lost a lot of weight. I've done this through the thoroughly boring method of "watching what I eat" and "exercising all the effing time." It's been pretty awesome.
Sometimes, now, I catch myself rubbing at the hollows on my body. I see (usually in the shoddy reflection of a dirty window) a smudge on my face or neck or arm and I think it's dirt, so I rub at it. It doesn't come clean, so I rub harder. And suddenly, always, it hits me... that isn't dirt. It's a hollow, the shadow cast by my bone. My bones which have always been there but which I'm just now getting acquainted with for the first time in ten years.
I still turn sideways to walk through spaces that I can now fit through walking straight. I still pick up the wrong size from the shelf to try on, and have to return, incredulous, for a smaller size. I lay on my side and am shocked when my knees clank uncomfortably together. I forget that I'm constantly cold now, and don't carry a sweater when I should. I feel, if anything, more awkward exposing any amount of myself than I did before I lost the weight.
Before, I was fat. Go to hell, who cares, it's not any of your business, is it? This is me. Like it or shut up.
Now, I am... average? chubby? Not fat anymore, but not thin either, a mess of stretched wrinkly skin and tiger stripes, which are luckily not red, but which do shine purplish-blue in the light. My body looks like a mom's, but I have never been pregnant, never carried another around with me for months. I just carried around a bunch of fat for years.
And, yes, the benefits in health and happiness when it comes to having lost this weight have proven immeasurable. I sleep better, I have better skin, I can run and jump and bike and play without wanting to die. Life is so much better. And, yes again, I will continue to shape my body into what I want it to be. The skin will tighten, the muscles will firm, and I will get used to the new person I am living inside.
In the meantime, though, the disconnect between my body and me continues to amaze. I'm inside this shell literally always. When will it stop surprising and confusing me?
Sometimes, now, I catch myself rubbing at the hollows on my body. I see (usually in the shoddy reflection of a dirty window) a smudge on my face or neck or arm and I think it's dirt, so I rub at it. It doesn't come clean, so I rub harder. And suddenly, always, it hits me... that isn't dirt. It's a hollow, the shadow cast by my bone. My bones which have always been there but which I'm just now getting acquainted with for the first time in ten years.
I still turn sideways to walk through spaces that I can now fit through walking straight. I still pick up the wrong size from the shelf to try on, and have to return, incredulous, for a smaller size. I lay on my side and am shocked when my knees clank uncomfortably together. I forget that I'm constantly cold now, and don't carry a sweater when I should. I feel, if anything, more awkward exposing any amount of myself than I did before I lost the weight.
Before, I was fat. Go to hell, who cares, it's not any of your business, is it? This is me. Like it or shut up.
Now, I am... average? chubby? Not fat anymore, but not thin either, a mess of stretched wrinkly skin and tiger stripes, which are luckily not red, but which do shine purplish-blue in the light. My body looks like a mom's, but I have never been pregnant, never carried another around with me for months. I just carried around a bunch of fat for years.
And, yes, the benefits in health and happiness when it comes to having lost this weight have proven immeasurable. I sleep better, I have better skin, I can run and jump and bike and play without wanting to die. Life is so much better. And, yes again, I will continue to shape my body into what I want it to be. The skin will tighten, the muscles will firm, and I will get used to the new person I am living inside.
In the meantime, though, the disconnect between my body and me continues to amaze. I'm inside this shell literally always. When will it stop surprising and confusing me?
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Best Minute and a Half Ever
They need a hero to tell them that... sometimes... the impossible CAN become possible...
IF YOU'RE AWESOME!!
I'll go get my ball.
Goodnight folks. Be awesome.
Springtime for bikers...
... and Hungary! (Yes, it's spring!time!)
It's only been in the past two weeks that I've started being able to ride my bike again and it is AMAZING. I had forgotten how much I truly love cruising to work. How incredible those extra fifteen minutes of sleep feel. How lovely it is to arrive to work flushed, dewy, and feeling alive. How much of a relief it is to get to avoid public transit and all of its indignities and unpleasantness (and, frankly, smells).
The sun is shining, hot on our cheeks, while a cool breeze blows up the Duna and rubs across our necks and face. The sun stays with us longer, too, shining until the evening now.
Springtime in Budapest is the most precious thing. Well, springtime anywhere is amazing. But in Budapest, after the long gray winter spent tucked indoors, it really is an incredible thing to see people darting about on bikes again. The fruit stands return to displaying their wares outside on the sidewalk... for that matter, the fruit stands start to HAVE wares again. Patio tables start to pop up like dandelions: first in small clusters, and then spreading across the city. Groups of kids sit on city benches, drinking wine, and adults wander along the river, also drinking wine.
Not that wine isn't drunk in the winter. But there is something about food and drink outside that makes it so much more delicious. (I remember feeding ducks as a child, and discovering that saltines weren't disgusting in a park under the sun.)
On the same topic of springtime, I have only fourteen weeks of school left. Eep.
It's only been in the past two weeks that I've started being able to ride my bike again and it is AMAZING. I had forgotten how much I truly love cruising to work. How incredible those extra fifteen minutes of sleep feel. How lovely it is to arrive to work flushed, dewy, and feeling alive. How much of a relief it is to get to avoid public transit and all of its indignities and unpleasantness (and, frankly, smells).
The sun is shining, hot on our cheeks, while a cool breeze blows up the Duna and rubs across our necks and face. The sun stays with us longer, too, shining until the evening now.
Springtime in Budapest is the most precious thing. Well, springtime anywhere is amazing. But in Budapest, after the long gray winter spent tucked indoors, it really is an incredible thing to see people darting about on bikes again. The fruit stands return to displaying their wares outside on the sidewalk... for that matter, the fruit stands start to HAVE wares again. Patio tables start to pop up like dandelions: first in small clusters, and then spreading across the city. Groups of kids sit on city benches, drinking wine, and adults wander along the river, also drinking wine.
Not that wine isn't drunk in the winter. But there is something about food and drink outside that makes it so much more delicious. (I remember feeding ducks as a child, and discovering that saltines weren't disgusting in a park under the sun.)
On the same topic of springtime, I have only fourteen weeks of school left. Eep.
Monday, March 11, 2013
New blog!
I decided it was time for a new blog. I have an old one (laureninbudapest.blogspot.com) but the pressure of keeping up with the old me, with the old me's dedication and long-windedness, was exhausting. So I started a new one, and this is it.
The title is bilingual, Hungarian and Spanish. Naponta, in Hungarian, means "daily." Un Pensamiento, in Spanish, means "a thought." That is my goal for this little blog, this new blog and new piece of my life. A "daily" (I'm using the figurative here. I doubt I'll post daily. Certainly there will be times when I'm traveling or busy or just don't feel like posting) snippet of my life.
Reflections. Rants. Musings. Photos. Videos. Silly things I've found on the internet. Silly things I've done in my life. Serious things, too, probably.
The subtitle for my new blog is "the daily thoughts of a lucky one." This comes from what might be my all-time favorite song, "Lucky One" by Alison Krauss. Oh, magical internet, here is a music video for you!
There are just so many bits of this song that I adore:
That's me. I'm the lucky one.
The title is bilingual, Hungarian and Spanish. Naponta, in Hungarian, means "daily." Un Pensamiento, in Spanish, means "a thought." That is my goal for this little blog, this new blog and new piece of my life. A "daily" (I'm using the figurative here. I doubt I'll post daily. Certainly there will be times when I'm traveling or busy or just don't feel like posting) snippet of my life.
Reflections. Rants. Musings. Photos. Videos. Silly things I've found on the internet. Silly things I've done in my life. Serious things, too, probably.
The subtitle for my new blog is "the daily thoughts of a lucky one." This comes from what might be my all-time favorite song, "Lucky One" by Alison Krauss. Oh, magical internet, here is a music video for you!
There are just so many bits of this song that I adore:
free as the wind blowing down the road
not a care in the world, not a worry in sight, every thing's gonna be all right
you look at the world with a smiling eye
to you the next best thing to playing and winning is playing and losing
you're blessed by never knowing which road you're choosing
no matter where you're at, that's where you'll be
That's me. I'm the lucky one.
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