True story:
I woke up early this morning. Too early. So I went back to sleep for an hour or two.
When this happens, I have weird dreams during the second sleep phase.
I dreamed I was back on my old job, sitting around on break with co-workers. Somebody mentioned we were going to get a new employee, a woman.
"What's her name?" somebody asked.
People tried to recall the new employee's name but nobody could remember.
Finally someone said: "I know. Her name is ___________."
And right at that moment, in the "real world," nearby church bells started ringing loudly, as they do on Sundays.
Still in my dream but a second before I awoke, I said: "Huh. Seems her name rings a bell."
Like I said: true story.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
George The Greek!
My buddy, the painter George The Greek, performing his original song CYBER LOVE.
I hear a Neil Young-ish flavor in George's music.
One of the great joys of my life is that I'm friends with this guy.
I hear a Neil Young-ish flavor in George's music.
One of the great joys of my life is that I'm friends with this guy.
Burgenland
Saturday, a two-part mission in Burgenland: visit our friends at their place on the Neusiedlersee, and pick up a case of wine.
B heard about a good wine that's very reasonably priced. Burgenland is a wine producing area so you can get some great deals directly from the vintners. She called the vintner at his village establishment and the conversation went like this:
B: I want to pick up a case of wine about 7 this evening; are you open that late?
VINTNER: No, we close at 4. Tell you what---I'll leave a case out front and you can pick it up.
B: How will I pay you?
VINTNER: Just send me the money later.
B: Aren't you afraid I'll just take the wine and not pay you?
VINTNER: Oh, I don't think you'd do something like that.
B: What if someone else sees the wine sitting there and steals it?
VINTNER: Oh, I don't think anyone would do something like that.
Just when you think human beings have no redeeming qualities whatsoever, this guy believes in and practices the Honor System.
We visited our friends who have a house on Neusiedlersee. Unfortunately the husband has been quite ill for several years and he was very tired when we got there---we only got to say hello, then he apologized and said he had to lay down and take a nap. We didn't see him any more. I feel for the guy; he used to be a fighter pilot, rising to be the head of the entire Austrian air force, and had always led an active life. Now this. Which goes to show, you have to seize the day while it's there to seize.
But we had a good visit with his wife. We sat on the back porch talking and drinking coffee while their dog, a friendly black Lab, kept coming around to get attention. Which I gave. I like friendly dogs.
B heard about a good wine that's very reasonably priced. Burgenland is a wine producing area so you can get some great deals directly from the vintners. She called the vintner at his village establishment and the conversation went like this:
B: I want to pick up a case of wine about 7 this evening; are you open that late?
VINTNER: No, we close at 4. Tell you what---I'll leave a case out front and you can pick it up.
B: How will I pay you?
VINTNER: Just send me the money later.
B: Aren't you afraid I'll just take the wine and not pay you?
VINTNER: Oh, I don't think you'd do something like that.
B: What if someone else sees the wine sitting there and steals it?
VINTNER: Oh, I don't think anyone would do something like that.
Just when you think human beings have no redeeming qualities whatsoever, this guy believes in and practices the Honor System.
We visited our friends who have a house on Neusiedlersee. Unfortunately the husband has been quite ill for several years and he was very tired when we got there---we only got to say hello, then he apologized and said he had to lay down and take a nap. We didn't see him any more. I feel for the guy; he used to be a fighter pilot, rising to be the head of the entire Austrian air force, and had always led an active life. Now this. Which goes to show, you have to seize the day while it's there to seize.
But we had a good visit with his wife. We sat on the back porch talking and drinking coffee while their dog, a friendly black Lab, kept coming around to get attention. Which I gave. I like friendly dogs.
My buddy Artus.
We took the dog for a walk along the Neusiedlersee. It was very windy, maybe a steady 30 MPH.
Enlarge the pic. Notice the guy in the lower left corner. He and his friends were pushing the overturned catamaran back to shore---by walking it in. The lake is 6 feet deep or less, despite its huge size.
Lots of kite surfing going on.
In port, things were calmer.
Our hostess served a local white wine---pretty good, and only 3 Euro a bottle (about $4.30 a bottle.) So after saying our goodbyes, we drove through Podersdorf and stopped off to get a case.
The vintner's store where we bought the first case of good, yet cheap (!) wine.
Then a long drive to the opposite side of the lake to the village of Zagersdorf to see if the vintner there had really left a case of wine sitting out front for us.
On the road to Zagersdorf. The bucolic Burgenland countryside.
We drove down the quiet country lane to the vintner.
Sitting atop the barrel was our case of wine.
Sitting nearby was the vintner's cat, who was a friendly boy.
Sitting atop the barrel was our case of wine.
Sitting nearby was the vintner's cat, who was a friendly boy.
We took our wine and left. Nice to see some people still trust strangers.
These make wine.
Back home, it had started to rain. We popped a couple of pizzas in the oven and enjoyed a lazy evening, the wind moving the branches of the trees across the street and the gentle rain putting us in the mood for a bottle of wine.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
The Strawberry Statement
A cult film from 1970, loosely based on the book of the same name which was written by a 19-year-old who'd experienced campus protest activities at Columbia in '68.
Our friend Tony lent us the DVD (dubbed into German, no English option) and we watched it last night.
B said the film made a big impact in the States when it came out, but hardly any impact in Europe at the time (except among the young people who were inspired by it.)
I kept thinking my friend Mod should have been sitting in the living room watching the film with us. He and B are a few years older than me, which doesn't make much of a difference now but made a big difference in 1970. Back then, as a 12-year-old, I would have found the film interesting----What are these people doing? I wish I could have long hair... NAKED BREASTS!---etc. I thought the same thing when I saw EASY RIDER for the first time. I liked it because it exposed a different world to me, but I didn't really get it the way I might if I'd been, say, 18.
The late 60s - early 70s seem like a kind of anomaly to me. Circumstances and socio-political happenings of the time seemed to coalesce in such a way that young people felt compelled to protest a lot, and not without good reason. I think we still have a lot of reasons to protest these days, but almost nobody does it. The way we interact with other human beings these days isn't to physically gather together, it's to virtually gather together. Once in a while you get protests like what happened in Wisconsin, but for the most part things are pretty tame---even while circumstances of today would justify even greater, louder protests, in my opinion.
I watched the film as a cultural curiosity, a glimpse into a version of America 41 years past. San Francisco looked different back then, as did the clothes, as was the language, the hairstyles, and the thinking of the time.
In the movie, things got tough for the protesters during the final scene, but until then the cops were kind of benign by today's standards....I kept thinking, "If this shit was happening today, you'd have cops out in riot gear, with the SWAT team snipers on the roofs, helicopters and drones overhead. A proactive show of force out of proportion to the actual threat." It's no secret that cops are preparing for future social and civil unrest in ways they didn't bother with in the more innocent 60s. Except this time, the protesters won't be protesting a university's involvement in a war, they'll be rioting because their pensions have been cut off, or they've been summarily fired from their jobs, or they can't get enough food to eat.
It was kind of fun sitting next to B as she animatedly bounced around when the songs of the era were played.
She's sad that young people today don't see fit to hit the streets. I can see that, but they never really hit the streets before the 60s and haven't much since then.
Like I said, it was a sociological anomaly, not an historical norm.
Our friend Tony lent us the DVD (dubbed into German, no English option) and we watched it last night.
B said the film made a big impact in the States when it came out, but hardly any impact in Europe at the time (except among the young people who were inspired by it.)
I kept thinking my friend Mod should have been sitting in the living room watching the film with us. He and B are a few years older than me, which doesn't make much of a difference now but made a big difference in 1970. Back then, as a 12-year-old, I would have found the film interesting----What are these people doing? I wish I could have long hair... NAKED BREASTS!---etc. I thought the same thing when I saw EASY RIDER for the first time. I liked it because it exposed a different world to me, but I didn't really get it the way I might if I'd been, say, 18.
The late 60s - early 70s seem like a kind of anomaly to me. Circumstances and socio-political happenings of the time seemed to coalesce in such a way that young people felt compelled to protest a lot, and not without good reason. I think we still have a lot of reasons to protest these days, but almost nobody does it. The way we interact with other human beings these days isn't to physically gather together, it's to virtually gather together. Once in a while you get protests like what happened in Wisconsin, but for the most part things are pretty tame---even while circumstances of today would justify even greater, louder protests, in my opinion.
I watched the film as a cultural curiosity, a glimpse into a version of America 41 years past. San Francisco looked different back then, as did the clothes, as was the language, the hairstyles, and the thinking of the time.
In the movie, things got tough for the protesters during the final scene, but until then the cops were kind of benign by today's standards....I kept thinking, "If this shit was happening today, you'd have cops out in riot gear, with the SWAT team snipers on the roofs, helicopters and drones overhead. A proactive show of force out of proportion to the actual threat." It's no secret that cops are preparing for future social and civil unrest in ways they didn't bother with in the more innocent 60s. Except this time, the protesters won't be protesting a university's involvement in a war, they'll be rioting because their pensions have been cut off, or they've been summarily fired from their jobs, or they can't get enough food to eat.
It was kind of fun sitting next to B as she animatedly bounced around when the songs of the era were played.
She's sad that young people today don't see fit to hit the streets. I can see that, but they never really hit the streets before the 60s and haven't much since then.
Like I said, it was a sociological anomaly, not an historical norm.
Oslo Attacks
I made the same mistake about the Oslo attacks as I did about the OKC bombing: Muslim terrorists.
Your mind takes you to strange places if you jump to conclusions and I'm trying to train my mind to think "possibly" instead of "probably"---and most definitely instead of "certainly." Because, smart as human beings may be, we don't "know" everything. Most of us "know" almost nothing about anything. Humans have the gift of imagination, which is probably a good thing in the final analysis, but imagination works for good or for bad----just because we think something up, doesn't mean it's "true."
Anyhow. The Norwegians impress me with their response to this attack. Instead of a collective tightening of the asshole (and thus, tightening of "security") they've decided to maintain an open society. In America the response to any "threat" is to clamp down----a guy tries to detonate his shoe on an airplane, from then on we have to take our shoes off when we go through "security" at the airport. Funnily enough, you don't have to remove your shoes when you go through security in European airports. Total number of subsequent attempted shoe bombings in Europe as a result of this "lax security:" exactly ZERO.
Here's a link to an enlightening interview with Norwegian sociologist Johan Galtung, a peace and conflict advisor, as broadcast on DEMOCRACY NOW! last night. You can watch the video or scroll down below the video screen and read a transcript of the interview, which might be easier due to occasionally difficult to understand audio.
The killer was upset because he believed whatever societal status quo he preferred was crumbling. It always astounds me when someone picks a particular set of circumstances and / or period of time as "ideal," then gets all nervous if it appears that a bit of change is coming. By that logic we all ought to be happier as Neanderthals, or mid-14th Century peasants, or whatever other period of time someone wants to randomly select as "ideal."
It's not 1350 any more, and we don't live in villages, constantly worried about what "God" wants. People mix and intermingle in modern societies. Whatever "purity" the angst-filled hopelessly try to maintain isn't going to be maintained, because people aren't staying in their villages any more---they're intermingling. You can kill every kid on an island camp and that ain't gonna change.
I guess that's hard for some people to deal with, and so they twist off.
And when they do, those of us left standing have to decide how to react. Or over-react, as the case often is.
Your mind takes you to strange places if you jump to conclusions and I'm trying to train my mind to think "possibly" instead of "probably"---and most definitely instead of "certainly." Because, smart as human beings may be, we don't "know" everything. Most of us "know" almost nothing about anything. Humans have the gift of imagination, which is probably a good thing in the final analysis, but imagination works for good or for bad----just because we think something up, doesn't mean it's "true."
Anyhow. The Norwegians impress me with their response to this attack. Instead of a collective tightening of the asshole (and thus, tightening of "security") they've decided to maintain an open society. In America the response to any "threat" is to clamp down----a guy tries to detonate his shoe on an airplane, from then on we have to take our shoes off when we go through "security" at the airport. Funnily enough, you don't have to remove your shoes when you go through security in European airports. Total number of subsequent attempted shoe bombings in Europe as a result of this "lax security:" exactly ZERO.
Here's a link to an enlightening interview with Norwegian sociologist Johan Galtung, a peace and conflict advisor, as broadcast on DEMOCRACY NOW! last night. You can watch the video or scroll down below the video screen and read a transcript of the interview, which might be easier due to occasionally difficult to understand audio.
The killer was upset because he believed whatever societal status quo he preferred was crumbling. It always astounds me when someone picks a particular set of circumstances and / or period of time as "ideal," then gets all nervous if it appears that a bit of change is coming. By that logic we all ought to be happier as Neanderthals, or mid-14th Century peasants, or whatever other period of time someone wants to randomly select as "ideal."
It's not 1350 any more, and we don't live in villages, constantly worried about what "God" wants. People mix and intermingle in modern societies. Whatever "purity" the angst-filled hopelessly try to maintain isn't going to be maintained, because people aren't staying in their villages any more---they're intermingling. You can kill every kid on an island camp and that ain't gonna change.
I guess that's hard for some people to deal with, and so they twist off.
And when they do, those of us left standing have to decide how to react. Or over-react, as the case often is.
Friday: Bike Ride Along The Danube
The skies cleared and the sun popped out. So we took off on the bikes, riding along the New Danube.
If I may, a few words about riding a bike. I don't do it at all in Oklahoma, though I should...it's great exercise. But bicycle seats, I've come to learn, aren't really seats as we think of them (that is, comfortable places to sit) as much as large, rock-hard barriers whose sole function is to keep the seat-post from going up your exit-port.
And after a few hours on a bike seat, the latter alternative doesn't sound any worse. Translation: numb ass.
If I may, a few words about riding a bike. I don't do it at all in Oklahoma, though I should...it's great exercise. But bicycle seats, I've come to learn, aren't really seats as we think of them (that is, comfortable places to sit) as much as large, rock-hard barriers whose sole function is to keep the seat-post from going up your exit-port.
And after a few hours on a bike seat, the latter alternative doesn't sound any worse. Translation: numb ass.
A scene along the New Danube. Click pic to enlargenate, and notice sailboats in the distance.
Bucolic happenings on a late July day in Vienna.
This cooperative swan posed for me.
A barge along the Danube.
There are several rowing clubs along the Danube.
Here's a group going downstream.
Here's a group going downstream.
After several kilometers we came to one of our favorite spots along the river.
Here you can get a drink, or something to eat, and watch river life or get into conversations
with those at nearby tables. This ferry goes back and forth across the river every ten minutes or so.
Note hills in the distance---B's house is on the other side of those hills.
If you enlargify the pic, you'll notice a hydrofoil just at the top of the ferry, getting ready to blast off.
Schmaltzbrot. A thin layer of salted lard, some paprika, and some raw onions on bread.
We were out about three hours altogether, including our time at the little riverside rest stop. My legs were kind of tight when we finished and for a few minutes it was hard to walk. Which was nothing compared to the state of my inner area, which felt like it had been paddled every five seconds with an iron rod by an over-exuberant midget.
They say you get used to it.
Photos While Waiting
The other night I went into town to meet B and her friends for dinner.
They were still in the movie when I arrived at the meeting place, so I wandered around near the Judenplatz (where the Judenplatz Holocaust Memorial is---a striking work) and took some pics. Then later, eating outside at the Bieradies (website is in German, but look at the pics) I got a few long-exposure night shots...
They were still in the movie when I arrived at the meeting place, so I wandered around near the Judenplatz (where the Judenplatz Holocaust Memorial is---a striking work) and took some pics. Then later, eating outside at the Bieradies (website is in German, but look at the pics) I got a few long-exposure night shots...
Scenario: you're wandering down a dark alley when you encounter---THE BONERSQUAD!
Is it cause for panic, or joy? Only you can decide. (Sticker I saw on a car.)
Here's the inner courtyard of the old Rathaus (city hall), recently restored.
Detail of one of the figurines on the ironwork at the old Rathaus.
In this 1-second exposure you see a rogue group of Segway enthusiasts.
About ten of these guys descended on the Judenplatz, zipped around, then left.
Another group of people who showed up at dusk were photographers.
Serious amateurs or pros, judging by the equipment I saw.
They took a lot of upwardly-aimed shots of architectural details of the buildings...
Serious amateurs or pros, judging by the equipment I saw.
They took a lot of upwardly-aimed shots of architectural details of the buildings...
People enjoying drinks and dinner on the Judenplatz.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Thursday Dinner with Friends
We drove to the outskirts of town to visit our friends M & G in their home.
They live in a hilly section of Vienna, the 14th District. It was raining again, as usual, and the sound of the rain against the window as we sat chatting in their dining room added to the atmosphere. Cozy. M poured champagne for us to celebrate our marriage. Good stuff. Lots of bubbles.
Our friend Sissy joined us soon after, so the five of us sat around jabbering about various things. There were some personal tales of travels or the comings and goings of mutual friends, but mostly we talked about concepts and current events and ideas.
Which makes for a more interesting evening. Pro tip for interesting conversation: after a few minutes, we've heard all we want to hear about your kids or grandkids or what Aunt Mabel did after she got out of the hospital. If Aunt Mabel beat the shit out of a mugger in a dark alley with her bedpan, that's interesting. If your kids applied to become astronauts and got accepted---or washed out because they don't accept hermaphrodites in NASA---that's interesting. Otherwise, skim past the family shit quickly and let's get on with interesting stuff, shall we? And by interesting, I mean stuff other than your family, like quadratic equations or the subtext of midgets in a Fellini film.
Dinner: an appetizer of melon slices wrapped with prosciutto. Main course: salmon with carrots, squash, potatoes, and a dill creme sauce. Dessert: ice cream with little wafers and blueberries. Drinks: a good Austrian white wine.
Everyone speaks excellent English (except maybe me) so I followed along. Every so often they'd switch to German because, despite their excellent English, ideas just flow faster in your native language and after awhile you want a break. I followed along as best I could but only got the barest gist of the German jibber-jabber.
Talk turned to the economy---will the US default on its obligations, and if so, what does that mean?
Somebody asked me what I thought about these various gathering thunderclouds of doom, being an Ami (American), and I had to take a deep breath and think about it before answering, but here's an abbreviated version:
"America has a lot of problems. There have been more frightening times in American history, but the math is adding up to a real disaster. It's like watching a good friend who's alcoholic drink himself to death. You hope for the best but you've seen how these things can go...
"Philosophically, I'm neutral about it. Everything that comes into being eventually ceases to exist, and that includes us as individuals, nations, and eventually this planet and our solar system. We just think it's important because we're alive now and we're the most important thing in our little Universe. But what's one more failed experiment out of the thousands that have failed before?
"America has horrible fiscal and social problems that can't be solved with our antiquated form of government. We have representatives who don't represent us. They represent millionaires, because they ARE millionaires for the most part, and they want to become even richer. So who do you think they care about---guys like me, or guys like Rupert fuckin' Murdoch? Democrats and Republicans work for the same employer: corporations and billionaires.
"They're also plugged into the silly idea that unsustainable concepts like constant growth and consumerism uber alles is the only way to have a successful, happy society. They think the way to interact with foreigners is to threaten to kick ass, via their grossly bloated military.
"America operates like Amy Winehouse: they need to go to rehab but they say no, no, no. Too much pain.
"I voted for Obama but my voting days are officially finished. Except maybe to vote for a hard-right Republican candidate like Rick Perry, or a unspeakably vapid shell of a human being like Sarah Palin, because the US is going to have to fall off the stairs face-first before it either dies, or decides it needs to go to rehab, yes, yes, yes. And voting for someone like Perry or Palin will accelerate this unfortunately very neccessary process. Neccessary, because the US refuses to do it the easier way, and instead seems to insist on burning itself to the ground first. Maybe something will rise from the ashes, who knows?
"After all, Western Europe rose from the ashes of WW II...
"I hope I'm absolutely wrong about all this. But I'm not holding my breath waiting for a sudden gust of intelligence from my 'leaders.'"
Pause. Everyone looked at me. I couldn't tell if they wanted me to go on, or wanted me to STFU.
So I said: "Can I get another glass of wine?"
We drove home in the rain. It had been a good evening.
They live in a hilly section of Vienna, the 14th District. It was raining again, as usual, and the sound of the rain against the window as we sat chatting in their dining room added to the atmosphere. Cozy. M poured champagne for us to celebrate our marriage. Good stuff. Lots of bubbles.
Our friend Sissy joined us soon after, so the five of us sat around jabbering about various things. There were some personal tales of travels or the comings and goings of mutual friends, but mostly we talked about concepts and current events and ideas.
Which makes for a more interesting evening. Pro tip for interesting conversation: after a few minutes, we've heard all we want to hear about your kids or grandkids or what Aunt Mabel did after she got out of the hospital. If Aunt Mabel beat the shit out of a mugger in a dark alley with her bedpan, that's interesting. If your kids applied to become astronauts and got accepted---or washed out because they don't accept hermaphrodites in NASA---that's interesting. Otherwise, skim past the family shit quickly and let's get on with interesting stuff, shall we? And by interesting, I mean stuff other than your family, like quadratic equations or the subtext of midgets in a Fellini film.
Dinner: an appetizer of melon slices wrapped with prosciutto. Main course: salmon with carrots, squash, potatoes, and a dill creme sauce. Dessert: ice cream with little wafers and blueberries. Drinks: a good Austrian white wine.
Everyone speaks excellent English (except maybe me) so I followed along. Every so often they'd switch to German because, despite their excellent English, ideas just flow faster in your native language and after awhile you want a break. I followed along as best I could but only got the barest gist of the German jibber-jabber.
Talk turned to the economy---will the US default on its obligations, and if so, what does that mean?
Somebody asked me what I thought about these various gathering thunderclouds of doom, being an Ami (American), and I had to take a deep breath and think about it before answering, but here's an abbreviated version:
"America has a lot of problems. There have been more frightening times in American history, but the math is adding up to a real disaster. It's like watching a good friend who's alcoholic drink himself to death. You hope for the best but you've seen how these things can go...
"Philosophically, I'm neutral about it. Everything that comes into being eventually ceases to exist, and that includes us as individuals, nations, and eventually this planet and our solar system. We just think it's important because we're alive now and we're the most important thing in our little Universe. But what's one more failed experiment out of the thousands that have failed before?
"America has horrible fiscal and social problems that can't be solved with our antiquated form of government. We have representatives who don't represent us. They represent millionaires, because they ARE millionaires for the most part, and they want to become even richer. So who do you think they care about---guys like me, or guys like Rupert fuckin' Murdoch? Democrats and Republicans work for the same employer: corporations and billionaires.
"They're also plugged into the silly idea that unsustainable concepts like constant growth and consumerism uber alles is the only way to have a successful, happy society. They think the way to interact with foreigners is to threaten to kick ass, via their grossly bloated military.
"America operates like Amy Winehouse: they need to go to rehab but they say no, no, no. Too much pain.
"I voted for Obama but my voting days are officially finished. Except maybe to vote for a hard-right Republican candidate like Rick Perry, or a unspeakably vapid shell of a human being like Sarah Palin, because the US is going to have to fall off the stairs face-first before it either dies, or decides it needs to go to rehab, yes, yes, yes. And voting for someone like Perry or Palin will accelerate this unfortunately very neccessary process. Neccessary, because the US refuses to do it the easier way, and instead seems to insist on burning itself to the ground first. Maybe something will rise from the ashes, who knows?
"After all, Western Europe rose from the ashes of WW II...
"I hope I'm absolutely wrong about all this. But I'm not holding my breath waiting for a sudden gust of intelligence from my 'leaders.'"
Pause. Everyone looked at me. I couldn't tell if they wanted me to go on, or wanted me to STFU.
So I said: "Can I get another glass of wine?"
We drove home in the rain. It had been a good evening.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Wednesday Afternoon
Woke up and enjoyed this hearty Euro-breakfast:
Then I made a few practice runs to the school where I'll be studying German next month; one via bus, one via subway.
This was to see which method took less time. Winner: subway.
---
Then to the Central Cemetery to take some pictures. I found myself in the Jewish part of the cemetery...
Then I made a few practice runs to the school where I'll be studying German next month; one via bus, one via subway.
This was to see which method took less time. Winner: subway.
---
Then to the Central Cemetery to take some pictures. I found myself in the Jewish part of the cemetery...
On my way to the Jewish section, I passed this old wagon...
...and this lovely headstone.
These headstones were in relatively good condition.
But note the overgrown weeds. This is the norm in the Jewish section.
For understandable reasons: many of Vienna's Jews were exterminated
or forced to flee between 1938-1945. Who remains to care for their ancestors' graves?
But note the overgrown weeds. This is the norm in the Jewish section.
For understandable reasons: many of Vienna's Jews were exterminated
or forced to flee between 1938-1945. Who remains to care for their ancestors' graves?
As bad as this is, it gets worse.
Here's a pile of headstones. The best I can make out from the sign,
these were gathered into a pile after being scattered by bombing during the war.
Headstones overgrown with ivy.
Even elegant crypts are in disrepair.
I passed a series of graves with strange circular chips in them, most the size of a half-dollar. Had someone fired guns at the headstones to desecrate them? Or did this happen during Austria's brief civil war, maybe when fighters sought cover behind the stones? B said she thought there had been limited fighting in the cemetery back in the day.
She also says some headstones were damaged by shrapnel from exloding bombs during WW II, and the graves were later moved, which could account for a row of damaged headstones but no such damage in the rows adjacent.
She also says some headstones were damaged by shrapnel from exloding bombs during WW II, and the graves were later moved, which could account for a row of damaged headstones but no such damage in the rows adjacent.
The condition that leads to cemetery dwelling comes to us all, even if we don't end up in a cemetery. I haven't always lived my life the way I wanted to, or the way I thought I should. But more and more, I'm paying very close attention to the way I spend my remaining time.
That's an important consideration, and not one to be made by anyone other than us, individually.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Mushrooms
We took off with B's father in search of mushrooms.
First step: drive about an hour, exit the highway and drive through a few picturesque pre-Alpine villages, the last of which being Hochegg, to arrive at a Gasthaus overlooking beautiful farm valleys. This is our mushroom hunting area.
Into the woods we went, looking for Cantharellus cibarius, AKA chanterelles.
Back down at the car, we went into the Gasthaus for a delicious lunch.
First step: drive about an hour, exit the highway and drive through a few picturesque pre-Alpine villages, the last of which being Hochegg, to arrive at a Gasthaus overlooking beautiful farm valleys. This is our mushroom hunting area.
Into the woods we went, looking for Cantharellus cibarius, AKA chanterelles.
The golden fruit
It's fun wandering around in the quiet woods, hunting mushrooms. We spotted them under blueberry bushes (and the blueberries tasted pretty good, too!) and growing beneath an inch or so of old pine needles----when they start to mature, the cap pushes up through the needles, revealing the mushrooms.
We spent a couple of hours in the woods and ended up with about three pounds of mushrooms.
Back down at the car, we went into the Gasthaus for a delicious lunch.
Gnocchi with ham, mushrooms, and onion
Sammy the Gasthaus dog. He was very friendly and sweet.
He lay under our table while we ate and was rewarded with several hand-outs.
In the US, any health department would panic if a dog was in a restaurant.
In Europe, nobody gives a shit.
All roads lead somewhere. A sign outside the Gasthaus near the village of Hochegg.
Back at the parents' house, we divided up the bounty, each of us ending up with about 1.5 pounds.
When we got home, B cleaned the mushrooms cooked them up.
The mushrooms before cleaning.
After cleaning.
Saute garlic and onions in a bit of olive oil and lard.
Then add the mushrooms. Then add a little white wine.
Add a bit more white wine after the first dose cooks down.
Finally, add diced boiled potatoes and parsley.
Then add the mushrooms. Then add a little white wine.
Add a bit more white wine after the first dose cooks down.
Finally, add diced boiled potatoes and parsley.
Result: a meal that does not suck.
Monday, July 25, 2011
John X:/Schoolboy, Musical Explorer, Giver Of Gifts
A busy day.
I'm trying to get the Austrian version of what Americans call a "Green Card." (Even though it's actually white. Go figure.)
One of the new requirements is, you have to pass a test in which you show a basic proficiency in speaking and understanding German. Then, after you've been here a year or so, you have to pass another test showing greater proficiency. I don't mind this requirement, and B thinks it's long overdue in Austria, but it does mean I have to attend a course to bring my proficiency up to par, because up until now I've been very casual about learning German, just picking up a word here or a phrase there.
We've been checking out schools for the past week or so and finally decided to enroll my ass in a Volkshochschule, which is kind of a vo-tech of sorts. A course starts August 1, from 9:30 - 12:30 in the morning, Monday - Thursday. But today was the last day of enrollment! So B printed me out a few maps and I dashed out, eager to get this done----I had other appointments later, as you'll see.
There are a lot more immigrants in the 20th District, across the Danube from our district. A different flavor, more like SW OKC as opposed to Edmond, for my OKC-area readers.
I found the school and during the enrollment, because I can speak a little German, the lady wondered if I should NOT take the most basic course (A1), instead of the next level (A2). I told her I have to have A1 to get my visa. She solved the problem by telling me the teacher would evaluate me on the first day and if I seem more proficient, they'll put me in a higher class.
So I forked over 189 Euro and took off for my next stop, a meeting with the percussionist Peter Rosmanith.
---
I had plenty of time to get there, have lunch, then meet Peter. But, no. The gods conspired against me---first, the subway line was shortened due to construction, no longer going to my connecting station. So I had to get off, walk a long way, then ride a streetcar to another subway line, and take it to yet another line that drops me off in Peter's neighborhood.
Then, somehow, I got turned around. What should have been a five-minute walk from the station to Peter's house took ONE. FUCKING. HOUR. I had a map but couldn't figure out where the hell I was in the mish-mash of curving, sometimes very short Viennese streets. I asked directions several times, getting closer and closer with the suggestions of each helpful person, finally arriving five minutes late. And hungry as shit. But no time to eat, because Peter only had an hour or so to spend with me.
He took me down to a basement in the collective where he lives. There, in a concrete room maybe 15 by 15 feet, was an astounding collection of percussion instruments, some of which he made himself.
The place also serves as a rehearsal space / studio, so there was all kinds of electronic sound processing equipment placed here and there. But the big star of the show for me was the Hang, a percussion instrument I've only seen in Europe and then only once before, when I saw a street performer playing one. Peter said you can only buy them at the factory in Switzerland---when they're available. They won't ship the instrument----you have to go there and buy it.
Peter has four Hangs, one of which sat atop a stand. He started playing it and I thought, shit, this guy has some serious chops. I'm not a musician but even lay people can recognize the difference between someone who knows their shit and someone who's a wanker.
I'm trying to get the Austrian version of what Americans call a "Green Card." (Even though it's actually white. Go figure.)
One of the new requirements is, you have to pass a test in which you show a basic proficiency in speaking and understanding German. Then, after you've been here a year or so, you have to pass another test showing greater proficiency. I don't mind this requirement, and B thinks it's long overdue in Austria, but it does mean I have to attend a course to bring my proficiency up to par, because up until now I've been very casual about learning German, just picking up a word here or a phrase there.
We've been checking out schools for the past week or so and finally decided to enroll my ass in a Volkshochschule, which is kind of a vo-tech of sorts. A course starts August 1, from 9:30 - 12:30 in the morning, Monday - Thursday. But today was the last day of enrollment! So B printed me out a few maps and I dashed out, eager to get this done----I had other appointments later, as you'll see.
There are a lot more immigrants in the 20th District, across the Danube from our district. A different flavor, more like SW OKC as opposed to Edmond, for my OKC-area readers.
I found the school and during the enrollment, because I can speak a little German, the lady wondered if I should NOT take the most basic course (A1), instead of the next level (A2). I told her I have to have A1 to get my visa. She solved the problem by telling me the teacher would evaluate me on the first day and if I seem more proficient, they'll put me in a higher class.
So I forked over 189 Euro and took off for my next stop, a meeting with the percussionist Peter Rosmanith.
---
I had plenty of time to get there, have lunch, then meet Peter. But, no. The gods conspired against me---first, the subway line was shortened due to construction, no longer going to my connecting station. So I had to get off, walk a long way, then ride a streetcar to another subway line, and take it to yet another line that drops me off in Peter's neighborhood.
Then, somehow, I got turned around. What should have been a five-minute walk from the station to Peter's house took ONE. FUCKING. HOUR. I had a map but couldn't figure out where the hell I was in the mish-mash of curving, sometimes very short Viennese streets. I asked directions several times, getting closer and closer with the suggestions of each helpful person, finally arriving five minutes late. And hungry as shit. But no time to eat, because Peter only had an hour or so to spend with me.
He took me down to a basement in the collective where he lives. There, in a concrete room maybe 15 by 15 feet, was an astounding collection of percussion instruments, some of which he made himself.
Peter Rosmanith playing a South American stool drum made of wood.
Peter has four Hangs, one of which sat atop a stand. He started playing it and I thought, shit, this guy has some serious chops. I'm not a musician but even lay people can recognize the difference between someone who knows their shit and someone who's a wanker.
One of Peter's Hangs.
Peter has gone to India to study tabla drums. He took his tablas out and also an African drum, made of clay that resembled a water bottle with a hole cut in the side, and played some amazing stuff. He showed me a spring/drum, his homemade drum made from a washtub on top of which he'd put a piece of plywood with some metal bars, which he strikes with a light mallet---ingenious shit.
Peter graciously allowed me to video him doing all this. I'll ask him if I can post some of the video, after he's had a chance to review it and give permission. Stay tuned.
We talked about various drummers---Ray Cooper, the bald guy who always wears suits and sunglasses and has backed up Clapton and Elton John, among others; Frank Zappa's various drummers, which we both agree are monsters of the first order, due to the complexity of Zappa's compositions and the odd time signatures he used; and my favorite drummer in the universe, Mr. Charlie Fuckin' Watts, who Peter agrees is like an atomic clock with his minimalist kit and his 50 years of exploration of jazz drumming and playing, when he's not involved in his day job playing for the Rolling Stones.
Peter surprised me by saying: "Yeah, also Ringo Starr is a very good drummer. He is underrated. But he plays just what he needs to play to move the music, nothing more, which is the best. Like B.B. King playing guitar---just the right notes, at the right time, in the right quantity."
Ray Cooper going apeshit in Knebworth.
Jump ahead to 5:58 to avoid the Clapton / Elton John / Knopfler part
and get to the Ray Cooper going apeshit part.
Jump ahead to 5:58 to avoid the Clapton / Elton John / Knopfler part
and get to the Ray Cooper going apeshit part.
The goddamned king
After an hour with Peter, it was off to the Prater to meet B and our friend Franz, who's in town for a week working.
----
But first, a quick detour to visit Thomas Eisendle, the cool book binder who made one of my treasured possessions for me---a blank book. (Here's the link from my post from last summer, with pictures.)
I realized I had time to drop by his shop briefly. I'd tried to connect with him last week but the shop was closed---this time, though, it was open. I burst in the front door. "Remember me, Thomas?"
It took him a moment. "Ah, yes! How are you! What have you written in your book?"
It took him a moment. "Ah, yes! How are you! What have you written in your book?"
"Nothing yet. It's too beautiful to defile with my bizarre scribbling. But I have an idea, and I'll start on it when I go home in October. Meantime, here's a gift..."
I'd brought along a two-CD collection of Quicksilver Messenger Service's greatest. Thomas surprised me a bit by recognizing the name, but maybe I shouldn't have been surprised; he always plays "hippie music" in his shop.
He seemed happy with the gift and the spontaneous visit. "Come by again! We will have coffee," he said. Which I appreciate, because unlike in America, casual acquaintances usually don't agree to meet. I told him I had to run to meet someone at the Prater, but I'd call him and we can meet. I look forward to it.
----
Then to the Prater to meet B and our friend Franz. I hadn't eaten so I bought a slice of pizza at a place near the subway stop. I stood outside munching away when who emerged from the subway but someone who looks suspiciously like my wife, walking toward the Prater....so I dashed after ler and said in German, "Excuse me..."
She turned and gave a cold look but then realized it was only her dipshit husband, instead of a beggar or a drunk (though I hope to add both to my CV).
We met Franz and had a good time catching up on things since we last saw each other.
An old man walking along the 4-kilometer long path through the Prater.
We stopped at a place for a drink and conversation, then strolled along the Hauptallee (pic above) and found another place by a small pond to sit and talk. We went back, wandering through the amusement park section of the Prater, and eventually made our way back to the subway station where we parted ways.
Even though I'm here through early October, I might not see Franz before I leave; he only comes to town once a month and his visits may not overlap with our free time. But it's always good to see the guy, and he was happy I may be moving to Vienna. "It is just a four-hour train ride to my house from here," he said. "When you live here, we can visit more often."
I'd like that. An Austrian brother---not a bad thing at all.
A Sunday Visit
We visited our friends Sissy and Tony at their place in a village about 45 minutes from B's house.
It's been Seattle, Austria here for about four days so we drove out and back in a light rain. No problem for me, but the Austrians want their summer back.
Sissy fed us chicken wings rubbed with some kind of Middle Eastern seasoning and served some of her famous Turkish coffee----very sweet and a bit strong, but delicious.
They have a sun room at the back of the house, glassed in at the top and sides. No sun, of course, but it was pleasant out there as the rain fell, talking about things and enjoying their company. Sissy and Tony have three grown boys and they often invite their friends over---two of the sons were there, along with one of the sons' friends and a couple of the girlfriends. They more or less stayed to themselves but every so often Sissy would ask one of the young people to bring her a glass or wine or something and they politely did so. VERY nice young people.
The home is a grand meeting place not only for family, but also for friends who happen to drop by, like a friend who came by an hour or so before we left. She joined us for conversation and drinks, including this strange but delicious orange concoction:
Tony is a pretty serious amateur photographer, and he appreciates film, too. He loaned me his copies of THE STRAWBERRY STATEMENT and Antonioni's BLOW UP, neither of which I've seen. So I look forward to checking them out.
He also brought out a couple of photography books, one featuring the work of a doctor who took pictures of mental patients back around the 1860's or so. Haunting images. Beneath the pictures were little descriptions like MURDERED HIS MOTHER or HYSTERICAL.
More fun was a book published by Tarcher featuring the work of famous French photographer Robert Doisneau. You've probably seen his most famous work, called THE KISS:
Just before sunset, we drove home in the rain. That's how it's been around here lately.
It's been Seattle, Austria here for about four days so we drove out and back in a light rain. No problem for me, but the Austrians want their summer back.
Sissy fed us chicken wings rubbed with some kind of Middle Eastern seasoning and served some of her famous Turkish coffee----very sweet and a bit strong, but delicious.
The view from Sissy and Tony's kitchen window.
Note Pacific Northwest-like conditions.
The home is a grand meeting place not only for family, but also for friends who happen to drop by, like a friend who came by an hour or so before we left. She joined us for conversation and drinks, including this strange but delicious orange concoction:
I forget the name, but it has alcohol in it, and it's orange. What's not to like?
He also brought out a couple of photography books, one featuring the work of a doctor who took pictures of mental patients back around the 1860's or so. Haunting images. Beneath the pictures were little descriptions like MURDERED HIS MOTHER or HYSTERICAL.
More fun was a book published by Tarcher featuring the work of famous French photographer Robert Doisneau. You've probably seen his most famous work, called THE KISS:
Even in 1950, the French were, uh, French.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Birthday
Saturday, a celebration of an important event in the John X / B universe.
For it was on this day, uh, several years ago that B was born. Legend has it when the doctor slapped her on the ass, she began quoting Goethe and complaining about the various injustices she saw around her. Including the doctor's misogynist behavior.
As a gesture of birthday love, my first act was to schlep down to the Trafik to buy newspapers for milady to read. On the way back, as children will, I detoured, taking a little hike along the Danube.
In the afternoon we drove out to B's parents' house. B keeps a tiny vegetable garden there and it was time to do some weeding, harvesting, etc. There was a gentle rain---it's been cloudy and rainy for several days, off and on---and so B weeded and harvested and pointed out slugs to her father, who collected them in a bucket. I had the hardest job: I stood around watching, to make sure the jobs were done right. Which they were.
We got some tomatoes, some oregano, some chili peppers, and some lemon mint.
B had some more weeding she wanted to do so her father and I went inside and watched the Tour de France and drank this:
For it was on this day, uh, several years ago that B was born. Legend has it when the doctor slapped her on the ass, she began quoting Goethe and complaining about the various injustices she saw around her. Including the doctor's misogynist behavior.
As a gesture of birthday love, my first act was to schlep down to the Trafik to buy newspapers for milady to read. On the way back, as children will, I detoured, taking a little hike along the Danube.
Just where tle Danube branches off to form the Danube Canal,
I spotted this guy preparing his boat for...something nautical.
In the afternoon we drove out to B's parents' house. B keeps a tiny vegetable garden there and it was time to do some weeding, harvesting, etc. There was a gentle rain---it's been cloudy and rainy for several days, off and on---and so B weeded and harvested and pointed out slugs to her father, who collected them in a bucket. I had the hardest job: I stood around watching, to make sure the jobs were done right. Which they were.
We got some tomatoes, some oregano, some chili peppers, and some lemon mint.
B had some more weeding she wanted to do so her father and I went inside and watched the Tour de France and drank this:
B's dad said: "It's her birthday, so while she weeds the garden in the rain,
we shall stay inside and drink Metaxa in her honor."
When we visit the parents, there's often a little ritual: they make a pot of coffee and we sit around the table sipping coffee and eating cake and jabbering about the universe. There will come a day when this doesn't happen any more and I'll miss it very much...
B grew up near the 2nd largest cemetery in Europe, the Zentralfriedhof. She wanted to visit her grandparents' graves so after finishing our visit with the folks, we drove over. B lit candles and placed one in the little box on each headstone. While she paid her respects I wandered around and took a few photos.
Graves of soldiers killed in WW II
Back home after the visit, we decided to have dinner at a nearby Heuriger. I love these wine garden / restaurants, and there are a lot of them in B's neighborhood, many of which having been here for many years. This time we walked several blocks to Heuriger-Restaurant Muth and sat in the garden under a giant chestnut tree, despite the threat of rain.
The view from our table under the chestnut tree, looking left...
...and looking right.
The food here is innovative; different from the traditional Heuriger fare, though they do have some of the familiar side dishes available like sauerkraut, potato salad, etc.
I had a bowl of soup made of red bell peppers, with two "dumplings" of cheese wrapped in thin slices of eggplant, then as a main course roulade of pork stuffed with apricots and chanterelles on a bed of rice with some kind of delicious brown sauce. B had chanterelle soup, with a main course of a pike perch grilled with a crust of breadcrumbs atop a bed of greens.
It rained a few times, lightly, but the huge chestnut tree kept all but a very few drops from us. Nearby several children played while their parents drank wine and conversed...the place started filling up when we left.
Then to Karlsplatz for a free movie under the stars. Or, in this case, under the clouds.
Vienna has a month-long outdoor film festival called Kino Unter Sternen. (Cinema under the stars.) Free. We've never attended so we thought it'd be fun to sit amongst the other film buffs / bohemians / homeless people.
Karlskirche on Karlsplatz, adjacent to the outdoor theater
Karlskirche just before the start of the film
Just before the film started, there was an on-stage conversation with a prominent immigration / asylum attorney. B interpreted while one of the film people walked around handing out rain ponchos to the audience. I thought, shit---look at this. Free films every summer, in beautiful outdoor settings, and they even think to provide rain protection for the audience! Yep. There's your "European welfare desert," you right-wing American asshole politicians. We wouldn't want that sort of hell in our country, no sir. But two wars that last ten fucking years? No problem! The money shall flow from the faucet endlessly!
Don't get me started...
And the film? It was:
CEIJA STOJKA
A 1999. Director: Karin Berger. 85 min. engl. subs.
A very personal portrait of the then 66 year old Ceija Stojka, a singer, artist and author who is quite well-known even outside Austria. She was the first Austrian Romní to talk publicly about her traumatic experience at the NS concentration camp Auschwitz. Until today, her feelings towards her “home land” stay ambivalent: „Our roots are in Austria. It's not the country's fault after all.“
A 1999. Director: Karin Berger. 85 min. engl. subs.
A very personal portrait of the then 66 year old Ceija Stojka, a singer, artist and author who is quite well-known even outside Austria. She was the first Austrian Romní to talk publicly about her traumatic experience at the NS concentration camp Auschwitz. Until today, her feelings towards her “home land” stay ambivalent: „Our roots are in Austria. It's not the country's fault after all.“
It was a powerful portrait of a strong woman. Eerie seeing her bare forearm with her concentration camp number tattooed there..
Around us, an interesting collection of folks in the audience. Most I'd characterize as hipster film buffs, but Karlsplatz has its denizens, its regulars who hang around there. Nearby was a well-known drug dealing area that has since been more or less closed down by the cops, but tradition is tradition.
Sitting in our row, a few seats over, was a woman who was obviously wasted. Several times before the film started I saw her kind of nodding off, and halfway into the film she left to go get another drink. Surprisingly she didn't seem uncoordinated when she walked, but soon after returning to her seat, during a quiet passage in the film, we heard----snoring.
Those of us sitting around her looked over and saw the woman, her head tilted back parallel to the sky, her mouth open, loud snores issuing forth. There were three Eastern European women sitting in front of us and they were drinking too, but they were conscious and kept their jabbering more or less quiet during the film. Everyone laughed.
It was getting late so we decided to leave before the film finished.
Back home near midnight, we cracked a bottle of champagne and drank a toast to the birthday girl, me wondering about that obstetrician from way back when, who never suspected what events would be unleashed by that innocent slap on a newborn's ass.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Two Movies
Last night we saw THE TREE OF LIFE, winner at Cannes this year.
Our reaction? Meh.
On my Schnitzel Scale of movie ratings I give it 10 Schnitzels (out of a possible 10) for cinematography, 6 Schnitzels for acting, and 1 Schnitzel for story.
Wikipedia says: "The Tree of Life is a 2011 American drama written and directed by Terrence Malick and starring Sean Penn, Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain. Malick's film chronicles the origins and meaning of life by way of a middle-aged man's childhood memories of his family living in 1950s Texas, interspersed with imagery of the origins of the universe and the inception of life on Earth. After decades in development and missed 2009 and 2010 release dates, the film premiered in competition at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival, where it won the Palme d'Or. The film received overwhelmingly positive reviews for its technical and artistic merits, but there were also polarizing reactions in response to Malick's directorial style and, in particular, the film's fragmented and non-linear narrative."
I can deal with non-linear narrative, but bouncing back and forth between 1950's Waco, Texas and the dinosaur age and/or outer space? What. The. FUCK?
People actually walked out during the film, laughing, as if to say: "I can't believe I spent 8 Euros for this shit."
B agreed with Stephanie Zacharek of Movieline who said the movie is "a gargantuan work of pretension and cleverly concealed self-absorption."
----
A much better use of our time and attention was the film HOME. Stunning. (And I saw a few of Yann Arthus-Bertrand's shots from HOME used in THE TREE OF LIFE.)
Wikipedia info here, the film's home page here, and a free download of the film is here.
Our reaction? Meh.
On my Schnitzel Scale of movie ratings I give it 10 Schnitzels (out of a possible 10) for cinematography, 6 Schnitzels for acting, and 1 Schnitzel for story.
Wikipedia says: "The Tree of Life is a 2011 American drama written and directed by Terrence Malick and starring Sean Penn, Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain. Malick's film chronicles the origins and meaning of life by way of a middle-aged man's childhood memories of his family living in 1950s Texas, interspersed with imagery of the origins of the universe and the inception of life on Earth. After decades in development and missed 2009 and 2010 release dates, the film premiered in competition at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival, where it won the Palme d'Or. The film received overwhelmingly positive reviews for its technical and artistic merits, but there were also polarizing reactions in response to Malick's directorial style and, in particular, the film's fragmented and non-linear narrative."
I can deal with non-linear narrative, but bouncing back and forth between 1950's Waco, Texas and the dinosaur age and/or outer space? What. The. FUCK?
People actually walked out during the film, laughing, as if to say: "I can't believe I spent 8 Euros for this shit."
B agreed with Stephanie Zacharek of Movieline who said the movie is "a gargantuan work of pretension and cleverly concealed self-absorption."
----
A much better use of our time and attention was the film HOME. Stunning. (And I saw a few of Yann Arthus-Bertrand's shots from HOME used in THE TREE OF LIFE.)
Thursday, July 21, 2011
The Collective & The Percussionist
A rainy day. I love it.
B's sister, R, had cataract surgery yesterday.
Today, we picked her up from the hospital, took her home, and got her settled in.
Now a momentary detour: I wish I could remember the name of that chuckleheaded American politician-fearmonger who rhetorically asked if Americans wanted our society to resemble "the European welfare desert." From what I've seen of Austrian hospitals, they're every bit up to par with American hopsitals, and the care seems to be every bit as good. Matter of fact, R has numerous health problems and she's still alive thanks to the "welfare desert" environment she's had to "endure" here, long after an American insurance company would have told her to fuck off and die.
R. lives in an interesting collective, built on the site of an old coffin factory. I've written about the Sargfabrik before. This condo-like living space also features a large meeting hall, a performance center, a kindergarten, and a nice restaurant. The website is in German, but click on the navigation links and check out the photos of the facility and imagine: this is how collective living can be.
---
After visiting with R a while, we said goodbye.
On the way back to the car we decided to stop at the Sargfabrik's restaurant and there we ran into Peter Rosmanith, an old friend of B and R and one of Vienna's top percussionist. He also lives in the Sargfabrik.
Peter's an interesting guy. He works with other musicians performing live soundtracks for silent film screenings, and does a sort of spoken-word / music piece, among other projects.
I asked him if he had a Hang. This astounding percussion instrument looks like a flying saucer, or two woks placed top to bottom. In tone it's rather like a Caribbean steel drum, but because it's handmade in Switzerland in very limited quantities, it's extremely hard to get your hands on one. And when you do, open your wallet...wide.
"Yes, I have four Hangs," Peter said. And he invited me to come up next week and look at his collection of percussion instruments. Which I will.
Check out Peter's website here, in English.
To give you a taste, here's Peter playing one of his Hangs.
B's sister, R, had cataract surgery yesterday.
Today, we picked her up from the hospital, took her home, and got her settled in.
Now a momentary detour: I wish I could remember the name of that chuckleheaded American politician-fearmonger who rhetorically asked if Americans wanted our society to resemble "the European welfare desert." From what I've seen of Austrian hospitals, they're every bit up to par with American hopsitals, and the care seems to be every bit as good. Matter of fact, R has numerous health problems and she's still alive thanks to the "welfare desert" environment she's had to "endure" here, long after an American insurance company would have told her to fuck off and die.
R. lives in an interesting collective, built on the site of an old coffin factory. I've written about the Sargfabrik before. This condo-like living space also features a large meeting hall, a performance center, a kindergarten, and a nice restaurant. The website is in German, but click on the navigation links and check out the photos of the facility and imagine: this is how collective living can be.
---
After visiting with R a while, we said goodbye.
On the way back to the car we decided to stop at the Sargfabrik's restaurant and there we ran into Peter Rosmanith, an old friend of B and R and one of Vienna's top percussionist. He also lives in the Sargfabrik.
Peter's an interesting guy. He works with other musicians performing live soundtracks for silent film screenings, and does a sort of spoken-word / music piece, among other projects.
I asked him if he had a Hang. This astounding percussion instrument looks like a flying saucer, or two woks placed top to bottom. In tone it's rather like a Caribbean steel drum, but because it's handmade in Switzerland in very limited quantities, it's extremely hard to get your hands on one. And when you do, open your wallet...wide.
"Yes, I have four Hangs," Peter said. And he invited me to come up next week and look at his collection of percussion instruments. Which I will.
Check out Peter's website here, in English.
To give you a taste, here's Peter playing one of his Hangs.
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