A small child fell into my idea well and now it's cordoned off

Remind me to post something tomorrow. I think they'll have fished the child out by then.

Yikes. I almost titled this "Blaise of Glory"

Blaise Pascal!

Now there was a name. Nobody names their kids "Blaise" anymore.

Really: Go to Blaise Pascal's Wikipedia entry, and at the bottom you'll see all the categories that Blaise Pascal belongs to. There are some obscure categories, like "1662 deaths" and "Jansenists" and "People from Auvergne" and "Christian people," but go to the most obscure one -- "People named 'Blaise'" -- and he'll be the only person listed.

These days people aren't given the name 'Blaise' but some do change their name to 'Blaise'. Of course, they spell it 'Blaze' and these people are strippers, not mathematicians. The reason for this is explained in Pascal's aforementioned Wikipedia entry:

Blaise Pascal loved strippers. Among French mathematicians of the time, he was known as the heaviest spender at the numerous strip joints located near monastic cell of Père Mersenne. In order to track his spending habits on his beloved danseurs exotiques, Pascal, not yet nineteen, constructed a mechanical calculator capable of addition and subtraction, called Pascal's calculator or the Pascaline....

Pascal was known to favor strippers whose pubic hair was neatly trimmed into a triangular shape. This came to be known among strippers as Pascal's triangle. Inquiries from the pious Cardinal Richelieu about "Pascal's triangle" prompted Pascal to hurriedly make up some mathematical explanation for the term; the best he could come up with after an all-night binge at La Claque et Chatouillement (his preferred strip joint) was a convenient tabular presentation for binomial coefficients....

1654 saw Pascal change his professional focus from mathematics to philosophy and theology. With that change came the not-unexpected downturn in his finances. Pascal wrote often (to a tiresome degree, claimed his detractors) that the financial inability to continue visiting strip joints was his greatest regret following the switch to theology. The strippers, too, regretted this new development, and tried in vain to entice Pascal back into the clubs by making "Blaze" the most popular stripper name in Paris. (The legendary near-total illiteracy of Parisian strippers is not a modern trait; the misspelling of "Blaise" indicates this phenomenon dates to the 17th Century at the latest.)

And then he died in 1662.

Whoever said mathematicians are boring is a fucking liar, and I present the wild life of Blaise Pascal as evidence.

It's Wikipedia! How could it be wrong?

Poems and smells

Remember this post, where I described going to the MoMA? For a piece about art, it was a little heavy on words and a lot short on graphics. I think it was most notable for my inability to convey the total crazy awesomeness of the McCoys' "Traffic #1."

I was reading the NY Times today, and apparently I'm not alone in failing to find the words to help you understand the magical wonderfulness of this piece. From a brief paragraph on the entire exhibit are a few lines about "Traffic #1" in particular:

... Nearby is an installation by Jennifer and Kevin McCoy, and American husband-and-wife artist team, consisting of a tabletop model recreating the famous car accident scene from Jean-Luc Godard's 1967 film "Weekend." Video cameras film the scene, the tabletop rotating to create the impression of movement, with the footage computer-processed and then played back live in a projection on an adjacent wall. It may be the coolest thing you've ever seen....

Credit where credit is due: the writer of that was Benjamin Genocchio.

But why is it cool? How is it cool? I'm starting to think that perhaps poetry would be useful here. I never quite thought about instances where poetry exclusively would come in handy because I always thought straight-ahead prose could describe anything, but I'm beginning to appreciate the need for different modes of description. (Or would it be "different methods of description"? I think "modes" makes me sound smarter.) When I was in Europe, one of things I regretted was the lack of a device to capture the smell and physical feel of places. Photos and videos are all well and good, but the smells are unique, and the heat and the cold and the humidity are things you can't replicate or even remember sometimes.

So then: What we need is for a poet (or several) to see "Traffic #1" and write poems about it. Unfortunately the exhibit closes on September 4, so poets: get going!

Europe 2 - Bahn Bahn Bahn ... it's the Autobahn!

Laura had been craving Eggs Benedict, so we were lucky to find an "Australian" café down the street from our hostel that had Eggs Benedict on the menu. I think the Australian theme was solely represented by the types of animal found on the menu: kangaroo, crocodile, emu, and maybe something else, too. Anyway, we went ahead and ordered the Eggs Benedict, which consisted of the following:

• two soft boiled eggs in a bowl
• two pieces of tough, grilled, insanely over-seasoned kangaroo meat
• two pancakes

I'm not an Eggs Benedict aficionado, but I'm pretty sure that ain't it. Laura maintains that the pancakes were delicious, but I felt kinda bad about the kangaroo the whole time. In the search for Eggs Benedict, it was Laura and Dave 0, Eggs Benedict ... 0 ... I guess. Anyway ...

We had figured out that it would be less expensive to rent a car in Frankfurt and drive to Berlin rather than take the train. We picked up our car at the Frankfurt airport (FRA, for you airport-code enthusiasts) and figured the mid-level insurance would be fine. Oh ho ho was that a mistake! We didn't check the car for undocumented damage before we left the airport, which would prove to be a mistake upon arrival in Berlin. But I'll get to that in a bit. First, pictures!

Fig. 1: Motorin'

Laura did the driving because she's a superhero and she knows how to drive stick. Me, I'm a superhero, too, but my superheroism ends once I get into a car. We ... er, she ... eventually got up to 181 km/hr, which is around 112 mph (I checked). Considering we passed through countless construction zones, I think it's admirable and not at all scary that we managed to attain such speeds.

Germany's Frankfurt-to-Berlin countryside is filled is interesting stuff (I can't speak for the rest of the countryside, but the Frankfurt-to-Berlin stuff was pretty grand). For instance, there's this:

Fig. 2: The world's largest source of powdered non-dairy creamer. Yeah, your guess is as good as mine.

and castles, lots of castles:

Figs. 3-5: These were literally across the highway from each other.

I'm kinda glad we didn't bomb those during WW2.

On the other hand, I'm kinda sad we didn't bomb this place during WW2:

Fig. 6: Why should this place have been bombed, Dave? It looks perfectly amiable ...

Fig. 7: what with the creepy helpful info-hiker ...

Fig. 8: and the great font and antenna structure on top with the Spiel- & FitnessCenter

We tried ordering food. It wasn't easy.

Fig. 9: Is there anything without much kartoffelsalat?

Laura ordered the green salad and I had the currywurst.

Fig. 10: "Currywurst" ends up being regular wurst with a sprinkle of curry powder.

In Figure 10 above, take a look at Laura's salad. (That's the salad in the background.) The base of the plate is brown because the salad was absolutely drenched in balsamic vinaigrette. Laura would remove each leaf of letuce and dab it dry with a napkin before trying to eat it. Personally, I'm never less than delighted by a soaked salad, so halfway through our meals we swapped plates and finished everything. Back when we worked at the Sheaf together, we'd often order food in the downstairs pub and end up swapping our meals halfway through and then finish all our food. I don't know if she ever noticed that. I thought it was pretty cool. It was a good system.

After lunch we noticed this:

Fig. 11: [Insert joke here]

And this awesome slide:

Fig. 12

There was sign indicating that the slide was restricted to those 11 and under. That was a surprisingly arbitrary number, and the slide looked way too cool, so we went up.

Take a look at the following photos. There will be a quiz.

Fig. 13


Fig. 14


Fig. 15


Fig. 16


Fig. 17

In which photo does the subject realize that maybe there was a reason for the restriction to those 11 and under? Personally, I think it was Figure 16. The subject's face is carrying the same "Look at us having fun" expression as in the other photos, but there's just a hint of stark terror starting to appear; look at how here eyes are open just a bit more. I think it was at that point on the slide that the drop started. Folks 12 and over have a body mass that would make a drop like that into something you might describe as "precipitous." (Well, you might describe it like that; I, on the other hand, would definitely describe it like that.)

Now go back to Figure 12. That point where the slide seems closest to the steps' handrail? That was really close. You don't really think it's that close until you're on the slide, going uncomfortably fast, and you see the slide approach the handrail and take a sharp turn away, and then you think, "If I keep going this fast, I'm going to fly right off the slide and hit the heavy wooden handrail, or maybe those steps, and something bony inside me will break, and the rest of this trip will suuuuck."

What you don't think at that moment is, "Maybe the woman at the car rental counter in Frankfurt was right. Maybe we should have checked the car for undocumented scratches before leaving the parking lot." That thought you never have until you arrive at the car rental return in Berlin, when the guy tells you there's an undocumented scratch.

"You can go sort it out at the desk," says the helpful young man, though I don't think he used the word "sort." Come to think of it, I think what he said was more along the lines of "You can go talk there." If you're a naive NY boy like myself, you wish he said, "Hey cool American, go discuss this issue with the desk manager and then hit the discotheque for swingin' tunes, soul brother," but I don't think anyone really talks like that anywhere.

Have you seen The Lives of Others? If you haven't, go see it.

Are you back from seeing it? No? Come on, dude, we're waiting ... go see it. It might also be playing under the name Das Leben der Anderen.

So you're back from seeing it, right? Excellent. Remember that scene in the beginning with the interrogator? Yeah, that was exactly the guy we talked to about the surprise scratch on our rental car. He looked like the guy, he had the same expressions, he used the same interrogatory trickery to make us implicate ourselves, he made us sit on separate seats so he could capture our scents for future dog chases, and then he drove a wedge between us which caused one of us to run into the street and get killed by a car while the other one wrote a bestselling memoir. Our conversation went something like this:

"We weren't in an accident. We think the scratch was on the car when we picked it up in Frankfurt."

"Oh, OK. Let me fill out this form. For the sake of the form, what part of the car did you damage?"

"We didn't damage the car. The car was already damaged when we got it in Frankfurt."

"I understand, but for the form, you know ... I need to write where the damage is."

"It's on the front bumper."

"And what time did the accident occur?"

"There was no accident. The scratch was already on the car when we picked it up."

"What time did you pick it up?"

"Around 12."

"And it's 7 now, so we'll just say the accident happened at 5."

"But ... "

"Just for the form ... you understand."

etc etc argh bang dead

There aren't many things I regret in life. In fact, I can count my regrets, and there are four. After that day, I've got #5: Not getting the super "Get out of jail free" rental insurance. It was only 15 euros more, and would have saved us 235 euros. I was at my auntie's 90th birthday party last weekend, where one woman told me that whenever she rents a car in Germany she always triple-checks for scratches before she leaves the lot because not documenting all the scratches on the sign-out is a huge scam in that country.

Allegedly.

Getting tagged for 250 euros put us in a not-happy mood our first night in Berlin. But then we watched the dvd of Patton Oswalt's latest stand-up album, "Werewolves and Lollipops", and goddamn if that didn't make everything better. Goddamn!

In the days to follow, we would harbor fantasies of renting again from Alamo, except this time we would pay extra for the "Dead drifter in the trunk? Let us take care of that for you" insurance and then beat the hell out of the car. Eventually we were able to let go of our anger and bitterness, though, so Alamo is safe from us.

And having written that paragraph, I am conveniently absolved of suspicion in any future acts of vandalism against Alamo Car Rental. Thanks for the tip, Basic Instinct!

Next time on "Laura and Dave Pillage Western Europe": Communists have great real estate, Germans have sick taste, and apples are legal tender.

From the internet that brought you ... the internet

Last night I went to the drive-in. It was wonderful. The sky was dark and filled with bright stars, a warm breeze was blowing and swaying the trees next to the screen, and the fellow drive-iners were largely polite. (Politeness in moviegoers goes a long way with me.) I saw a shooting star, but even shooting stars aren't shooting stars; they're meteors, and sometimes they're not even meteors, they're space junk. Regardless, I made a wish on the falling space junk, and then went back to watching the flicks.

The movies were ok; The Bourne Ultimatum didn't have an ultimatum that I can recall, but the Simpsons movie was largely ok. (Look for that one on movie posters near you: "Largely ok! -- Dave Bushnell")

My favorite part of the movie part of the drive-in was a preview for Daddy Day Camp. It's apparently a sequel to Daddy Day Care, which I didn't know was a movie. I say "apparently a sequel" because the preview touted Daddy Day Camp as being "from the studio that brought you Daddy Day Care." You read that correctly: "from the studio". I guess they couldn't get the director/writers/producers of Daddy Day Care to sign on for this one, so they went up one level, to the studio, but that kinda seems like dirty pool, you know? What's stopping future movies from being "from the studio that brought you The Godfather"? I think it'd be closer-to-ethical if there were more disclosure, ie "from the studio that brought you The Godfather, The Godfather Part 2, and Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles."

I guess it's only a matter of time before some Johhny Cleverpants in marketing comes up with "from the species that gave you movies" or "from the planet that gave you oxygen!" Actually, that'd be pretty funny. For one second. And then you'd realize it was for another Scary Movie/Epic Movie/Date Movie, and you'd have no choice but to become an impolite moviegoer. And you'd have my permission.

Europe 1 - Frankfurt without frankfurters

I don't exactly remember how I ended up going to Europe in the first place, though the story would seem to involve some combination of:

• Laura being mysteriously ill in Germany
  
• Me saying, "If me flying out there will make you feel better, just let me know."
• Her saying, "I don't have any plans or travelling companions for the last two weeks of my trip."

I flew out on July 22nd, or maybe it was July 23rd by that point; the flight was scheduled to leave around 9pm and was delayed and delayed and delayed. I finally arrived in Frankfurt sometime around 11am on the 23rd. Laura met me at the airport. (By this point she was no longer ill.)

The clean and affordable "Stay & Learn Hostel" is located a block from Frankfurt's central train station. You know what else is located a block from Frankfurt's central train station? A MILLION SEX SHOPS. That might be why the hostel was so affordable.

That first night we went for a walk by the unspeakably lovely Main River. We didn't bring our cameras, which was a shame because there ending being lots to photograph. The slow-moving river, the people going about their lives on cruise ships, the weird cylindrical office building, the statue of the guy with the cloth cap, the hollow ash trees ... I suppose it's destined to be one of those evenings that's remembered as magical because it went undocumented. I think the evening was overcast, but I can't be sure because my mind makes lighting the least important detail to remember in most circumstances.

There was much talk of eating frankfurters while in Frankfurt, but we didn't find any vendors during the subsequent half-hearted search. We ended up at the rooftop restaurant of a large department store. I think it was chilly, but I took lots of pictures all the same. If you have your camera out, might as well make the most of it, right?

Fig. 1: The wind was blowing girls' tops off all day.


Fig. 2: Frankfurt: where old meets new and secular meets spiritual!


Fig. 3: Frankfurt: city of the future! And patio chairs!


Fig. 4: We spent much of the trip plotting the perfect murder


Fig. 5: Frankfurt is windy, and crawling with David Blaine impersonators


Fig. 6: Oh Germany, with your wacky spellings!


Fig. 7: Frankfurters

The following photos were not taken on the department store rooftop, but I think they would be more interesting if they were -- "Holy crap! That rooftop must have been huge!" -- so let's keep the lie alive, ok?

Fig. 8: Hangin' with a couple of local celebrities. They bought us drinks and asked us to join them for "scheisse party". The hose came in handy.


Fig. 9: Laura saves a suicide jumper


Fig. 10: We could see this cathedral from everywhere in the city. We finally found it, but I forgot to take a picture of the sign, so I have no idea what it is or why it has a lit-up clock on its tower.


Fig. 11: These are ruins, dating either from ancient Rome or World War 2. Again, forgot to take a picture of the sign. Maybe there was no sign? It was right next to the clock cathedral. Maybe they're in the No-Sign district, or maybe I'm not a very good tourist.

Laura took photos also. Pester her at laurakeil.com/blog.html.

Tomorrow (or shortly thereafter): Eating wet salads at 181 km/hr, the slide of death, and the guy from The Lives of Others screws us for 250 Euros.

Felicitations!

The Europe posts? Still working on that. I have to take breaks for Philip Glass operas and 90th birthday parties and six-hour naps, so give me a minute. To tide you over, here's a clip from last week's Flight of the Conchords.



Oh, I'm well aware that the video's width is too great for this blog, but what are you going to do? Not watch? Bah!

Just a moment

I have around 1200 pictures of my two-and-a-half weeks in Europe, so it might take a day or so to sort through them, pick the good ones, crop/retouch/resize the good ones, upload the good ones, and then comment oh-so-cleverly on them. In the meantime, please accept these two animated gifs:

Fig. 1: "Hijinks" looks like a Dutch word, but with fewer repeated A's

As long as we gave them money, the paddleboat rental place in Amsterdam didn't seem to care what we did

Fig. 2: Scenic ... and confusing!

The view from the Millennium Bridge linking St. Paul's Cathedral to the Tate Modern and Globe Theatre was unbelievably lovely in every direction.

Talk soon, little one.

It comes in twos and threes

I could sleep, but I'd rather save it for the Frankfurt-to-JFK flight in 6 hours. 6 hours! When things are about to begin, the wait is an eternity; when they end, they end too quickly.

Last night we wanted to take photos by the river, but it was raining, so we took pictures in the doorway of the hostel, beneath the "World of Sex" banner. Replace one kind of romance for another -- adaptability, that's the key to international travel! When we tried to get on our flight from Heathrow to Munich and were denied because ... umm ... we had missed the flight by an entire day, did we throw our hands in the air and admit defeat? You bet we did! But then we madly scrambled to find last-minute accommodation in London and a flight to Frankfurt later in the week, and here we are: exhausted and sick, yet sad to see the end, but also looking forward to going to the drive-in back home.

The harder I try to conjure a clever zinger to end this post, the sadder I get, so nevermind.

Fuckin' drive-in.