As you may know from reading Eric's blog (and don't expect any in-text linkage to his blog, either, especially since I've devoted the entire right side of my blog for that nefarious purpose), recently the curly-locked mecha-fetishist spent some time in Europe--Germany in particular; Munich in particular particular. Ostensibly he was there for some kind of computery conference-type thing, but I think I know Eric well enough to say that the real reason he journeyed halfway around the world was to get some nice, up-close sightings of Buxom Bavarian Babes, which I have capitalized because that's the way Eric tends to say it. I, as a human male of the heterosexual proclivity, cannot blame him for this. Nothing gets the blood a-boiling more than a Buxom Bavarian Babe, with the possible exception of a cannibal's cooking pot.
However, it goes without saying that Eric's adventure in the land of lederhosen and dirndls left me feeling, well, left out. My current lack of educational funding (or, for that matter, desirable intelligence) leaves me out of the loop when it comes to this computer-science-brainbox-conference-trips-to-lands-with-high-populations-of-traditionally-dressed-and-attractive women business. Now I could take the "high road" and simply congratulate Eric on his successful trip and his wonderful foreign experience, but that's exactly what Eric and his robot pals would want me to do. Instead, I will thumb my nose at their elitist snobbery and instead take what I call the "low road," where I passive-aggressively mock his trip by focusing on my very own "staycation" and the wonderful adventures I myself had while he was away. As an added bonus, this allows me to stop talking about Eric for a while and start talking about myself, which any of my imaginary friends will tell you is my (and, incidentally, their) favorite subject.
So away we go:
Part One: Landing
I land here in Lynnwood not via plane, but via waking up in my bed in the morning. How's that compared to a ten-hour flight, huh?
Part Two: Day One
Upon venturing outside, I am awestruck by the beauty of the local skyline. Not every city has the vision to make all its buildings look exactly the same. It is a bold statement of solidarity, of the true unity of our people; these buildings represent our collective squareness and mundanity. Surely Munich, with its centuries-spanning architectural designs and elegantly crafted exteriors, suffers from a massive internal conflict, unsure of its true identity as a city. I revel in the dulling simplicity of this town's architecture; it's a reassuring breath of conformity in a time of great global upheaval, filling me with a strong desire to retire to my sleeping quarters and spend this wonderfully sunny afternoon mindlessly shooting at computerized space-villains with my video-gaming box. Which I do.
Part Three: Day Two
I will admit that Lynnwood is sorely lacking in Buxom Bavarian Babes, but what we lack in that department we more than make up for in unwed teenage mothers. Also sketchy-looking streetwalkers. Though the latter really only tend to appear sporadically, and in very specific locations. Still, not all the world can have Buxom Bavarian Babes; and every indigenous culture is just as valid as any other.
I do spend the better part of this day trying to engage the afore-mentioned locals in conversation, but my attempts are either rebuffed completely or misinterpreted--as either "bein' all nosy an' shit" about their bulging, pregnant bellies; or, more unfortunately, as some kind of solicitation. Which, also unfortunately, lands me in the local jail.
Part Four: Day Three
I am in the local jail. They are kind enough to lend me a pad and some very sharp pencils, which I question, given that prisoners aren't supposed to have anything they can kill themselves with. Upon my questioning, they also supply me with a short strand of rope, a loaded revolver, and several shards of broken glass. They are a strange folk, these local police. Especially the one who keeps taking "bets" on which "implement" the men around the precinct would rather watch me do myself in with. I say, not very professional behavior, in my book.
All in all, the jail is made up of the same sanitary drabness that seems to be prevalent in this area; no narrow staircases or lavish, ornate Bismarck-era ballrooms for us, no sir! From what I can gather, the typical day in the life of a Lynnwood law-enforcement officer consists of writing speeding tickets, teaching D.A.R.E. classes, confiscating minor narcotics from teenagers, and then "disposing of the contraband." I notice they tend to giggle a lot and congregate in unseen areas of the station while they do the latter. Must be some kind of local custom, probably going back to those heady settler days of the early-to-mid 20th century.
Perhaps not as exciting as having to calm down excessively ebullient Buxom Bavarian Babes, but these fine law enforcement officers are serving the public good in their own special way. Also they appear very red-eyed and somewhat paranoid a good deal of the time. This might require further looking into.
Part Five: Day Four
I try to take my mind off women, especially their relative levels of Buxom Bavarian-ness, by indulging in the vast array of local cuisine at my fingertips. For breakfast I had deep-fried egg product with the finest ground sausage patty, all sandwiched between a delectably moist biscuit bun and rounded off with a side of deep-fried pressed potato substance. Also I had a Coca-Cola--straight from the fountain! How many eateries in Munich have Coca-Cola fountains? Probably not too many, I'm guessing. They're too busy with their "fine beer" and "cognac" and "uncarbonated non-tooth-rotting beverages." Neophytes!
The choices for food here are astounding. Feel like teriyaki? Just walk five yards and look in a random direction! Poultry on the brain? Enjoy a bucket of fried chicken! A whole goddamn bucket! Or perhaps you're more into a hearty beef concoction? We can either slap it in a bun with some ketchup and cheese or put it on a plate with some other high-cholestorol products! It's your choice!
The air is truly fragrant with the mixed smells of the many small local eateries here. There is even, I hear, some kind of underground, subterranean place where you can have something called a "subway sandwich" made for you. I don't know what that entails, but it sounds like some good deep-fried deliciousness. I shall seek out this "sub-way" at another time; for now, I must scarf down my lunch of beef-pattie-on-beef-pattie-on-beef-pattie-on-piece-of-stringy-lettuce-on-ketchup-on-mustard-on-thick-gooey-cheese-on-bun. Yum!
For dinner, I had a triple bypass operation. The street doctor was very courteous and delicate, and only mugged me after he'd completed the procedure. Highly recommended!
Part Six: Day Five
I have a grease-and-heart-failure hangover. Thankfully, the quaint grocers nearby have an ample supply of foodstuffs and medications to get me through my day. Is that a fresh copy of
2 Fast, 2 Furious I see in the DVD aisle? For only six bucks? Looks like I've found my cure!
Part Seven: Day Six
I take a walk around town again, and realize I am running out of things to do. Bowling?
Alright. Christ. Bowling.
Part Eight: Day Seven
Buxom Bavarian Babes.
Buxom Bavarian Babes, Buxom Bavarian Babes, Buxom Bavarian Babes.
Eric, you propitious fiend!
Part Nine: Day Eight
Okay, so maybe things aren't looking so exciting right now. But maybe I'm just not digging deep enough. I must dig through the surface of fast-food joints and convenience stores and strip malls and unveil the thriving, idealistic, artistic underground of this fair town! Surely there is something here to rival the literary works of Bertolt Brecht and Thomas Mann, or the revolutionary artwork of Gabriele Munter, or the classic, mold-breaking films of Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Werner Herzog. All I need to do is find it.
And here, here on the south wall of this old school building, I believe I have stumbled across the canvas of the inspired youth! It's a drawing that is simple, yet evocative; inscrutable, yet somehow...oh Lord. Oh Dear Lord. That is foul. Loathsome. To draw that...on a public structure...oh, dear Lord.
But what is this, floating in the breeze? A scrap of paper...perhaps a romantic poem, a paean to a lover lost? Or an eloquent yet forceful diatribe against the power-that-be? Or...Oh. I see. Apparently the young lady mentioned on this scrap of paper "doesn't give it." Short, to the point.
Well, then, I suppose it's up to me. Let this hate-inspired blog stand as the pinnacle of Lynnwood's artistic endeavor! Let me carry the torch for for our grassroots arts community! Allow me the honor of being our, if you will, Laureate! And if this shall come to pass, then...well...in all honesty, that's kind of sad. I'm going to bed.
Part Ten: Day Nine
To cheer myself up, here's another Buxom Bavarian Babe.
Well played, Walkingshaw. Well played.
No comments:
Post a Comment