You Say Chicago, I Say Chikago

When I first got here I used to hear people always referring to Chicago. As in, yea, he lives in Chicago.

Then I found out that "Chicago" was "Chikago" and they were referring to a tiny section of the tiny village of Kittsee. It was nicknamed Chikago sometime around the 1920s or so because so many people--prolly 10 or so--went to Chicago to work in the factories.



Not to be outdone, the even tinier village, the hamlet of Stopfenreuth, has a little section called "Amerika."

Workitis

I'm finally admitting it. I'm burned out. I've hardly slept more than a few hours the last few nights. When my friend saw my puffy/swollen eyes, he told me to get off the computer and get away. It's not that easy, I said. Get away, he said. His insistence bordered on insulting, but only because I'm tired and need a mini-break.

So I'm taking tomorrow off. Remi is going to Rudy's and I, in my little car, am going to a mountain spa. Just a day. But it will help me start sleeping again.

Recuperating Remi

Remi's daily trips to the vet are paying off. She's feeling better. Some sort of throat infection.

The vet said he's treating four or five other dogs for the same thing.

How did they get sick?

By doing this:

A.A. for Fish

Was tirelessly searching through files tonight, looking for my birth certificate. 

Instead, found an old printout from 2000 of an email I'd written to my brothers and sisters from Bosnia.

I was telling them what was on a menu in Banja Luka: Drunk Crap.

Pup Worries

My little one is ill. She awoke at 3:30 a.m. and was clearly uncomfortable. After a strange and hurried walk up and down the darkened street (a coat over my pjs), we stayed awake through the night, me resting a hand on her back or side, her resting but not sleeping.

We got back from the vet an hour ago. He said she has swollen lymph glands and a sore throat, a virus that will pass. She got a vitamin injection and not sure what else.

She's lying down in the far corner of the back yard, the sunniest spot. 

30% Bravado, 70% Quivering Weakling

Finally. Something that shows the excessive bravado and cowardice packaged into a Jack Russell. I always think Remi suffers from early pup trauma, but the answer might be: She's a Jack.

This is a commercial airing in Britain. If it's also showing in the US, I just might move back.

Everything Old is New Again

Here's an article I wrote last month on buying "ostalgia" in the former Soviet bloc.

You've Been Invited to the Codfish Ball

My nephew put this video together. Just, you know, created a video. On his own. Because he wanted to. No training in drama or film or anything like that. Just a curious kid who had an idea.

His mother says about him: 

My 10 year old who reads Shakespeare and watches documentaries about Stephen Hawking.
My kid who thinks about how the plumbing works in the house as he falls asleep.

His other interests, besides thinking about plumbing and the nature of the universe? Soccer and endless hours playing video games (virtual soccer, of course).
So here is my nephew's non-soccer-related, directorial and editorial debut. Get out the popcorn and Enjoy. And HE's 10!!!!!!!

Dig Remi

Remi went hunting for what must have been a lizard. It was 25 minutes of furious digging, but this small bit was shot at the end, when she had exhausted herself. Although she wasn't too tired to then enter a high speed chase trying to catch up with four jack rabbits.

Anyhow, here's a Jack Russell following the call of the wild.

The Education of Little Fraud, and Now This

Forrest Carter, a.k.a Asa Carter, a.k.a., white supremacist, racist speech writer for George Wallace, wrote The Education of Little Tree, an alleged autobiography about a half white/half Native American kid growing up in 1930s America. Not a lick of it was true.

I was crushed when I learned about Little Tree.

But many other so-called writers have done the same, and here's the latest crackpot.

Vienna is not Las Vegas

A few years back, A.A. Gill wrote a hilariously scathing column on Las Vegas (Celine Dion bore the brunt of it, as one would hope). Full of hyperbole, I can't say, since I've only been to Las Vegas courtesy of A.A. Gill's words about it.

Here is his take on life in Vienna

Talk About Blowing the Roof Off...

Over the weekend, we had what I would have called a severe windstorm, but the Austrians elected to name it and call it Hurricane Emma.
Having grown up dancing in the wake of hurricanes, I scoffed at the Austrians, storm virgins that they are.
But when I pulled up to my chiropractor's house this afternoon, this is what I saw:

















Yep, no roof. Debris piled high all over. The neighbor's house across the street and three doors down was the culprit--that house's roof blew off and blew atop my chiropractor's house, crashing in her roof.

Everyone is okay. No one was hurt. But my chiropractor says it is a sound she will never, ever forget.
Here's a photo taken from the other side.

A Dicey Walk

Once I was safely padlocked into the FireHazard Hotel in Tbilisi, this was the view from my window. Up those rickety stairs is a pretty normal house. And a peak inside when the front door was open showed that the family living there, if not of means,were certainly middle class by anyone's standards.

Please. Fix. The. Stairs.

Isn't She Lovely

My sister. By this time I'd come along, but just barely--not enough for Joellyn to realize just how much her life would be turned upside down by a tag along. This adorable little mite of a thing--sitting here propped next to a dolly I would soon replace with myself--would make me feel... what's the word... safe. And understood. She's still a tiny mite of a thing. Still makes me feel the same. In the words of our beloved Patty Riggins (for whom another doll was pushed out of the way), it figgers.