Stunt dog

Within the first couple weeks of having Pollock, he started a hilarious habit of sprinting in circles around my apartment's courtyard. He does this almost every time we let him off leash without any provocation. Since I wanted to capture it on film, here is Mike egging him on:

Literary hangovers, brought to you by Bukowski

Location: Budapest, VII District
Date: February 25, 2011
Adventure #47

It is another gray, snowy day in Budapest, yet I am quite content indoors. I just discovered Massolit, a lovely book store and cafe in Budapest that serves as a glorious Art Deco time warp with Wifi. With a black and white marble checked floor supporting sturdy wooden furniture, over-sized chairs that could hold two of me, and Ella Fitzgerald's finest tunes playing - I feel I have found another home away from home. So now, I am enjoying a delicious brownie and cappuccino and pausing from work.
This is a popular venue for my literati friends, with whom I have done many performances recently, including a "Write Like Bukowski" contest at a local dive bar. For those who don't know him, Charles Bukowski was a poet and author who lived in California and developed kind of a cult-following thanks to his rough, truthful prose and his reputation as the "laureate of American low-life." Given that he was a misogynistic alcoholic with a gambling addiction, writing in his style was a leap outside my creative comfort zone, which is why I welcomed the challenge to release my gritty side.

For the competition, winners could win a bottle of whiskey or a ham on rye sandwich (which happens to be the name of one of Bukowski's novels) for doing the best impression of the curmudgeon or writing most like him. My fellow Bukos were impressive, ranging from the gruff, drunk, explicit and love struck - and even included a participant who had met Bukowski multiple times in California. Although I didn't win any prizes against my unruly competition, I earned a lot of laughs from pieces like this where I tapped into Bukowski's pessimistic spirit with this true story:

Halloween

I stepped in dog crap while swaggering home from the bars on Halloween -

a typical Budapest plague -

so I left my boot outside my front door to clean in the morning.

The next day my German, middle-aged neighbor asked if I got any treats in my shoe,

thinking American Halloween is like St. Nicolas Day,

and I left my boot outside in hopes it would be filled with chocolate

for being such a good girl.

All I could say was

sometimes you get a treat,

but most the time you get tricks.

The next morning after my show, I smelled like I had just stepped out of an airport smoking lounge - even my poetry paper reeked of cigarettes - and my head hurt from drinking too much cheap beer. I think my poetic hangover was exactly what Bukowski would have wanted as a tribute.

Enjoying Communist Cuisine

Location: Budapest, VII District
Date: February 19, 2011
Adventure #46

For a Saturday lunchtime outing, my friends and I opted to head back in time via Kádár Étkezde - a Jewish/Hungarian restaurant in the heart of Budapest's VII District. This eatery has been more or less unchanged since Communist times and still draws a loyal lunch crowd. The cozy restaurant is composed of tightly packed tables with red and white checked table cloths protected by plastic covers.

Its wainscot walls are decorated with mismatched framed pictures of local celebrities, old maps and and hilariously timeworn signs, like this one that barely divides smokers from the non-smokers. (A wise Hungarian friend once told me that non-smoking sections in Budapest restaurants are like having designated non-peeing lanes in a swimming pool.)

Fortunately, I came to lunch with veterans of the establishment, because there are a few rules every patron should know Kadar's dining rituals:
- Each table has a bottle of seltzer water. Pour yourself glasses of water, but be sure to count them, because you are charged Ft 50 per glass (25 cents).
- You must also count how many pieces of bread you consume, because, like the water, you are charged per slice Ft 30 (10 cents).
- At the end of your meal, you must go to the front of the restaurant to pay the owner who is dressed in a white shirt and pants like a sanatorium worker. Precisely recite everything you ate down to the last piece of bread and glass of water, while he adds up the total on a slip of paper. If you seem to be underestimating your consumption, he will interrogate you.

I came to the restaurant specifically to try a traditional Hungarian meal of a goose leg and sólet, a Jewish bean stew. It was every bit as tasty as its reputation promised, and it made me pleased that I finally got to enjoy a Magyar institution. Plus, the fact that the owner didn't question my eating habits was a major boon.

Making a Blog Comeback

Location: International
Date: February 18, 2011
Adventure #45

Yesterday, I watched my ultimate saccharine guilty pleasure - the TV musical show Glee - and the episode was about its downtrodden characters making comebacks. Not that I usually take inspiration from prime time, but it did remind me that I have been neglecting some of my outlets and things that make me me - namely creative writing - and I could use my own mini-comeback. Furthermore, I promised that I would do 50 adventure postings in a year, and I am about a month behind, but gosh darn it, I am still going to finish it and keep going.

While there were many factors at play to my absence, like the holidays and my trip to the states, there was one big one. In January, my family suffered a big loss when Mike's grandfather, whom everyone called Pops, passed away. He was an avid reader of my blog - dare I say its biggest fan - and was endlessly supportive of my writings and was genuinely interested in the day-to-day happenings of my life, which I wrote about it in this posting. For awhile it made me too sad to write this blog knowing that Pops wouldn't be there to comment. But he was always a friendly motivator who sent me messages and phone calls when a new posting was long past due, so I know he'd want me to keep going with my blob. When we were in Dallas for the memorial services, I got the great honor to write Pops' obituary with the help of the family, so here is another of many tributes that Pops is due:

Leslie "Pops" S. Klein, Jr., loving husband, father and grandfather, passed away peacefully on January 10, 2011. Born June 7, 1926 in Chicago, he was the son of Dorothy and Leslie S. Klein. Les moved to Dallas in 1938, graduated from Woodrow Wilson High School in January 1944 and attended Baylor University in Waco until he joined the U.S. Army at age 18. He served in the 44th Division, 324th Infantry, C Company and was transferred to the HQ Company, 3rd Battalion, 324th Regiment as a Jeep driver for the message center in France, Germany and Austria. Later, he was trained at Camp Chaffee in Arkansas and was sent to Japan for its occupation. He was discharged from the Army as a corporal and received the Bronze Star, two European Battle Stars and a Combat Infantry Medal. After the war, he attended S.M.U., where he met his wife Mary Grace Carter of Tulsa, Okla. He was a member of the Kappa Sigma fraternity. Enjoying a career as an accomplished furniture salesman, Les once worked for the Curtis Mathes Company. He bought its mattress factory, founded the Southland Bedding Co. in 1963 and acquired the Spring Air bedding franchise in the mid-1970s. In 2005, he received the Tupelo Furniture Market Manufacturer's Representative Award. Demonstrating his faith through his kind and generous personality, Les was a sincere Christian and a long-time member of the University Park United Methodist Church. He was extremely proud of his grandchildren whom he cheered on at Highland Park sports events. He is survived by his devoted wife of 60 years, Mary Grace; two sons and their spouses: Ann and Les Klein and Nancy and Mark Klein of Highland Park; six grandchildren and their spouses: Sarah and Matt Klein, Emily and John Klein, Katherine and Chris Herron, Marisa and Michael Klein, James Klein and Ginna Klein; and three great-grandchildren.