I’ve never been interested in seeing an old man naked.  Crazy, I know - it’s just simply never appealed to me.  But with travel comes unexpected and occasionally undesired happenings, and in my particular instance, it was male nudity. 

In the fall of 2008, I spent three months living in Vienna, Austria - the same city I’m returning to in May. Our supervisors and students before us constantly encouraged us to go out and see all we could in Vienna, even when we didn’t feel like it. Living in another country makes you tired in ways you’ve never felt before, so it’s not really surprising to have days where you just feel like staying inside and stuffing yourself with tasty butter rolls (which may have just been my thing). Days like that didn’t roll around too often, but when they did, it was nearly impossible to convince yourself to go out and about, unless someone suggested going somewhere relaxing, like say, a spa.

A couple of my girl friends had been searching for something to do all morning when they stumbled upon what appeared to be a luxurious, high-class spa a little ways outside of Vienna. I happened upon their discovery, and together the three of us oo’ed and ah’ed at the descriptions of body wraps, massages, hot stones, and heated pools. It was particularly dreary and brisk that day, so a spa couldn’t have sounded more perfect. We extended the invitation to other classmates, recruiting another girl and one guy, unfortunately having no idea that mixing genders would later become a problem.

We traveled the somewhat lengthy trip outside of Vienna by train, finally arriving in a little town called Baden. The town was cute and filled with boutiques and restaurants way out of our price range. It didn’t matter though - we were there to enjoy ultimate relaxation for as long as possible and head right back home to Vienna. With pool bags in hand, we headed for the spa. The building looked like a peaceful hotel, complete with the sound of quiet music and tiny fountains. We went to the front desk, and in Germglish proceeded to list the services we wanted to partake in for the afternoon. The woman heard us out, then said all of that would be just fine as long as we each presented her with a doctor’s note. A doctor’s note? We were confused, but soon became less so as she pointed out that this spa was a rehabilitating spa, a massive detail we failed to read about on the website. The only thing she could do for us, she said, was to allow us 2 hours use of the pools and sauna, and we could come back later for 30 minute massages as long as appointments were made. All of us wanted to be able to say we had gotten a massage while in Vienna, so each of us signed up for a session for later on that afternoon. The woman showed us the way to the pools and that was that. Or so we assumed.

If you’ve never been to Europe before, one thing to know is that the human body is seen a little different there, in that the human body is seen. At beaches or pools, men wear tiny speedos and women may wear a top, depending on how they feel that day I guess, so for extremely private and somewhat prude US college students, this was nothing short of uncomfortable. It’s the culture though, we said. We can handle it. We’re adults. The five of us found the locker room where upon entering we learned that both men and women share the locker room and do not use private rooms to change out of or into their clothes. This presented a problem for us seeing as we had a boy in our group of girls. Not wanting to be separated but also not wanting to get to know each other more than we had to, we picked the farthest line of lockers away from everyone and each of us chose a locker. Since we had no other changing choices, each of us got inside our lockers and changed into our bathing suits despite the lack of room and light. We managed though, and finally made it to the pools. We tried out the outdoor heated pool as well as the indoor jacuzzi, ending with the largest indoor pool which was filled with rehabilitating jets and waterfalls. I think we piddled around for about an hour before we decided we were ready to sit awhile in the sauna.

The five of us made our way to the sauna where we were immediately told to halt at the turnstile. At first we thought the problem was with our flip-flops. We had noticed earlier that no one else was wearing any sort of pool sandal unless they were over the age of 65, so perhaps this was the problem. The guy in our group, John, and I attempted to communicate with the man who continued to politely refuse us. Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Nein, sprechen Sie Englisch? Nein. We then resorted to wild pointing and gestures as we didn’t know the first bit of German for articles of clothing, and the sauna man didn’t know articles of clothing in English. After a few minutes I noticed the sauna man had been continuously pointing at John’s legs, not his shoes. So, we can’t have hairy legs in the sauna? I was terribly confused. We all were. Eventually the exhausted sauna man called over his manager. We heard the sauna man explain to the manager that we spoke English, and that’s about all we got from that even though the conversation lasted a lot longer. The manager looked at us for a few seconds then looked as if he had a great idea. He ran over to a closet and grabbed a towel. He came back and held it up. Oooooh, we said to each other, we don’t have towels. We need towels to come in here. Got it. Somehow the manager knew we still didn’t get it even though we thought we did. He started pointing wildly at John’s legs, then drawing what appeared to be a square in the air with his fingers. John’s legs, air square. John’s legs, air square. Finally, when we thought all hope was lost and John’s legs were somehow related to a square which was preventing us from entering the sauna, the manager remembered a word he knew in English, I’m assuming from the last time he encountered this problem. OFF! OFF! OFF! We understood. The men hadn’t been pointing at John’s legs, they had been pointing at his swim shorts. The manager was drawing an air square to help us understand the need for the towel. John’s swim shorts, and also all of our bathing suits, had to come “OFF!” before entering the sauna, and we were only allowed one towel each.

While I will continue to post stories, rants, complaints, and other meaningful nonsense on my Tumblr blog, please check out my Wordpress blog if you haven’t already. The Wordpress blog is written by myself and my husband Will, containing updates on our move to Vienna, Austria, as well as stories and other goings-on from our life as we become accustomed to our new home.

You can always read about what we’re up to here:

http://gutenmorgenwien.wordpress.com/

And tonight I just recently wrote a post about how the moving process has been going which you can read about here:

http://gutenmorgenwien.wordpress.com/2012/04/10/the-art-of-moving/

Happy reading!

Are you sitting down and prone to hyperventilating at the sound of amazing news? If not, sit down, and if so, brace yourself and go ahead and have a pillow nearby in case you faint. 

Ready?

Rob Marshall (director of Pirates of the Caribbean 4) and Billy Ray (writer of The Hunger Games) are teaming up for a remake of W.S. Van Dyke’s The Thin Man.

Don’t faint yet! The best part is…

JOHNNY DEPP has been cast to play the role of Nick Charles!

Ok now you can faint.

Will broke this news to me a few days ago on the ride home and I nearly collapsed with excitement. Why? Because if you know me at all, then you automatically know these three facts:

1. The Beatles are my favorite band.

2. The Thin Man is my favorite movie.

3. Bacon is my favorite everything.

The Thin Man series has been in my life for a long time. I have my mom to thank for this because while all the other kids were sick at home watching all the “cool” movies and TV shows on cable, I was being forced to watch any and every show and/or movie that was in black and white. At first I resisted, but when I finally understood the humor of Abbott & Costello, the talent of Jimmy Stewart, and the hilarious wit and charm of William Powell and Myrna Loy, I realized that my movies and shows were the real cool movies and shows. This put a tiny stint in my social life in that I had no idea how to carry on a conversation about Boy Meets World and Even Stevens, and when my girl friends came over, none of them were interested in watching The Beatles: A Hard Days Night or oggling at the flat out hotness of Tony Curtis in Some Like It Hot. And of course, none of them jumped at the idea of having a Thin Man marathon - my idea of the perfect slumber party. Weirdos.

But luckily for me, the girl friends I made in college accepted The Thin Man with open arms. Friday nights were Thin Man nights, complete with M&M popcorn and hazelnut coffee, with my framed Thin Man poster (the best birthday present my parents have ever given me) gleaming above us on the wall.

Now back to the remake. Naturally I’m a little nervous. Remakes often do no justice to its originals, leaving the die-hard fan of the original film extremely angry and dead inside, which is how I always feel when someone does a Beatles cover. But regardless of the bad remake-routine, I’m confident about this one, obviously due to the casting of Johnny Depp.

Why Johnny Depp is the best choice:

Johnny Depp can be anyone. He can be an ornery pirate (Pirates of the Caribbean), a psychotic writer (Secret Window), or a crazy and colorful Mad Hatter (Alice in Wonderland). He can be any character, in any wardrobe, and within 5 minutes of the movie you’ve already forgotten about Johnny Depp because he becomes the character. So bravo Mr. Marshall and Mr. Ray. You get an A+ from this Thin Man fanatic.

Johnny Depp’s Counterpart Options:

According to Deadline, there are 8 actresses lined up as possibilities for the part of Nora Charles - Eva Green, Amy Adams, Emma Stone, Carey Mulligan, Rachel Weisz, Kristen Wiig, Emily Blunt, and Isla Fisher. Several women to choose from, right? Eh, I think we can easily sort out the Uh, no ‘s from the mmm, maybe ‘s. Before we can do that though, let’s take a look at Nora herself.

If I could sum up all that is Nora Charles in one word, I would go with elegantclassygorgeoustallglassofwater- the point being, I can’t, because Nora is everything. She’s witty, classy, intelligent and beautiful with a touch of naivety. She adores her husband and he adores her right back, even though he jokes that he married her for her money. I mean, how can he not when his wife looks like this:

So let’s sort through the wannabe-Nora’s:

1. Kristen Wiig - I love Kristen on SNL, which is why she’s a definite no for the role of Nora Charles. When I think of Kristen attempting to be Nora, I think of two Kristen Wiig characters: The “Don’t make me sing” Lilia in the 1920s Party skits, and then of course, Mindy Grayson on Secret Word. While I know she’s funny and could pull off the quirky side of Nora, I don’t think she would successfully portray any other of Nora’s characteristics.

http://www.hulu.com/watch/311561/saturday-night-live-1920s-holiday-party

2. Emma Stone - Absolutely not. She’s been great in both comedy and drama, but her voice is way too low. Can you imagine Emma running around in fur coats attempting to yell “Nicky! Nicky wait!” in a high pitched semi-whining voice? I sure can’t.

3. Emily Blunt - Eh, no. There’s a lack of playfulness in her personality and one of my biggest fears about this is that Nora will be cast as not being playful enough. Emily would do well as serious Nora, but other than that, this role isn’t for her. Whoever plays Nora has to be able to be concerned for Nicky’s wellbeing, while also able to scrunch her nose at him from time to time.

4, 5, & 6. Isla Fisher, Amy Adams, Carey Mulligan - These three all get a No for the same reason - They’re girls. Being Nora Charles is not a girl’s role, it’s a woman’s role, and Isla, Amy, and Carey don’t fit the bill. Their maturity would have to rise exponential amounts before they’d be able to play a role such as this. Isla and Amy don’t belong in the film at all, but I do think Carey would be perfect as Dorothy Wynant, the daughter of the presumed killer. Dorothy is young, immature, overly dramatic, lives with a crazy family, and eventually states that she’s “just out for the ride”. Carey has experience playing a similar role as Kitty in Pride & Prejudice, and she even looks a little like Dorothy too.

Dorothy Wynant

7. Eva Green - Maybe. I don’t have a strong case for or against her. I’ve only seen her in Casino Royale and liked her for the most part.

8. Rachel Weisz - YES. Truly, Rachel is the only one who is capable of playing Nora Charles - the only one. She’s quirky yet sexy; she has a sultry voice but can also sound panicked and playful. She speaks infinitely more with her eyes than any of the other girls are capable of, and she’s a woman, not a girl. She’s it.

If you don’t believe me, do the test. Watch the first 5 minutes of The Thin Man so you can see how Nora Charles makes her first appearance - you’ll quickly realize Rachel Weisz is the only one who can pull that off. Then, obviously, watch the rest of the movie.

If you have never seen The Thin Man, figure out a way to see it. Have TCM running constantly on your TV or rent it from any remaining ghost-town Blockbusters. I would lend you mine but then I’d have to microchip you and that’s such a hassle. For anyone else who also loves The Thin Man, I’m totally up for a marathon before being Vienna-bound. And let’s keep our fingers crossed that the filmmakers make the right decision in choosing the correct Nora Charles. There’s a lot weighing on this.

…Mommy?

Baby girl you’re supposed to be in bed. What’s wrong?

Nothing… I just wanted to ask you a question.

Oh ok what’s up?

Are these your pictures?

Yeah! This is a photo album of all mommy’s and daddy’s album covers. Look, here’s me 7 years ago, just before I had you.

…Oh.

Oooh and look! Here’s your Aunty Rih! This was just a couple of months before you were born.

*eyes widen*

Such great memories. Ok Blue, off to bed! Sleep well!

Um… I’ll try…

(Source: google.com)

With every marriage comes a disaster - a disaster in which the wife says at the conclusion, I’ll laugh about this someday, but it won’t be today.

Disasters come in different forms. Sometimes it’s a miscommunication, sometimes it’s a priority conflict, and sometimes it’s in the kitchen; like when the wife decides earlier in the day that she needs to get rid of some red potatoes but doesn’t have any pot roast to have them with, so decides they’ll be okay as a side dish with lasagna. She’s been planning to make this particular lasagna dish for a while anyway, and the husband will be thrilled to come home to a hearty meal. So the wife goes home and throws on her apron, and takes out every ingredient for extra preparedness, and to top it off, the sink is free and everything’s clean, just how she likes it. And the wife starts to mince and dice and mix the ricotta mixture for the lasagna, thinking all the while that it couldn’t look more perfect, especially since this is her very first lasagna. She hums the familiar Beatles’ tune “I’ve Got a Feelin’”, because she indeed has a feeling that this lasagna will be fantastic, and also because she listened to it earlier on the way home from work. But trouble strikes, and the wife’s humming abruptly stops as she discovers that the lasagna noodles are too long for her 8x8 baking dish - the dish the recipe called for. The wife should stop here, but she continues, instead making the noodles fit because they have to. Slowly but surely the humming starts up again, but it’s forced and uncertain as the wife puts noodles on top of tomato-basil and ricotta on top of noodles. Her husband comes home just in time to see the finished, still uncooked result, and assures her the dish will be as tasty as it looks. The wife puts foil over the dish and leaves the lasagna in the oven for 20 minutes. So far so good. The wife uses this time to clean all of the new dirty dishes and get the red potatoes ready for roasting. The time is up - remove the foil. This time the recipe asks the wife to put the lasagna back in the oven for another 15 minutes until golden. The wife does so, and begins to wash mixed greens for a side salad.  

Disaster strikes.

The wife looks at the oven only to see smoke rolling out from every possible escape route. She panics and throws the oven dial down to OFF while also calling her husband frantically for help. The husband comes to her aid and points out that the lasagna is in fact boiling and spilling onto the bottom of the oven. Is it supposed to do that?  The wife doesn’t know exactly, but she knows she followed the recipe to a T, so it has to be right. The smoke clears and the wife puts the lasagna back in the oven, this time at a lower temperature, but the lower temperature makes no difference. Again the smokes billows out from on top and underneath and from the sides of the oven. The wife throws the dial to OFF again and removes her now thrice baked lasagna to the kitchen counter. It’s done. Finished. Smoked out. Defeated, the wife hangs her head and walks the saddest of all the sad walks through the smoke to her husband, burying her face in his chest as he comforts her while also attempting to hide his amusement with the disaster at hand. Lasagna isn’t happening, but what about homemade pizza? The husband suggests they make a pizza, which will go perfectly with our salads and roasted potatoes.

The husband begins to rummage through the pantry for pizza items; the wife too preoccupied with limply stabbing her half-baked and badly burned lasagna with a spatula while also trying to figure out how she also managed to ruin the potatoes. The wife comes to just as the her husband is searching for the tomato-basil pasta sauce, to which the wife informs him, I used our only jar for the lasagna.

The husband, disappointed with the news but not wanting to discourage his wife any further suggested the only suggestion that could fit a disaster such as ours:

“Let’s have pancakes.”

This Saturday will mark the 23rd year of my life.  While I realize this age is nothing like turning 30, and thankfully still very far from 40, I’ve noticed that with every year comes a new contradiction - a moment in which I’ve thought or done the opposite of what I used to believe to be silly or just super lame.

Remember when shopping at Hollister was cool?  My best friend and I would always go in there for new clothes when we were in High School.  For awhile most of my shirts had that little seagull on the front, and I thought it was mildly amusing to wear a brand that is also one of my nicknames.  But Hollister isn’t any different from those other bro-stores - they all seem to have the latest horrid cologne spilling out through the air conditioners; they have models who model everything except clothing (maybe a knit hat on a good day?), make you shop in the dark, and blast the latest mainstream pop.  

If you’re 16 and shopping at either one of these stores, the loud music might as well being playing on low and the light is perfect.  The thumping, store-rattling bass and yellowish tint will never bother a single Dude or Betty (Hollister lingo), but will always successfully chase out every mom and dad (unless of course they’re denying their age and are also shopping as dudes and bettys).  I remember dragging my parents into Hollister one time, probably to point out a sale, and it was probably a pointless trip in to begin with.  They begrudgingly followed me to the back of the store where I fished through tops and skirts attempting to find an appropriate article of clothing.  I got frustrated though because all my parents could do was complain about the music level and extremely dim lighting.  What music level?  And what dim light?  I can see fine, and the music is hardly playing!  My parents were so put-off by the ear-pounding beats and darkness that they turned around and started towards the promise of bright light and low music volumes.  I huffed heavily and stomped out of the store behind them thinking, “When I’m older, I will never think the music is too loud or the light is too dim.  I’ll be so much cooler.”

The truth is, I’m not any (but maybe a little bit) cooler than my parents.  I leave stores when the music is too loud, and complain when the light is too dark.  I even left Payless the other day because someone okayed the playing of Britney Spears.  I may not be, as the saying goes, “older and wiser”, but at least I finally know what a shopping experience should be like.

Ah, tis’ the season for dad-aged men to sing Have a Holly Jolly Christmas until it’s obvious that I’ve run out of attempts at genuine laughter.  It’s good to be back.  The Holly Jolly Christmas joke is usually a year-round thing, but the amount of times it’s told always increases in December.  I have my own joke too, of course - inserting “me” every time “Holly” is mentioned in a song.  It doesn’t always work well, but I still manage to feed my Christmas ego.

Over Labor Day weekend, my husband and I watched a special about the theory behind parallel universes.  Usually I don’t get into anything that has to do with science.  Science has always interested me, but more on level of “I wish I was smart enough to understand the fancy-sounding words he’s using to describe the team’s fancy-sounding discovery using their fancy-sounding formulas”.  The topic of alternate universes though - that sent my mind into a constant state of daydreaming.  If there were alternate universes, what would all of my alternate-selves be up to?  Would Holly 1 be an introvert?  Would Holly 2 actually like vegetables?  Would Holly 3 - dare I say it - never eat bacon?  (Psh, no.)

To satisfy my questions concerning the alternate Hollys, I’ve come up with a list of what I would want the other Hollys to be like:

Holly 1: A Paleontologist 

Fact about me: I LOVE DINOSAURS.  Really and truly, I love dinosaurs, so much so that as a child, I used to think to myself, “When I get to Heaven, I’m going to ask God ALL about the dinosaurs, and then He can tell me why He made them and why they died and which one was His favorite and if Jurassic Park was accurate and if…”  I’ve not told too many people about my love for dinosaurs, mainly because I think it’s a weird fact about myself, and also because, despite my love for them, I really don’t know that much about them.  But even so, their existence fascinates me, therefore I would want Holly 1 to be extremely knowledgeable of all fancy dinosaur words and Paleontologist termonology (a paleontologist would probs never say “fancy dinosaur words”, nor “probs”).

Holly 2: An Astronomer

Holly 2 would satisfy the fascination I have with space - again, something I don’t tell a lot of people about.  I mean, I did cheat on my 5th grade science test over the phases of the moon (another story for another time), which is a surefire sign that I am not gifted in the realms of astronomy.  It’s unfortunate really, but I like to think of my inability to understand science vocabulary and formulas as, God made some people to understand His science, and He made some people to admire it.  Today’s Holly is an admirer, but I’d like to think that Holly 2 would be an understander.  And it’s possible that if Holly 2 were an astronomer, she wouldn’t have a fear of heights, which is an accomplishment in and of itself.

Holly 3: An Author

There’s still time to make this happen in current life, I think.  Free writing has always been a passion for me (despite my recent writer’s mourning period which was brought on by being cut in the final round of a writers contest), and my husband and father-in-law continuously remind me of how long-winded I am whenever I tell a story.  I’d also like Holly 3 to be an author so she could be on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, where they would laugh and joke together about comedic essays from her new book “     of      ” (I don’t have a title for her book yet, but I assume of is in there somewhere), and she would finally get to redeem herself on TV from that time when she was in 7th grade and was interviewed by the news about the service work she was doing at an elderly lady’s house, and her interview was so bad that the news channel ended up cutting it and showed a clip of her awkwardly smiling next to an ivy covered wall instead.

…

It was a very anticlimatic experience for me.

Hollys 1-3 are all I can think of for now, but I’m sure there are other alternate Hollys I’ll think of later on.  All of the Hollys though, no matter how many there were, would drink hazelnut coffee, order water when Pepsi is offered instead of Coke, listen to The Beatles, blame Yoko for everything, own a cat(s), and love Buffalo Wild Wings.

If you had an alternate self, what would you want your self to be?