Traveling Update - Or Is It?

I don't know where to start. I'm on my fourth currency in two weeks. I don't have a credit card (that's how they track you). Instad, when I started traveling, I had a Ziplock bag with 4500 lira in it, and I would change at each new country. It was a little harder with languages. By the time I got to Paris, I would start ordering in Turkish, then switch to Italian when I realized it. By the time I made it to French, the transaction was usually over.

The trip, my journey, could be summed up with a picture of me standing in line.


Rain turned out to be the norm for line standing conditions.

There really isn't an "off-season" for tourism. The guide books say there is, but they also said that La Spaghettari was an excellent restaurant, and we all know better, don't we? Or at least  now I know. That they charge for the bread in your table basket by the slice, whether or not you eat it.
No matter when you visit, the line to the Colloseum is always a thirty minute wait, and the Lourve is always crowded (except around the classical marbles, and those are my jam), and the Chinese people in London are always yelling at you to try their fried rice when really they know once you try it you're going to order a serving or two. It's smart business, I guess.

I think Rome is consistently my favorite city. The gelato is pretty cheap, the baroque churches are free, and the food is not only good but also understandable.

(While I knew foie gras was the liver of a goose that had been specially force fed, I didn't know how to eat it. After the first couple of bites a waitress had to come to my table, take my fork away, and then show me how to spread the pate of liver onto bread. I thanked her in Turkish, and she said, "You're welcome" in English.)

Rome was also one of the only places I saw the sun. I could take off my jacket. It was also the only place where it was fun to be outside at night. Every other city we would run from the train station to whatever apartment we were staying at. I felt like I was back at 408 E. Lafayette, the house where I grew up. The monsters owned the night there.

Probably the best part of the trip was British Parliment. It happened as the sun was going down. As we walked back to the station (quickly, and always checking manhole covers to see if they were properly fastened), a guard asked us if we wanted to sit in on a session of the House of Commons. For free. We gave him high fives. In the process of security I was issued a photo I.D. and absolutely zero instructions about where to go. After fifteen minutes of wandering we made it to the gallery above the House floor, where we listened to an argument about privatizing the postal service. But much more than the American Senate, it was fascinating because, once I understood what they were talking about, it became apparent that with each speech the representatives were insulting each other. The most common slander was that the opposite party wasn't capable of understanding the main argument, but one member went so far as to suggest that his debate opponent wasn't capable of being a postal worker. The experience made returning to the American way of doing things feel cheap.

This Will Probably Be a Dry Blog Month

I'm traveling at the moment. Wait for it. Okay, I'm stationary. Let's do this.

I just left Istanbul, where I was for about a week. There, Holly and I stayed with an American family, the Connells. Doug and Jessica let us sleep in their apartment (I got top bunk in the Lego Room; Holly slept next to the crib of the family baby, Moses) in exchange for baby sitting four of the five children on Wednesday. We watched The Sound of Music. It was amazing. I guess it's been a long time since I saw it last. I still have "Edelweiss" playing in my mind (on vinyl, of course - mine is a hip mind). When the Doug and Jessica returned from their date, Doug told me that not only was "Edelweiss" not Austria's national anthem (it was written expressily for the musical), but that in the eighties the Reagan administration played it for the visiting Austrian ambassador, thinking it was the true Austrian anthem. I bet the ambassador wished that was his anthem.

Doug and Jessica live twenty minutes walk from the tram that runs through the heart of Istanbul, so Holly and I would eat breakfast with the family, maybe watch a twenty minute episode of Liberty's Kids (the educational cartoon about child reporters in the Revolution who work for Benjamin Franklin - voiced by WALTER CRONKITE) with the family kids, then trek into town. I won't tell you what we saw. The government made me swear. But I can tell you that it rained, and apart from being cold and ruining everything I was okay with that. The best thing that happened - well, the oddest thing, at least - happened because, after 45 minutes standing in line outside the Hagia Sofia (in the rain), we broke off and went down a backstreet to have lunch at a Turkish self service cafeteria. While we were eating, a Turk sat next to us and, through conversation it was revealed he worked at a hamam (in turn, I revealed that I was a teacher and that there was a coin behind his earn). He offered us a discount, and, without planning, we ended up at a Turkish bath. In separate buildings. Full of steam. Glorious hours, really.

Not Pictured: Me. I'm hiding from the old Turkish men in towels.

I'm in Rome until Tuesday, then to London and Paris and then, for one week, back in Fayetteville. My mom really wants to see me. This does not surprise me, since I am probably the best, if not favorite, child. I'll be back in Turkey near the end of the month. Not like you care, though.

An Open Letter to Mike Turner

Hey Mike -

How's Costa Rica? I hear they don't have an army. You need to watch your back. When Nicaragua invades you are SCREWED. I'm crossing my fingers that it doesn't happen but my sources at the Pentagon are seldom wrong, except when they said they didn't know who sent the assassin. But I figured that one out pretty quickly. You should've killed me when you had the chance, CIA.

We haven't talked in a while and I wanted to reach out to you because this weekend was formal. I bet you've heard about it by now - we went to Memphis and had the dance on a river boat named The Queen Mary. David Lee ripped his pants, right down the outside of his thigh. Everyone saw it.

The boat provided a DJ. Two DJ's, in fact. One was fifty with grey hair and glasses, and the other - the one who I think would have been your favorite - was in his forties and maybe a hundred pounds overweight, and wore a beret. He knew his music, though, but he kept asking us to shout if we were having a good time. This would have been fine, but he sounded like a Speak and Spell.

David Lee wore this  nice three piece blue suit; it all fit very well except the pants, which were beyond skin tight. They clung to his muscle tissue. After dinner he told me he was going to disappear for a half hour with his date and buy new pants. I said the number four rule of functions is never change pants. I'll be honest, Mike: I made that up. On the spot. But I lie to him all the time so I don't think he cares anymore.

They ripped down the outside seam of his right thigh. A big hole, maybe six inches long. It appeared like a magical snake while we were dancing inside this boat. Afterwards, when we went to IHOP in inner city Memphis, he kept his hand in the tear pretending it was a pocket. He got cat called by all the people standing in line outside the restaurant at 3 a.m. It was a huge line. There were no other BYX guys there, but there were several other dances in Memphis that night. I guess they all wore tall t's to their proms.

(David Lee is the only one in a blue suit. He stands next to me. I made the picture large hoping you could see the rip, but I don't think it's there yet.)

Last year we had maybe 40 plus members go to Kansas City for formal. It wasn't that important to the chapter. This year we had 240 people on that boat. We're growing, Mike! It's exciting. And the real reason I'm sending you this is because during the spring semester of my sophomore year, when I studied abroad like you, this past weekend was the most depressing weekend of those four months. I knew everyone was at formal while I was reading books in my bathroom (the bedroom light was out and I didn't feel like changing it). I wanted you to know that while formal was fun, David Lee's pants ripped, and so some people's formal wasn't as fun as you might imagine it. Think of how embarrassed David Lee is now that everyone saw his upper thigh. So don't sweat it. There will be more formals. And change your lightbulbs. And don't steal toilet paper from restaurants because you've run out.

Sincerely,

Cass Trumbo

I Would Put Things Like These on Twitter

Last night I had a dream where my dog committed suicide. I left him on the balcony of my sixth floor apartment where he was playing Scrabble. I think he used the deckchair as a lever to unhinge the cast iron railing. He then pushed everything, including the plants and the game board, over the edge with him. After I examined the body I went to Crystal to get a bag of Slammers.

I wish I had Twitter. I think I would be good at it. For instance, last week I was in the basement of Old Main, and I saw a room with a plastic plaque that read, "Beard Center." Inside there were four or five vending machines and several groundskeepers. They all had beards. I think I used to hang out there when I was a kid, and look for change underneath the machines so I could play the arcade games that used to be in the Union. You can visit the Beard Center. I don't think you even have to shave.

Things like that. That isn't a blog post by itself, but I think I could compress that into Twitter. The problem is, I've been using the same phone for three years. It has a color screen, and the background is three balloons - red, yellow, and blue. Ben Rector used to have the same phone, and we'd switch accidentally, but I always found out eventually because his background was three stones stacked one on top of the other. I always read his text messages before I returned it.

I was eligible for a trade in maybe a month ago, but my mom used it to get herself a new phone. She threw up on her old phone. She had a fever over Christmas and for some reason put her phone at the bottom of the trash can she used for vomiting. Unwise. I cannot fault her. When I lived in Rome, a girl I had a crush on back in the States stayed with me for a weekend. I slept on the couch. The day she was supposed to leave, I thought about kissing her, then I threw up in front of her. She had to find her own way to the airport. I got to skip my Italian art history final.

A Valentine's Memory I Found in Therapy

Today was Valentine's Day, and I didn't celebrate it. I had dinner with my 10th grade cell group. In exchange for food, all I do is recite rap lyrics with the sly ones. We really like the New Boyz. I was replaced long ago as the spiritual leader of the group.

In a conversation with a friend, I was reminded of a Valentine's Day two years ago. At the time, I was spending a semester in Rome. I kept a blog, called Lectio Difficilior, but I can't explain why. I think I wanted to make it difficult for my mom to find it. Below I've posted part of the Valentines entry for that blog, because it was an important day in my life.

After school, I was walking home from school when I popped into a chic boutique to peruse the new men's fashions, because, if you haven't been keeping up with my personal life, I have recently become fashionable (and not in the way that, women want to carry me in their purse. Well, actually, in that way too, but that's not the point). So, in a nameless clothing store, I was looking through the assorted blazers (by TOGS clothing, no less) when the owner/operator/only worker in the store Rion decided he wanted to help me. He kept handing me things to try on, and watching me flip through the stretchy pants. As I was leaving, he stopped me and struck up a conversation about my studies, complimenting me on my Italian. Then he said we should get coffee sometime. Eager to leave, I agreed, and then he said, "Okay, let's go."

I got asked out by a guy on Valentine's Day. After I had stopped running, I reflected and thought about how nice it is to be appreciated by someone, even if it's a guy. It's the thought that counts anyways, like Ned from Pushing Daisies says, "on a holiday created to sell greeting cards, it's still kind of nice to get a card."

During the four months I spent in Rome, I was propositioned by three different men. Rion was the first. The second was at an after party for a Shakespeare production in London; as to what happened, I cannot relate it here. Or anywhere. I am going to take it to my grave, and bury next to the body I used to fake my death. The third was the night I was robbed and forced to sleep on the streets of Florence. Let's just say I thought the coffee he offered was spelled r-a-p-e-c-o-f-f-e-e. Which still spells coffee.

I Know Nothing

On Friday, a few fraternity brothers and I went to a University of Arkansas hockey game at the Jones Center. Marcus, another brother, plays goalie for the club team. We were supposed to play two games against Tulane, but the school canceled, apparently because they're really bad. But that's hearsay. Instead, the team hosted a scrimmage.

I know nothing about hockey. In fact, I know nothing about many things. At Camp War Eagle, campers are required to send their parents a postcard in the middle of the week, to say, I miss you and I love camp. The counselors have to screen them in order to make sure the camper doesn't write, I hate it here, or, my counselor's a robot (it's happened to me - twice). Once I had a camper postcard that simply read, "I KNOW NOTHING."

That's how I feel about life sometimes.

Marcus is the back-up goalie, though I think he's much better than the starter. He looks better. His uniform fits perfectly. During the scrimmage, his team won 7-3, a score stuck between a really boring football game and a hockey game with no discipline. It was hard to cheer for Marcus, since he had to stay in one place. We congratulated him everytime his team scored. Way to go, Marcus. You look great in that uniform.

I never lock my car. Most often, I leave my keys in it. The car is a stick shift, and I live in Fayetteville. I haven't run into many situations where people I don't know try to steal it. Coming out of the hockey game, though, it appeared that someone had tossed my car. Everything that was in the center console was thrown onto the driver's seat, and my Sonic giftcard was gone.

Once when I lived in Rome I had my bag stolen. I was riding a night train with two UCLA students, Mack and Maggie, and I fell asleep. Mack woke me up and told me someone had run off with my bag. Thanks, Mack. You are very astute.

I felt sorry for the theif, because there wasn't much there. I had two Jules Verne books, and a notebook with an awesome outline for a Star Wars comic. There was a camera and a Nalgene. The worst part was the bag had my passport. My plane home was schedule for the coming Monday. I had to postpone, and stand in line at the U.S. Embassy. I would have given him the bag, if I could've had my passport. And the notebook. I hope the theif was a Star Wars fan. And could read English.

In the same way, I feel sorry for the Jones Center theif, because he probably spent a lot of time casing my car, and using his stealth skills, and all he got was a Sonic giftcard. Other than that, there were medieval literature books, two candles from Initiation, Pankration shirts, balloon animals, birthday hats, and these two old-timey photographs that I took at the end of the summer with some friends from War Eagle. I forgot they were in my car. I was supposed to scan and print copies for everyone, but I lost my nerve when I found out it was illegal. I hope they've forgotten.