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06/14/01
-----Original Message----- I'm in Prague, and it's lovely. The flight over completely sucked, but they don't call it "economy" (though I do wonder why they call it "class") for nothing. We all sat cramped and cranky, with our knees shoved up to our chests, wondering how we could possibly get some sleep that night. I had taken half a Xanax and had an eight dollar Bloody Mary (which contained one shot of vodka the bartender carefully measured in a shot glass, and then tipped on top of the ice to sit for a minute, as if to allay any fears that I might have that I wasn't getting my full, eight dollar shot) before I got on the plane, so I was a little loopy. Plus, Swiss Air plays these tweaky nature minifilms before the departure, which consist of dancing bugs and animals and blooming flowers set to classical music, so I pretty much felt like I was tripping for the first hour. The German woman in the seat behind me objected loudly to me reclining my seat, going so far as to call over the (surprisingly hot) male flight attendant. He negotiated well, assuring her that he was certain I'd pull up my chair when the food arrived. Twenty minutes later, the man sitting in the seat behind her walked over to me and insisted that I recline my seat fully, as that's what she was doing to him. It was anarchy in the economy class, dancing bugs and all. *** Yesterday, I woke up wickedly early - after sleeping for 11 hours - at 6 AM, and took a walk through the streets of my host's neighborhood. Oh yea - a little on my host: Brian. He's the best. More on that later. After checking out some cool-ass apartment buildings (All of the buildings are beautiful. Everything here is beautiful. Do we even need to hear me say it another 500 times, or do we get it?)I finally found a bakery that opened at 7 AM, and, predictably, I had some yummy baked goods and a latte that tasted so much better because it was Prague, I was on vacation, I am young and free and American, etc. I walked back, through the streets, up to Brian's house, and promptly fell asleep for another four hours. I was fully jet-lagged, and my eyes and skin still look like crap. I've aged. The economy class aged me. *** Later Brian and I headed to the touristy part of town so he could give me some sort of tour, that consisted largely of the following: "This building is famous for some political reason I can't remember now." Fine by me, I think. Just show me the pretty buildings. I'm not going to remember anything anyway when I'm jet-lagged. We found an outdoor cafe and sat in the sunshine, where I finished "Motherless Brooklyn" and he wrote. It was lovely. We drank red wine and it pretty much felt like we had known each other for a very long time. We kept drinking, until various friends of Brian's walked by, and suddenly we had a big table of writers (Mike, an editor for the Radio Free Europe website, and another Brian, who I didn't really talk to, who writes for The Boston Globe) and two friends visiting from Russia, a married couple, who run a courier service in St. Petersburg. We drank more, and more, and more, and agreed to meet for dinner later. Mike, Brian and I went back to his new apartment. Apparently Radio Free Europe gives a sizeable accomodations stipend, so Mike's place was fucking phenomenal: four huge, beautiful rooms, two bathrooms, a balcony overlooking an ancient synogague, high ceilings, hardwood floors, space, space, space. I wanted to lie on the floor and roll around. Mike had some leftover salmon, pasta, and potatoes so we snacked there, and then played some music. There were handpuppets to play with, as well, so I ended up giving an erotic poetry reading with a pink pig handpuppet; all of the lights turned out in one room, except for one giving the room a melodramatic cast, while I stood in another room, my hand, which wore the porn poetry pig, shoved through the sliding doors, as I preached some pussy poetry. It was kind of messed up, but kind of cool. Fortunately, I didn't scare anyone. I really should not be allowed to leave my house. Like, ever. Then: more drinking, more food, another bar, more conversation, and on, and on, and on. At one point, Brian did a flaming shot of absinthe and somehow ended up setting his hand on fire. Of course, we were all concerned for his welfare. Of course, it was totally cool-looking, as well. Anyway, it turnend out Brian was trying to keep me up late, so that I wouldn't be waking up his ass at 6 AM the next day. True to his prediction, I slept hard today, and it is only now, at 5 PM, that we are considering leaving the house, to get some food. But tomorrow, I promise, I'm going to figure out the political significance of at least one building. Love you and miss you and hope you are well.
xxoo
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