Was out late last night at an apartment warming party that Kacsa threw. ‘Twas good times, though some weirdo kept asking me to play (I was the Def Selector) Michael Jackson tunes. One is ok, but three in a row? That weird one with Naomi Campbell? Not happening.

Anyway E and I left “early” at about 2:30am and went to Corvinteto, which has all the charm and style of a red light-swathed opium den (and I’ll let you decide whether that sounds cool or not), where we proceeded to get our boogie ON. Long story short, my 7:45am alarm came WAY too soon.

So I got sad.

Part of it is that we’re leaving. Sometime. More on that soon, when I force myself to sit down and write again. But then I read the news about the NYPD goons getting acquitted, and I just felt terrible for Sean Bell and his family and friends. I have no clue why, except that they are so obviously the victims of a racist and unjust system - but what else is new? Bang off twenty shots. Stop. Reload. Bang off another twenty shots. It was him or us, judge. Who was Amadou Diallo again?

Then we heard that a bicyclist had been killed yesterday. Riding on a bike path, hit by a truck that took a right without looking. Maybe he wasn’t either. And I wanted to cry for his family and send them cards and hug his kids or siblings if he has them. Maybe he doesn’t. I mean, didn’t.

We decided to join a group of 150 or so bikers that had gathered at Heroes’ Square to paint a ghost bike and chain it to the spot where he was killed. It was pretty powerful, all these people who didn’t even know the guy coming together to ride. Along the way we stopped at another ghost bike, one for the victim of a similar incident that happened a few months ago. This madness must cease.

And you would think it would - soon - judging by the turnout of last Sunday’s Critical Mass ride. It was only the biggest in the world, EVER, at an estimated 80,000 participants. The only things bigger are the anti-government rallies and the Sziget Festival, but I don’t even know if that counts because most of those people are foreigners.

But the truth is, Hungary is changing impossibly slowly. It is a wildly squawking Turul with its wings drowning in a thick paprikas. Did I tell you yet why we’re leaving?

And this is the most poetic thing I’ve read in months. It makes me sad to know these truths.

But don’t worry, I’ve been drinking water all day.

I’ve noticed something recently about Hungary: when things work the way they’re supposed to, we’re disappointed and even offended. It’s part of the legendary Hungarian self-aggrandizing/self-loathing, where proverbs such as “Hungarians are happiest when they’re in tears” describe a sort of pride in things not working quite ideally, or at least, not the way they do in Denmark.

The first example is the entrance to our building. There are two doors, which each take the same key. For over a year, the second door has stuck just enough so that it doesn’t lock, and can be just pushed open. While obviously a security issue, the crime in the neighborhood is so l0w (aside from my bike being stolen from right outside this very door) that most residents probably believed that the one outer door was enough. Recently, however, the inner door closes and locks as it should. But instead of being relieved that we are one glass door safer from burglary than we were before, our reactions have mostly been negative, along the lines of “whose stupid idea was it to fix the door? Now I have to unlock BOTH of them. That’s double the work! What a travesty!”

Another example has been the effort on the part of the mass transportation authority to field more ticket inspectors at all metro station entrances and many trams and buses, including the night “drunk” bus, and thus preventing the estimated 60% of riders who do not buy tickets to actually do so. Again, instead of people recognizing that more people actually paying for the rides will help improve the quality of service and (hopefully) eventually lower the ticket price, it seems like an affront: “what do you mean I HAVE to buy a ticket now? This has always been optional; I can’t believe they’re making us actually PAY to ride the subway!”

You inspired me, you filled my dreams and ideals with purpose and you contributed much to the advancement of humankind as a moral animal. You will never be forgotten.

Obit here.

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Happy New Year all! As you can see from my half-successful attempt at live-blogging Christmas, my trip to the US started off with a bit of a bang. It ended with a whimper, but let’s get to the stuff in-between.

Returning to Boston is always a mixed bag of emotions and experiences. On the one hand I am excited to see friends and acquaintances that I’ve been out of touch with for too long. One example is of a high-school buddy who I haven’t seen since then and is now a world-touring and highly-regarded classical violist, but is still as down-to-earth as she ever was.

Better still is coming home to the best friends you haven’t seen or talked to at all in the past year and having everything still be cool. I’ve learned in my travels that these are the people who will always be your true friends; the ones with whom it seems not years, but only days have passed since you last saw them. Now if only the principal friend in question (you know who you are) would give me their CORRECT e-mail address, perhaps we could stay in better touch!

Our schedule during the first week back was pretty hectic - first three days with countless family members (18 on the 25th, 16 the next day and so on) in the Boston area, then down to New York City for just two nights to see friends and a new show by the makers of De La Guarda called Fuerza Bruta. Not as dramatic in the narrative sense as its predecessor, the new show still certainly portrayed some fantastic imagery, from a man running through life’s walls at full speed, trying to stay alive and sane at the same time to a magnificent shimmering and twisting sail, upon which two lovers struggle to find one another in the maelstrom. Most spectacular of all was the third act, in which a clear plastic (mylar, I’ve been told) sheet is hung over the audience, upon which an inch or two of water and five of the performers slide, tiptoe, crash, jump and swim for our enjoyment. Similar I would imagine to looking into a fish tank from the bottom, at one point the plastic is lowered within reach of the audience’s hands, where we could feel the actors doing their abstract thing. So cool.

On New Year’s Eve we made a long trek up to New Hampshire, where we relaxed and maxed with sister Abby and family, including my one-year-old devilishly cute (or is it cutely devilish?) nephew Owen, alternately referred to as Owen-bear, Owen-pig, O-bear, baby-O, Oh-no-what-has-he-gotten-into-now, O-dear and poop machine. We spent one day building a not-so-massive snowboarding jump in the back yard and one day at Cannon (for which Mike S joined us for), then headed back down to the bean.

Throughout my time at home I undertook the process of cleaning out my old bedroom. In what was surely an evolution worthy of Darwinian lore, I removed dozens of posters (Beastie Boys, Jackie Chan, the Terminator, Wild C.A.T.S., Daewon Song, Soundbombing II, Mikey LeBlanc and many more of the like), filled a computer-monitor (17″ CRT, so that’s big) box with clothes for charity (mostly a combination of things I’d either held onto for sentimental value such as t-shirts I wore in middle school, or items I’d recieved as gifts in years previous that I’d been too coy to say I’d never be caught dead wearing, and lots of baggy pants), gave away another large box of books (Stephen King collection, I exorcise you of your demonic possession of my bookshelves!) and VHS tapes (anime, skate videos and action flicks I’d picked up during my 8 months or so working at Blockbuster video) to the library, and mounds of tchotchkes (American Eagle statuette, Dali-esque glow in the dark analog clock, pump-action nerf air-rifle, a guitar strap I’d wanted to use as a camera strap, etc).

Kept were representative items of childhood life such as elementary schoolwork, “raps” I’d written in the margins of notes in middle school, love notes (”I will luv u 4eva n longa”) from the girl down the street (what a stereotypical childhood I had!) and the high-school sweetheart, faxes and postcards from my sister when she was living in Russia in 1993, a mysterious letter from someone in New York named “Marc” detailing suggestions in kung-fu and gun-fu flicks I should check out (nearly all of which I have since seen), letters from my grandparents and so on. Also, many things from my more recent time in Japan such as flyers, letters, ticket stubs, gifts and decorations. Of course, countless photographs and negatives from as early as middle school and right through my college years.

The process made me realize what a pack-rat I am. I never realized that I conciously collected stuff (except for movie tickets and stickers of all kinds) until I was knee-deep sifting through it all, vaguely recalling that I was saving it for the time when I’ll have some huge house to put it all in. I guess I’ve just been averse to throwing perfectly good (though questionably useful) things away. Americans consume far too much as it is, and I’ve been blessed by a more priveledged exisitence than most. To say that this collection is my way of stemming the tide of crud that weighs us down into “settlement” or even that it’s a form of boycotting new junk would probably be too odious. My guess is that we all do it, mostly unconciously, and that people who are good at losing/getting rid of stuff probably have baggage of a different sort.

We visited with college friends and others, including the beautiful red-headed Evans twins, Maya the destroyer (and George of the Javelin Jamz [WARNING: myspace link]), Eri-chan, Peter the soon-to-be-documentary-filmmaking-rockstar (I’ve seen it!) and Chelsea hipster. The last two nights were spent on a floor in Williamsburg, Brooklyn with a cat-paranoiac by my side (”But I didn’t want him to head-butt me!”) and a broken computer in my laptop bag. We tried taking it to Mikey’s Hook Up (left unlinked on purpose), but they responded that their “pc guy is only in once a week” and Saturday presumably wasn’t it. I have to give it to New York, though, they have nearly as great used-clothing stores as L.A. I got some sweet green and yellow Sauconys for $15.

Throughout the whole trip I was amazed by the abundance and quality of an incomparably diverse range of goods and services, and being back in Hungary I already miss them sorely. Things like the fantastic Mexican, Thai, Tibetan, Vietnamese foods, fresh fish and beautiful organic vegetables, the organic 24-hour markets, curteous service and many, many people of color and immigrants for whom the United States represents a beacon of hope at a chance for a better life. I was reminded, as I looked with a foreigner’s perspective, at what great potential America still has, if only it can move foward and change for the better.

Well, these are the words. Expect pictures as soon as I get my computer back up and running. Peace in 2008.

Sorry folks, the liveblogging didn’t work out here, because a) the WiFi in my folks home was kaput, b) there was way too much craziness (we had like 20 people) to write, c) my nephew Owen ripped a few keys off my laptop, and d) umm, jetlag much? It’s 3:50am GMT +1 right now.

Full-ish update tomorrow, I promise! Goodnight!

I’m thinking about liveblogging Christmas.

This would be huge for the five or so people who regularly check the site. Otherwise, I can’t say there’s much point.

Except.

That it would be a very cool thing to look back on in 20 years.

What do you think? Tell me in the comments.

I recently attended the above mentioned event, hosted here in Budapest for the first time in 25 years, and was happily dumbfounded by the impressive array of skills on display. The strongest contending teams were from the U.S., Japan, and of course Hungary, but more than a dozen countries were represented, some by only one competitor.

The winner of the 3×3x3 “classic” cube was Yu Nakajima of Japan, with an average (of five attempts) in the final of 12.46 seconds. American Andrew Kang finished second (13.05) and fellow nihonjin Mitsuki Gunji finished third (13.05). World records: Hungarian Mátyás Kuti 5×5 1:45.07 (average), 3×3 multiple blindfolded 15 cubes in 46:17, 4×4 blindfolded 6:12.32 (not to mention placing in the top three in almost every other category), Ryan Patricio 3×3 one-handed 21.13 (average), Lukasz Cialon 2×2 3.91 (average), Erik Akkersdijk Megaminx 1:17.46 (single) 1:19.16 (average).

Perhaps the most mind-boggling feat (though not witnessed by me) was the solving of a 5×5x5 cube blindfolded(!!) by an 11-year-old kid from India named Bernett Orlando, who was the only competitor to finish, at a time of 55:39. Just imagine trying to solve something exponentially more complex than the original cube, entirely without looking at it, puzzling in the dark for nearly an hour. Hats off Bernett! Also incredible was Kuti’s solving of 15 consecutive cubes blindfolded, setting a new world record.

The seclusive Ernő Rubik was in attendance for the anniversary event, and presented several awards. He looks a little like Mr. Spock.

Although I’m sure the tension was pretty high among the (mostly boys) there to compete, the actual competition is a bit anti-climactic, as most categories have several rounds and are based on an average of times. In the audience sat supporters and teammates, often fiddling with their own weird puzzles, or timing themselves with a friend. The coolest thing I saw was at the after party (they hit the Coca Cola pretty hard, those boys), where members of different teams were pairing off and competing informally among themselves, with one person solving the cube with their eyes closed (without looking at it first, which is how it works in the official competition) and the other telling them how to solve it. With spider-like fingers dancing, you can see the gears turning very quickly in their young minds.

Here’s a video (unfortunately in Hungarian) with a good picture of what went down. Peep the “Cubinator” robot at the end - you give it a messed up cube to solve and it even talks trash while solving it! Its “face” looks a bit like my favorite rapper, MF DOOM.

In a recent article, we had to write about the city of Miskolc. From their official unofficial website, here are some reasons to go (since deleted!):

• …Miskolc is the settlement in Europe which has been inhabited for the longest time – more than 70,000 years
• … Miskolc is located is exquisite surroundings int he vally of the Szinva Stream at the foot of the Bükk Mountains
• …the very first Hungarian theatre to be housed in a stone building was the Miskolc National Theatre in 1823, which has since been turned into one of Central Europe’s state-of-the-art theatrical centres
• … is the only place where the entertainment district, the famous winehouses and cellars can be found on a hill (the Avas) int he heart of the city
• … the Biennial Graphic Arts Festival hosted by the Miskolc Gallery has been the most significant festival of its kind is Hungary or decades
• … the Miskolc Pisture Gallery has the richest collection of Hungarian paintings outside Budapest
• …Miskolc’s Hungarian Museum of the Orthodox Church displays unequalled treasures of Eastern Christianity
• …”Bartók+…” is the most successful opera-festival int he region, and at the same time it is also a showcase for Central and Eastern European opera companies
• …the most complete collection of hungaian mineals, containing 17.000 items, can be viewed int he Herman Otto Museum
• … University of Miskolc has the largest campus in Hungary
• … tha Cavebath in Miskolctapolca is the world’s only spa located with him a natural cave system
• … the Miskolc District of Diósgyőr has the only queen’s castle in Hungary
• … Miskolc has the largest historical waxworks in Central Europe
• … the longest forest railway runs is the Bükk Montains
• … it is the Wildlife Park of Miskolc where the wold’s first statue of Gerald Burrell has been erested
• … the Hotel Palota (’Palace Hotel’) wich lies on he bank of Lake Hamor, is the Hotel with the most beautiful location in the country
• … the Waterfall on the Szinva Stream is at 20 m, the highest in the country
• …the original iron furnace at Újmassa is the oldest monument of industrial history int he country, that is still operational
• … the trout farm next to Garadna in the vicinity of Miskolc is the only place, where the autochthonous swift truot is propagated and where you can why trout fresh from the ponds
• … the only man-made ice- climbing wall in Hungary lies in the Bükk Mountains
• … athe skiing- wonderland at Bánkút has the longest ski-runs in the country, and has snow for the longest lenght of time
• … Miskolc is the city of rock music. The first rock-festival in Hungary was had here in 1973.
• … only here has a monument to rescue teams been raised. The statue is of Miskolc’s word-famous search-and –rescue dog ’Mancs’ (Paw)
• … the local culinary specialiti, ’Kocsonya’ (Meat-jelly) wobbles best here, and Miskolc is the only place int he world, where a „Kocsonya” Festival and ’Kocsonya’ Ball is held
• … Miskolc has the most beautiful girls

Our return to Budapest was a somber one. Lucifer, our seldom-seen but nevertheless adorable hermit crab was waiting for us, outside of his terrarium, sans shell, and dried quite dead. He was sitting in the middle of our kitchen floor, facing the door. It was terrible.

Curiosity killed the crab, as well.

He must have climbed the stick we recently installed in his crabitat, somehow wedged himself between the covering plate glass and tumbled out. Without access to food or water for who knows how long, he was a goner. We buried him out in the backyard, with some of the sand and pebbles from his home-within-our-home, and some extra shells for the crabby afterlife. We never found his original shell, even after turning the apartment upside down. I like to think that it is a good omen, a sign that he wanted to pass on his home to the next occupants of this place. Seen another way, it could be the residence of his ghost, forever to haunt this hallowed ground.

Needless to say, he was loved more than his crabby heart could ever know. May he (she) rest in peace.

I’ve been doing a little research into campsites around Lake Balaton for our upcoming goal of circling the largest freshwater lake on the continent in 3 days, and I came across this gem:

“The tent is always up-to-date, but there are some who chose the trailer. Which one is better or more practical? This old question is brought up over and over again by those who fry bacon in camping-sites. You can send your child to collect wood and by the end of the summer he will learn how to ask for a pocket-lamp from the Fleming girl in the next tent.”

Found here, and no I don’t know why.

The Breton Pancakes

The pancakes and galette pancakes owe their singularity with a cereal introduced by the cross ones in XIIe century in France:  the buckwheat of Asia, more known under the name of « Black Corn » (in French). 

It is only in XIIIe century that its culture really develops in Brittany; wet and moderate climate being appropriate to him perfectly, the acidity of the grounds too.  Thus the ground buckwheat uses the composition of cereal wafer, basic food of the poor campaigns (in fact, kind of daily bread). 

In XVe century, the first “bilig” out of cast iron appear.  By the means of the many markets, these preparation develop and grow rich then by goods of the trimmings.  Quickly 2 kinds of crepes appear: 

The buckwheat “galette”, resulting from the original preparation;  it was cooked on only one face, remainder flexible and tender.  One could cut it in fine thin straps to decorate soups and bubbles or it to furnish, still heat, of egg, pie, sausages, sardines and different multiples local products. 

The buckwheat “crepe”, decorated eggs, and scented;  it was cooked, on the two faces and was much crustier but very difficult to work.  One tasted it at the time of the dessert.  It is one can say, the ancestor of the “soft pancake”

It is only at the beginning of the XXe century, that wheat crepes appear, thanks to the popularisation of the white flour, produces before out of price. 

Also we will name “galette” all that is carried out containing buckwheat and “crepe” all that is made starting from wheat.  Nowadays, “crepe” and “galette” are a product of festival.  They today are varied more and more and accompanied by trimmings by most various.  France and more particularly French Brittany, knew to emphasize this tradition and to make a recognized gastronomical specialty of it. 

A La Galette is the real French Brittany ambassadress Crêperie in Budapest, proposed to you a new French corner in a nautical theme with a good natural light for a bright-yet-relaxing atmosphere.

We recently picked up this cute little coffee grinder at a second-hand items store for about $8. It was dirty and beat-up but the seller threw in a bottle of polisher (also used) for free.

I spent about 2 hours shining that puppy from a hideous brown-black to a passable brass luster. I also had to take it apart to get at the grinding mechanism. I think the dents on the housing give it character. Who knows? Maybe this little guy saw some action back in ‘56!

(more…)

Oh yes they did. The American Air Force is the most advanced in the world. To reflect this, they’ve changed their well-known slogan of “Bomb ‘em back to the stone age” with something a little more 21st-century:

“Bomb ‘em into stoned gays.”

What’s next, a rainbow-colored arms race?

I looked in the fridge this morning to find that we had NINE kinds of cheese in there. Umm, how did this happen?

We’ve got:
1 round chive-cream cheese wedges
1 round spicy pepper cream cheese wedges
1 package sliced smoked cheese (for veggie burgers)
1 package rolled Slovakian cheese
1 package herbed and braided Slovakian string cheese
1 block olive-muenster (sp?)
1 small block smoked white cheese
1 large block normal trappista
1 tub cottage cheese spread

And now I’m thinking that we might also have a package of mozzarella in there too. Check back for an update later tonight.

Come one, come all.

 (I just love that retro-active time-stamping!

“Holdudvar

The meeting point of culinaria, arts and having fun on Margaret Island

People who wanted to relax loved this green area even in the middle ages and it has remained the destination for those who take a few minute walk to spend their free time in an environment safe from the noise and dust of the town. In the present place of Holdudvar there was a castle and it also was a manorial estate but finally in the 19th century it was reconstructed according to the plans of Miklós Ybl one of Hungary’s greatest architects and it bacame a famous social meeting point  in that period. Visitors were welcome by fine food, drinks, music and of course a big host of guests.

The years have passed since then in line with the history of Hungary made several changes for this group of buildings too. Changes of names, reconstructions and then forty years of communism all left their marks on the building. One of the funniest objects of this legacy is the neon sign Casino on the southern frontage. This tipically social raelistic something contradictorily recalls the world before Great War II. In the preceeding few decades of the great change in 1989-1990 its reputation was increasing due to the capacity and perhaps the low prices of the place. There is hardly anybody born in1960’s or earlier living in Budapest who does not know Casino. You can easily check this by doing a little, private survey.

At the end of the1990’s mass cuisine, beer and goulash-party was not enough in the world of new demands. The restaurant closed down and its condition became worse and worse year by year. Only God knows what had happened to these buildings if this institution would not have been taken up by a small group of young catering managers, architects and artists. The garden was filled up by life again in 2006. The garden furniture and the sofas of the indoor room offers comfort to the guests, cooks are busy in the kitchen and they get fine meals of top quality ingredients. Phisically more active guests can spend their time playing table football, table tennis and petanque. A gallery has opened where exhibitions of fine arts and others come after each other. For example on May 16th the representative art bazaar of the always busy Király st. Boulevard and Brezsnyev Gallery moved (www.bbgaleria.hu) into Holdudvar for a whole month to publicise its contemporary painters’ works. From May 27th the rear, grass covered rest garden will become an open-air cinema on every Sunday. And for the sake of foreigners either living in or just visiting Hungary the staff of Funzine magazine will choose films certainly with English subtitles on every second week.

An extra speciality and surprise of Holdudvar is that the show goes on even at night and different dj’s will mix music everyday till the end of September. Though do not be surprised if you happen to get into a gig or a fashion show because events like those enrich usually the opening parties of the exhibitions.

And last but not least it is so easy to find the way there. It only takes a 3 minute walk from the middle of Margaret Bridge towards the fountain and Holdudvar is simply right behind that.”