Tuesday, January 12, 2010


Shall I regale you with tales of my recent travels dear reader? In the past 6 months or so, I have been to Sweden, Austria, France, the Netherlands, and Denmark. Granted the last three countries were only stop overs of all too brief hours, but I guess they still count as travels. Would a tale of sitting in the Cafe Central in Vienna, the same place that Trotsky used to hang out and plot his idea of revolution, be fun? Of being in that Cafe, and seeing the waiter treat everyone like shit because it is now a tourist trap, and he does not have to worry about offending people who will most likely never come back. Or maybe a quick trip to the Goulash Museum where I ate, and completely enjoyed, horsemeat for the one, and probably only time in my life. Or maybe a dash to Helsingborg to watch my hero Henke play in one of his last home games before age caught up to him? I have actually told that story already, and do not wish to be some grumpy, old man sitting on some park bench who repeats himself over and over until eventually only the pigeons and crows are there to listen. How about a dash through Charles De Gaulle airport after your plane arrives late, and then finding that the line is about 5 miles long for your next flight, and that everyone is being searched? Or a trip to the palace of the Habsburgs, and seeing the breathing taking view that they woke up to every day, and realizing that they might have thought "I rule the fucking world" Or worse, my recent trip to the podunk town from which I escaped all those years ago to bury the man who they called my father. The man who seemed to take a perverse pleasure in calling me a tub of lard, not that he was not right, but he just seemed to enjoy saying it too often, and too much. Fear not it seems the mantle of commenting on my (over) weight has been taken up by my (formerly) favourite uncle. That was my least favourite trip, and not necessarily for the reason(s) you would think. I was just happy that I was not forced to dig the hole. Of course all of this dross is just a smoke screen, an attempt to divert your attention from the fact that today has not lived up to its end of the bargain, and produced anyone that I can call a hero. I do ever so hope that it worked, and that some sort of entertainment was gained, but it is with regret (again) that I have to report that for today January 12th, there is no hero of the day.

1 comment:

Lindsay said...

I think that it's always tough losing a parent, dick or not. I'm sorry you had to endure that.