I totally got her number. And his. And his too.

I went to a fun party last night with my good friend Luke. It was a birthday party for our friend Caro, who just turned 27. It was at her little apartment, and the place was packed with boys and girls, all of whom were Caro's age, plus or minus five years... a good place to meet people, then.

Luke and I are always looking to meet new people - we both moved to Hamburg around the same time, and met soon after, lamenting about how we don't know enough people, and now despite our charm and talent, we are dreadfully single. I came home with three new phone numbers in my little cell phone. Go me! But wait, two of them are guys. Wha... ?

This is something that's happened often over here in Hamburg. I go to a party, and meet new and interesting people. Someone will sprechen at me, and tell them sorry, I'm the one guy here who doesn't speak German. A few of them bail immediately - especially German girls who don't speak English very well; they tend to be really self conscious about it which is funny, because I'm a guy, so theoretically it shouldn't matter: "Baby, your head may not speak good English, but that body is slammin' it's way through all kinds of language barriers!", etc. - but most speak English really well. So we talk about America, California, San Francisco, Germany, Hamburg, why I'm here, and how it's possible to be an English-only writer in Germany and on and on and on.

And because we're all basically friendly, interesting people, and I guess because there aren't too many other Americans around to hang out with, eight guys out of ten (a rough estimate) ask me for my number. And now that I think about it, I don't have anything near that kind of hit rate with women. I think last night is pretty typical - a 2:1 ratio. Hmph.

I went to a lot of parties back in the states (or at least I went to enough to notice this pattern now) and I don't remember reflecting on this issue - I never got a guy's number. Maybe it's because so many of the parties I went to were made up of a group of people I spend time with anyway (school, work) so getting ahold of them wouldn't require contact info. Or maybe there were loads of men desperate to give me their number, but they were afraid someone would think they're gay. I'm sure this is illustrative of something to do with American males vs. German males, but I'm not sure what it is. Does any body know what it is? Are there any guys out there who can offer an explanation (or perhaps their number?)

Anyways, in addition to two really nice guys, last night I spent a lot of time talking to a lovely girl named Sandra. We covered many topics, including cities of origin, occupations, German vs. English, and why she lives in the boonies of Hamburg. We spent a bunch of time talking about how one of the few things I know how to say in German is Ich möchte eine latte machiatto bitte, and the chaos that ensues when the waitperson assumes I sprechen and then follows up with a barrage of coffee-related questions. She was interesting, tall and lanky, and just the right amount of goofy. She made the most adorable facial expressions. She was wearing red Adidas sneakers, and I'm a sucker for red sneakers. And in a delightful reversal of the social order of German twenty-somethings, she asked me if I'd like to meet for a latte macchiato some time, and I told her I'd love too. She grabbed a pen, handed it to me, and held out a very long left arm. I left my name, number, an American flag, and a cup of coffee with steam above, a saucer below, and smiley face on the cup. Then I got her number and put it in my phone, you know, just in case she forgets, and then showers too vigorously.

How not to be Rock n Roll

So we got another brief the other day. Apparently the powers-that-be here at our big fat ad agency have been inspired, and have shouted from the rooftops that this year they want the agency to be... wait for it... more rock n roll. It's the theme for the year. Our ideas should be more rock n roll and our executions more rock n roll and we're going to be more rock n roll with our clients and more rock n roll with each other.

I'm not sure if I'm getting the entire message here, because the message is always given in German and then translated into broken, jaded English by my frequently bitter co-workers. But it seems to boil down to the following key items: we're going to let our work be a little more kuh-RAZY!, we're not going to pitch clients who won't let us rock out with our cock out, and every other tuesday there'll be cocaine-fueled orgies with underage groupies*.

It's hard not to roll the old eyes with a cynical smile when two guys with a combined age of 104 think it's perfectly reasonable to tell us to be rock n roll. I'm not sure I can think of something that is less rock n roll than sending out a memo to be more rock n roll. I'm pretty sure there weren't any PowerPoint presentations at Led Zeppelin band meetings, and I doubt Kurt Cobain ever took the budget into consideration.

The point here, of course, is that you can't just tell someone (including yourself) to be more rock n roll. It has to come from within; it has to be a genuine feeling of FUCK YOU for almost everything around you; it has to be a rebel streak that takes no prisoners and gives convention and nay-sayers a big fat middle finger. And I think it helps to get drunk and throw up a lot.

And now we have this brief to think of ways to make the agency more rock n roll. It's great - we can hang out and think of ideas that'll make this place more crazy (and newsworthy! we were specifically instructed to come up with ideas that would get us into the paper... just like how Ozzy would get the gang together and said "Lads, let's get ourselves some press coverage!") so we can present them and get them killed for being too expensive or too crazy or too offensive or all three. "No," I can hear them saying, "more rock n roll!"



* yeah, I made up that third one.

Tomorrow's To Do List

Tomorrow is Saturday, and I have no plans until the evening. So! I'm going to be so productive, it's going to blow your mind. Here's what's on the list:

Get up at a reasonable hour. Dude. Seriously. There's only so many hours that can be made productive, so you've got to take FULL advantage of them. Sleeping in is for losers with no future! Rise and shine and bring out your glory!

Wash sheet and set it out to dry. I only have one sheet for my bed. It needs to be washed once in a while, and it's time. I have a washer, but no dryer, and since I only have the one sheet, I've got to get up early (see above), wash it, and then hang it out to dry so that come bedtime, I'm not laying in a soggy fog of cold cold sadness.

Finish Slaughterhouse V. Holy crap this book is good! I borrowed it from Ricardo (or as Germans would say, he borrowed it to me) and started reading it. Then I noticed that I couldn't stop. I've read it long ago in high school, and I remember liking it then too. The writing is so good. It's visual, and uses lots of metaphor, but in a good way so it's not annoying and overblown. Good shit!

Start reading How to be Good. Last week I got a credit card from my bank (yay!) and this week I learned how to order English books off Amazon.de (yay!). Shipping of English books is free anywhere in Europe (who says America isn't loved around the world?) and apparently it's pretty fast too, cuz the books where here only days later. How to be Good is by Nick Hornby who wrote High Fidelity which of course was turned into one of my favorite movies ever, and a great book called A Long Way Down that I read a few weeks ago and loved.

Ride bike. Somewhere. Anywhere. It's going to be sunny, so get out there you fucking pansy.

Go to a birthday party. There's a birthday party for this crazy girl named Renatta tomorrow night. It won't start until 10 or 11 or even midnight because we're all so goddamn hip. So that leaves PLENTY OF TIME to get through this exciting to do list.

Exciting!

The Ukranian way.

Got on the elevator this morning along with Andrej, who sits across from me, and a girl of, shall we say, some girth. We all exchanged pleasantries until the girl got off and left Andrej and me alone to ride up one more floor. And then Andrej turns to me, and in his thick Russian accent, he says simply:

She is strong!

Tell me Andrej, what's Russian for awesome?

My very first (very small) ethical dilemma (in advertising).

So we got a brief this week for a bank. They offer this savings account where twenty percent of what you put in gets put into a lottery, and you can win money and prizes. That's right, you put, say, fifty Euros of YOUR money into YOUR savings account, and assuming you don't win, a month later you have forty Euros. The account doesn't pay any interest.

My first thought was well that's fuckin' retarded. It goes against everything I've ever been told about the virtues of saving. The whole point of saving money is to let it sit there and not touch it and not do anything stupid with it like gamble it.

The second thing I thought was this would probably go over well with the young, not so wealthy, not so educated crowd. So I asked who the target audience is. Yep. Nailed it.

I knew this would happen eventually - it's the nature of the business. I knew that one day, someone would waltz into my office (or we'd meet in the kitchen, whatever) and ask me to make ads that convince the not-so-intelligent to do stupid things.

Back when I was trying to figure out if I wanted to make advertising my next career, I talked to some people in the biz, and a couple times I asked this question: do you ever feel bad about trying to get people to buy things they don't need? Most people just hemmed and hawed a bit and said you get over it. But one guy whose name I can't remember put it really well. He rolled his eyes and said something like: "Look, I try as hard as I can to do good work that doesn't take advantage of people... but if I make an ad that says something ridiculous, and you're dumb enough to fall for it, then you're just dumb, and there's not much I can do about it." I thought that was a pretty good answer. And I think it's fair. I'm a Darwinistic kinda guy, and I think the buyer ought to beware. Do your best and don't be an asshole, but everyone knows that advertising is all promises promises. But there's just no way accommodate everyone's stupidity.

Still, I don't want to lie to people, or trick them (Cigarettes are healthy! Mel Gibson loves the Jews! This bank account is a great deal!). And what they want us to do is tell people who don't know any better that this savings account is FUN! and HEY, A EURO ISN'T THAT MUCH ANYWAY! and YOU'LL WIN A LOT AND GET RICH! Which is okay if you're the national lottery, but not so cool if you're a bank who's supposed to be telling people how best to handle their money. Hmph.

Then the account folks pointed us to our lawyer (THAT's always a good sign) if we have questions about what we can and can't say. So I talked to Christian. Turns out it's legal to offer accounts like this, but it's not legal to advertise them. Or at least, it's not legal to say things like you're gonna get RICH from GAMBLING with us. He also said that the client knows all this, but they want to make ads anyway. I guess they figure they can either a) get away with it, or b) get caught, pay a fine, and still basically get away with it. Great.

So I let all that brew in my brain for a bit, while Ricardo and I tried to find good angles to sell a product that we both know is pretty lame. We came up with some initial ideas, nothing spectacular, and I kept whining (internally) about it. So I talked to Christian some more.

Turns out, he's got one of these accounts with another bank. Same deal - no interest, and twenty percent of what he puts in goes into the lottery. Every two weeks they do a bunch of drawings, and he's won a couple of times. Usually he wins €5 or less, and a couple of times he's won €50. He said that he's probably broken even. And that it's kinda fun. Huh. Christian's not a retard... he's pretty smart. Made it through law school and ever'thang.

So that pretty much took all the wind out of the sails on my little ship of righteousness. Meanwhile, Ricardo and I have a pile of ads that are kinda funny, and not too dastardly. We present them tomorrow... I'm sure most of them will get kicked out, especially the ones that make outright gambling references... and the one that shows a hand with outstretched fingers against a white background. The pinky finger is missing and the copy says "If this were our bank you could win back up to 150,000 fingers or maybe a car!"

That shit is genius.

Oh, Flickr

Cold hotties
Originally uploaded by Women, Fire & Dangerous Things.

Sometimes, you're just browsing through Flickr, and you find something like this, and you're all "WTF?" and then after a few minutes, you're still all "WTF?"

Help me Lionel, you're my only hope.

As of this moment, right here, tonight, my upstairs neighbor has lost the right to complain about the volume of my music/television/whatever. He's lost the right completely, and he's lost it forever. Whatever weirdo modern day musical game show in front of a live studio audience he's watching is coming loud and clear through the thick cement walls of our building. And the only thing louder than the TV is his booming voice that occasionally yells, and often sings along. I'm picturing a fat old guy with broken hearing aids and a drinking problem.

This is one of the rare cases where I am lucky to be a foreigner in a foreign land; the only way this could be more annoying or distracting, would be if I understood the voices coming out of the television.

Funny - I just wrote that run-on sentence, and now I'm hearing an ad for the upcoming Lionel Richie concert here in Hamburg. I totally wanted to go, but the tickets start at 85 euros. Sorry Lionel, but I can't afford to dance on that ceiling. Perhaps I'll you can sing me to sleep instead... through my headphones at full volume.

Saturday

I managed to escape the relentless savage of my own sloth, the warm embrace of Ikea sheets ("What's the thread count?" asked Diana. "Don't be a snob", I replied), and mild depression caused by frigid temperatures, and go out into the world today. More specifically, I made it into my 'hood, Ottensen, found a cafe, ate a pizza, and drank 0.2 liter of Coca Cola (mmmm, capitalism tastes delicious).

A few tables away, there's a pair of parents with a little kid, and the kid has been coughing for thirty minutes minutes straight. And not little dry throat, it's-that-time-of-the-year, something's-going-around coughing, but serious, phlegmy, choking on a fishbone, Heimlich maneuver, hocking-up-green-goo coughing. There is something inside this child, it's gooey, it wants out now, and it's trying to make a run for it via his esauphogus. I guess he isn't choking, because he's still managing to shovel pancakes in to his face while not turning blue. But goddamn. Either this kid hasn't yet learned how to swallow, or he's developing cystic fibrosis right here in front of everyone. And the parents are just looking right past it and into their newspapers. And I feel like yelling: oh my god, sweep his throat, smack his back, tell him to raise his arms above his head for crying out loud. 'Cause this has got to stop. When child services arrives, I will not defend you!

In other news, GODDAMN, it's been cold lately. We were several weeks into an oddly warm winter (temps in the 40s, which is no big deal if you've got a good coat) when suddenly, one afternoon, it dropped to 19. 19! That's cold. The difference between 40 and 19 is 21. But obviously, the difference manifests itself in other ways...

Water: you wash your hands in 40 degree water; you drop 19 degree water into a drink to keep it cool.

Bike riding: 40 degrees means you wear gloves, and a coat over your t-shirt. When you arrive, you're sweaty and you have to take off the coat immediately. 19 degrees means you add another layer in between, add a scarf, and put a hat under the helmet, and when you arrive you stand next to the radiator and wait patiently for you fingers to thaw out so you can take off the jacket.

Words, capitalizations, and punctuation: Jeez turns into FUCK, and you add an exclamation point, as in: FUCK, it's cold!

And it snowed for real for the first time all season (apparently it snowed a bit in December while I was gone, but it only lasted a few minutes). As usual, it was pretty for a few minutes, and then it was a slushly, muddy, messy, icy pain in the ass. I just can't get past my cynicism towards snow; sure it's pretty, and it's neat how it falls so quietly... and then when you have to leave your insulated office and do anything out doors, it's a thousand times more annoying than it should be. I never think of nature as vindictive, except for when it snows, melts, and freezes. I've fallen off my bike twice; you shouldn't need metal spikes in your bike tires, that's just not right.

But whatever, I'll figure it out. The sun is out today, so that makes it a lot easier to cope with the cold.

It's finally getting cold.

It's finally getting cold.
Originally uploaded by dpieracci.

Well, the temperature finally got to where it's supposed to be at this time of the year. 19 is a lot colder than 40, and there was ice on roofs and cars. This morning was the coldest bike ride so far; my fingers and toes are still feeling it.

I knew it!

From the Häagen-Dazs entry on Wikipedia:

Contrary to common belief, the name is not European; it is simply two made-up words meant to look European to American eyes. This is known in the marketing industry as foreign branding ... The playful spelling devices in the name invoke the spelling systems used in several European countries. "ä" (an Umlaut) is used in the spelling of German, Finnish, Slovak and Swedish language, doubled vowel letters spell long vowels in Finnish, Dutch, and occasionally German; and zs corresponds to /ʒ/ (as in vision) in Hungarian.

I knew it! Partly because I think someone told me once. Anyway, it's still delicious, but not as delicious as Ben & Jerry's (which, by the way, was named after two real people).

Welcome, Sabine

One of the things I like best about Sabine is her name. See, in America we would simply say suh-BEAN, which gets the job done, but it's a bit, well, flaccid. It kinda just ker-PLUNKS right out of your mouth. But here In Germany, where the Germans speak German and switch the S's to Z's and give every vowel its very own syllable, suh-BEAN becomes zuh-BEE-nuh. Mmmmm, now we're talking! Go ahead and say it out loud - and then purr like a cat who just found a sunbeam. Yummy. And if you don't think she deserves such a sultry name, then you must not have seen her shoes last night.

Sidenote: Some of her friends call her BEE-nuh for short, which is adorable, but impossible for me because BEE-nuh sounds way too much like BEE-ner, or beaner, which is what you call Mexican kids when you want to get your ass kicked in PE class. I tried it once, and thought Sonny Gonzales was going to fly into Hamburg just to spit on my locker again. We'll have none of that.

Anyways, last night we celebrated Zuh-BEE-nuh's thirtieth birthday at a cool little bar in Eimsbüttel. It was fun, and we drank and hung out and watched a little slide show put together by her hip photographer boyfriend. So welcome, sweet Zuh-BEE-nuh, to thirty. We're glad to have you.

Oh, I went to bed at 5am (how you like me now?) and slept 'til noon. Rock 'n roll, baby.

4 Things to be happy about today

1. On January 1 a new rule in Germany went into effect that allowed... wait for it... stores to stay open as long as they want! Outstanding. It's like they read my mind, and I'd personally like to welcome Germany to the nineties, on behalf of all Americans. The change meant that I could swing by the local Rewe and pick up some muesli, yogurt, chocolate, and Pringles (they're like America all over my mouth).

2. The first half of the day was busy, but the second half was relaxed. So my partner Ricardo and I became Flickr friends (aw, group hug!), and took pictures of what's inside our bags for the What's in your bag? pool. I've always wanted to do that, and I don't know why it took so long. For some weird Web2.0/RealityTV/OCD reason it feels good to organize the contents of my (favorite) bag, take a picture and share it with the world. Maybe because I really like that bag and most of the stuff inside. Like that all-in-one tool... I love knowing that I can adjust all the important stuff on my bike AND build Ikea furniture at all times. As my old friend Craig would say, titties.

3. While we were at it, I took a pic of our office, and Ricardo posted it. Gee whiz I love standing on desks.

4. I'm in our kitchen, sitting on a chair at the little blue kitchen table. I know that doesn't sound like a very big deal, but it feels like forever since I've had a place to sit down with my computer and write something (outside of work of course). I don't have a desk or a chair in my room. And until Tuesday night, the kitchen was empty and waiting for Ikea to deliver. But then they did, and now there's places for stuff and the washing machine works and we can boil water and I can sit in a chair and life is grand. It's the simple things, man.

Happy New Year

Just about to head out to get a bite to eat after a very lazy New Year's Day. I put on my jacket and hat, grabbed my iPod, set it to shuffle and hit play. What popped up? Babyshambles, The 32nd of December. Nice.

YouTubeTastic

I updated the video of me shaving off the beard... here it is in all its glory. I think the music adds a nice touch, and I'm ready to stop fooling around with it now. I still don't know why it's all fuzzy and gray in the beginning... that stuff is showing up after my Mp4 file is uploaded and YouTube-ified. Anyone know how to fix that?

New Years Resolutions

So I asked my friend Erik if he had any New Years resolutions, and he said "No way man. I don't believe in that shit."

The silly thing (one of the many, anyway) about NYRs is that when I write them, I actually think that I'll refer back to them as the new year progresses. Like I'll be at a bakery in October, and point at the marzapan/almond/darkchocolate/death bar, but just as the lady in the paper hat reaches for it with her thongs, I'll be like No, wait! I made a new years resolution to eat less fat and fewer carbs! I'll just chew on my lips instead*. As if.

Stop using my brakes so much. I took my trusty bicycle to the shop last week for some maintenance. The rear wheel had three broken spokes, and had gone all wobbly. While he was checking things over, bike shop dude Ricky said my brake pads were shot, and it was definitely time for a new pair. Ah, so that's where all those scraping noises were coming from. I've only had the bike for like eight months, and I've already gone through a set of brake pads? That sees fast to me, but it's not entirely unexpected. I've always been heavy on brakes, literally and metaphorically speaking; riding my bike around town, going through life in general, I always want to ease off the throttle and onto the brakes just in case... stick to my comfort zone, well witnin the performance envelope. And more often than not, it turns out to be unnecessary. How many times have I said to myself You shoulda a just relaxed and gone with the flow? Many times. So I resolve to let it flow a little more. Not too much, I don't want to get run over by a bus or ride off a cliff or anything. But really, let's not make life (or commuting) any more difficult and encumbered than it already is. Let go of the brakes. Relax. Go with the flow. Glide forward.

Learn German. When I was bouncing around Europe for school, I didn't have to learn the language. What's the point, I would ask myself, if I'm just gonna leave in three months anyway? If I felt a little isolated, I could retreat to my English speaking friends and classmates. But this time, it's long term. I'm in Germany, surrounded by Germans speaking German, and I gotta get with the program. It's gonna suck ass, but the alternative is sad and pathetic and kind of embarassing. So. I will go to class and do my best. I will allow myself to fuck up and fumble in front of a live studio audience of native speakers. I will keep in mind that they want to understand me just as much as I want to make myself understood. I will learn German.

Less stewing, more dealing. When something bad happens, I stew. I think and consider and contemplate and weigh and worry, and nine times out of ten, none of that shit helps. What would help? To make some phone calls, ask some questions, get some info. Can't move on unless you deal with what you're dealt. So I'm gonna do better with that in 2007.

Write, compose, sing, record a real rock song. Recently I've met all these people who are musicians in their spare time, and have recording studios in their basement/attic/spareroom/whatever. I'd love to write some songs and put them together. If I could write some music that makes me happy, that would rock. If it makes the audience happy, even better.

Write more stories. What can I say? Practice makes perfect. Or less sucky, at least. I should post small stories here for the world to see.

Shave off the beard, post a video on YouTube. Oops, just did that.


* I will never make this one of my  new year's resolution unless ordered to do so by a physician.

2006

Things that happened to me in 2006 (in no particular order):

Lived in London, Hamburg, San Jose and Hamburg.

Got a job, officially starting my new career. Hard to believe that two years ago I was waylaid in cubicle hell wishing I'd get laid off.

Learned a lot about advertising and how to write. And I still need to learn so much more.

Worked with really great people like Grant, Sebastian, Erik, Jens, and Pablo. Good people, good brains, good ideas. Fucking great art directors.

Fell in love, got my heartbroken, lived to tell about it.

Made a whole bunch of new German friends.

Moved to Europe, permanently. I live in Europe!

Bought a nice bicycle, and officially re-integrated cycling into my life.

Got hit by a car while riding that nice bicycle. The bike was fine. I was fine after three weeks or so of hobbling and healing.

Bought a lot of really cool clothes, including the most expensive pair of jeans ever. Fucking Diesel. I never cared about clothes until the last two years or so... but these days I really dig my wardrobe.

Turned 30. Oddly, I'm having more luck with women now than at any other age so far.

Rediscovered the joys of Gran Turismo, playing catch with good friends, and riding my bike at night.

Saw Babyshambles and Tool in concert. Babyshambles was excellent - Pete actually showed up, was only a little drugged out. The performance was raw and honest. Tool wasn't as good as it should have been. Sonically spotless, but they felt disengaged... like they'd rather be at home watching TV.

Reconnected with the fabulous Romines, the ever beautiful Cassie, and my old friend Phil.

Experienced World Cup Germany, in Germany. It was great! The world descended upon Hamburg (and a bunch of other German cities) and partied for three weeks straight. The German team did so well - finishing up in third place overall - and the whole thing was fabulous.

Travelled to Berlin, Frankfurt, Amsterdam, San Francisco. That's not really enough though... I need to travel more.

Welcome to LAX.

After 30 minutes in LA:

Celebrity Sightings: 1

So I was about to turn left and exit the 747 that carried me from London to LA, when I looked up and there was Jack Black. He looked just like he does in pictures - short, stout, scruffy face, Nirvana t-shirt. He said something about finding the "coat check" (he wasn't talking to me). He looked at me, I looked at him and smiled, and went on my way.

Tiny Dogs carried in Small bags: 2

Come on people. That's not pet ownership, that's a fetish.

How to tell you're at an American airport:

When the ticket agent tells you how to get to your gate, and her instructions include the phrase "Turn left at the Chilis"

I got so drunk last night!

That's a sentence I don't get to use too often, so I'm going to use it as many times as I can in this post, 'cause man, I got so drunk last night!

I got so drunk last night! It was the Miami Ad School end-of-quarter party, and it was at this cool club on the Reeperbahn. The place must have been an apartment building in a former life, because, well, it totally looked like an apartment building. They took each floor, painted it with heavy duty paint, mounted funky fixtures and solid furniture (hard to break, easy to clean vomit off of) installed some speakers and opened for business. It was a great place to get drunk, and I got so drunk last night.

The drinks were free at first, and that always makes me realize how much cost gets in the way of my intoxication. I just can't stand to watch money flow out of my wallet for something I don't want that badly. But if the drinks are free, it's bottoms up baby! I got so drunk last night! I started off with gin and tonic, which I like because it's just lemony and fizzy enough for me to fool myself into believing that it's tasty and refreshing. Plus, it's not beer. Plus, gin is strong. I got so totally drunk last night! I had two gin and tonics, and three shots of Jägermeister.

I haven't found too many liquors that are as divisive as Jägermeister. People either love it or hate it because of the flavor (though both will drink it until they pass out naked in a corner, so whatever). You have to like black licorice*, and that's the polarizing part. I've been a big fan ever since Amsterdam, where black licorice is plentiful and varied. They actually have candy that's licorice-y, and salty. Which seems so galactically fucked up, until I tried it a few times (it takes a few times), and I started to like it. So Jägermeister is like really sweet licorice that fucks you up. Excellent. I got so drunk last night.

I got so drunk last night! But I don't blame the Jägermeister as much as I blame Teresa. She's so damn cute and flirty and completely off limits to me for a number of reasons I won't go into here. But she's fun to talk to, and she goaded me into drinking shot after shot after shot (literally - we had three... I'm such a fucking lightweight). I got so drunk last night! For an hour or two I could barely stand up and I had to lean against things like the radiator, the bar, the wall, Sebastian, it was crazy. I got so drunk last night!

I got so drunk last night, it was crazy. Everything was funny, like someone turned up the comedy dial. All my cares and worries faded away so I could concentrate on important things like looking down Teresa's shirt  and not falling on my ass. It was awesome. I got so drunk last night.

I got so drunk last night! I got home at 3:30 or so, still tipsy, stomach all gurgly. I felt kinda like I was going to throw up, but I wasn't sure if that was because I was going to throw up, or because I couldn't stop thinking about throwing up. I slept restlessly, and ended up waking up before my alarm clock and getting to work earlier than I have for the last three weeks, because I was so paranoid about over sleeping and showing up way too late because I got so drunk last night.

I got so drunk last night!


* I just realized that the term black licorice is redundant. All licorice is black licorice. Red licorice isn't licorice, it's a lie. A sweet, delicious lie.

Vienna here I come

I've been working on headlines for Austrian Airlines today, and I was just doing some research on Vienna. Vienna is, of course, famous for many things including Viennese coffee served in Viennese cafes. Here's a little tidbit on Viennese cafes I found on Wikipedia:

Along with coffee, the waiter will serve an obligatory glass of cold tap water and during a long stay will often bring additional water unrequested.

That's what I'm talking about! Any country that brings me tap water without any attitude automatically gains my love and admiration.

Here's a little test

I've been messing around with different blogging clients lately, and today I'm trying MarsEdit. So far it looks pretty good... let's see if I can actually post with this mofo...

It works!