In which we are told we can have anything we want.*
Sounds like you could get some good goulash with that card.
You’re getting less and less disguised in your videos. Also, I don’t think those are poison ivy leaves on your shirt…
I don’t believe such a thing exists.
I doubt it’s poison ivy–that’s my very favorite Hawaiian shirt, which I inherited from my grandpa ten years ago this August. There was an event at my kids’ school, so I had to wear office clothes.
Oh, I was worried your shirt was advertising a different type of plant. Or should I say weed…
I wondered if you thought that, but figured I must be mistaken as the leaves on my shirt look nothing like the demon weed. And I realize that your expertise lies in people’s bodies and not plants, but c’mon!
Honestly, though–I don’t advertise. I do have a T-Shirt that says “FREE WEED,” but that actually is more of a joke about the State of Jefferson secessionist movement in Northern California. I’m not a stoner (and please don’t take this response to be angry or defensive; it is simply an explanation)–I’m not into the burnout celebration of inertia and inactivity, and I’m too old for getting fucked up. I have three boys whom I’m trying to help raise into upstanding men, and part of that is being a man they can look up to. I do use and enjoy marijuana regularly, but I’m not a stoner.
I do know what the various plants look like (at least those that people should stay away from given the health risks). I’m just messing with you.
You’re preaching to the choir. I’ve long been vocal about the health risks associated with ivies. People think it’s just poison ivy, but they’re all bad!
Good you made it out of the kiosk. And what’s the cowboy’s phone number? He said he was waiting.
I delivered the package to Monkeywrench on the bridge, then fled via the Uruguayan Embassy.
“Thanks Count” — that elicited an audible over here, Smak! Good one! This also made me think of Zsa Zsa Gabor, even though I much preferred her sister, Eva. and now the theme song from “Green Acres” is playing inside my head. Back to your encounter in the kiosk, I think your visit made their day. They probably got a hard on yanking visitors from the West — and they probably made a nice Hungarian Fone Kard profit from select suckers.
Thanks, V! Yeah, I’m sure they’d been polishing that nugget for just this occasion. Hungary was an interesting country at the time, because it was horribly depressed, and the Yankee Dollar went a very long way. It was an unnerving experience, because, although I don’t come from a wealthy background at all, for that brief time (& under those circumstances) I was about as “wealthy” as I’m likely ever to be. People would do backflips for me, and were embarrassingly fawning and ingratiating, but in their eyes was barely checked hostility. You might imagine I was being hypersensitive, but I think I was a pretty perceptive guy, even then. I don’t think I was wrong.
I think your instincts were probably spot on Smak. are you familiar with the Hungarian filmmaker, Bela Tarr? Back in 2011 Milton and I saw his last film (he’s not dead; he seems to have retired from filmmaking and he’s not old), The Turin Horse. If you’ve nothing better to do, you might want to check out what we thought of it when we saw it at the New York Film Festival in 2011:
But I highly doubt you’ll want to NetFlix it with the boys and Mrs. Smak … unless everyone was sky high on Alice B. Toklas brownies.
unless everyone was sky high on Alice B. Toklas brownies.
There’s really only one guy in our household who’s into that.
I hadn’t heard of Bela Tarr, and after reading your review of the film I’m oddly curious. I don’t watch many movies–usually only during my lunch break, so it will probably be a while before I make the attempt, although that’s probably just as well.
And I remember the fruit brandy you mention in the review–I tried it when I was in Budapest. Pear brandy I believe it was. It was all right, but they were all jazzed about it, so I “oohed” and “aahed.” I didn’t want these people to kill me in my sleep and sell my organs on the black market.
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