Part 41: Dark of Heartness (part 1)
Once upon a time in the West
........
Dr. Hunter S. Thompson: "Nice to see you, Dave..."
DD: "What´s with the upturned, bandaged thumb?"
Hunter: "...I was cooking a fish...but it was still alive."
DD: "The thumb?"
H: "The fish, idiot!"
DD: "Do you have a pond?"
H: "Pond?"
DD: "...For the fresh fish...?"
H: (coughing)...Nooo. It was a "Bhudistic"... fish."
DD: "Bhudistic fish?..."
H: "Yeah. They keep comming back!"
DD: "No shit!?"
martins room, augsburg, frickin deutscheland, our man, dave guy, lol...
Thursday, March 3, 2011
OUR MAN in EUROPE: part 41: a short history of Rock & Roll
Part 41: a short history of Rock & Roll
...What did Bob Dylan really think when he first heard (that disco-esque):
"Whad´a´ya gonna do...if you REALLY wanna dance...(with your back up ´gainst the wall)?`..."
c 2011, mar/davedelacroix/OLD SIMON bar/Freiburg/our man in europe
...What did Bob Dylan really think when he first heard (that disco-esque):
"Whad´a´ya gonna do...if you REALLY wanna dance...(with your back up ´gainst the wall)?`..."
c 2011, mar/davedelacroix/OLD SIMON bar/Freiburg/our man in europe
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
OUR MAN in EUROPE: part 40: the rules of engagement
Part 40: the rules of engagement
...just in case I croak on this trip; my tips for fellow Buskers/strasse musikers
!) Play NON busy periods, never lunch-rush hours.
2) Always sit, public above you
3) Dont make eye contact unless approached
4) Choose quiet (main street) spots with passing traffic; i.e. never by bus stops AND Cinema queues are over-rated
5) Cold weather always best. Competition stays home
6) NEVER hand over your guitar to anyone!
7) Always pocket big money/copper money-change OR non-cash gifts (fruit, food, etc)
8) Look clean, dont drink
9) If you attract a crowd, stop playing/pack it in/take a long Smoke break (stare em in the eyes)
10) keep an eye on your money/keep it close/dont expose more than 3 or 4 coins, look poor
11) Always DEMAND money from people who photo/film you
12) Never waste time "chatting" to folks UNLESS they donate major Ducats
13) Stop playing if a panhandler or scum-bag "hang-outer" is loitering.
14) Always BE alone. Friends with you dont help...and dont encourage "jam sessions" with other guitar folks. They probably suck or dont UNDERSTAND the Street
15) Xmas-New Year is ($) Prime Time.
16) Dont be territorial. It´s a big world
17) Always say: "Thank you"
18)Night time is MORE profitable...but more dangerous... drunks/thieves, etc
19) Dress warm/sit on carboard-newspapers
20) KEEP MUSIC SIMPLE
21) When you are DONE, tired out, too cold...always play a song or 2 for the Street: a "thank you"/kharma deal....do it.
c 2011, dave del, ouzr man in europe, nurnburg.
...just in case I croak on this trip; my tips for fellow Buskers/strasse musikers
!) Play NON busy periods, never lunch-rush hours.
2) Always sit, public above you
3) Dont make eye contact unless approached
4) Choose quiet (main street) spots with passing traffic; i.e. never by bus stops AND Cinema queues are over-rated
5) Cold weather always best. Competition stays home
6) NEVER hand over your guitar to anyone!
7) Always pocket big money/copper money-change OR non-cash gifts (fruit, food, etc)
8) Look clean, dont drink
9) If you attract a crowd, stop playing/pack it in/take a long Smoke break (stare em in the eyes)
10) keep an eye on your money/keep it close/dont expose more than 3 or 4 coins, look poor
11) Always DEMAND money from people who photo/film you
12) Never waste time "chatting" to folks UNLESS they donate major Ducats
13) Stop playing if a panhandler or scum-bag "hang-outer" is loitering.
14) Always BE alone. Friends with you dont help...and dont encourage "jam sessions" with other guitar folks. They probably suck or dont UNDERSTAND the Street
15) Xmas-New Year is ($) Prime Time.
16) Dont be territorial. It´s a big world
17) Always say: "Thank you"
18)Night time is MORE profitable...but more dangerous... drunks/thieves, etc
19) Dress warm/sit on carboard-newspapers
20) KEEP MUSIC SIMPLE
21) When you are DONE, tired out, too cold...always play a song or 2 for the Street: a "thank you"/kharma deal....do it.
c 2011, dave del, ouzr man in europe, nurnburg.
OUR MAN in EUROPE: part 39: Stalker
Part 39: Stalker
His name was Artemis Blagovich-Smith. In your tepid life....you might have met him. A vagabond of the first order. Miscellenious wardrobe; part hippy, part military. Always has money. Never has Cash. A close friend of no-one; knows EVERYBODY.
Rumors abound, he once robbed the BANK OF AMERICA (computer fraud), killed a Man...or he is frequently reported "quite dead" (drunk?), no: but passed on.
Naturally, he always shows up...like a Frank Sinatra "Farewell" concert and draws the Glitteratti like the proverbial magnet, yet appears to shun it (the limelight) and be YOUR only best friend.
(You might have met him?)
He`s on Facebook, My Book, Your Book, Twitters like a maniac, Chinese "whassit?, Linked-in to your Pet Canary.
(...you might wanna monitor your Pet Canary`s E-mail...leastways, your Daughter`s, or check for missing change/credit cards, off the bedroom dresser....?...Did he crash on your couch once? Your car keys?... Missing Lexus?.... No matter.
And yet in this psycho-culture-demographic character...who - I feel - has actually been stalking ME (of all people) in my last months here in Europe, I dont fall under his spell, but...compared to the average "dick-head" who you "oft" encounter in cities like Denver, on streeets like East Colfax, and who affect you NOT! -Atemis Blagovich-Smith is a breath of fresh air...and his diatribe of dialogue and perverse observations are "to die for"...
...and for THIS....
he is blessed.
.....And "whom" to YOU - on & off", here in this blog-book... I will introduce...thru the social safety of cyber-space.
God forbid I give HIM your actual address...
By x by: What IS your address?
And the name of your daughters?
Atemis Blagovich-Smith.
(Watch out!)
It`s a Stalker`s World.
c. davedelacroix, The Magi revisired. Augsburg. 2011, our dude in Bayern.
His name was Artemis Blagovich-Smith. In your tepid life....you might have met him. A vagabond of the first order. Miscellenious wardrobe; part hippy, part military. Always has money. Never has Cash. A close friend of no-one; knows EVERYBODY.
Rumors abound, he once robbed the BANK OF AMERICA (computer fraud), killed a Man...or he is frequently reported "quite dead" (drunk?), no: but passed on.
Naturally, he always shows up...like a Frank Sinatra "Farewell" concert and draws the Glitteratti like the proverbial magnet, yet appears to shun it (the limelight) and be YOUR only best friend.
(You might have met him?)
He`s on Facebook, My Book, Your Book, Twitters like a maniac, Chinese "whassit?, Linked-in to your Pet Canary.
(...you might wanna monitor your Pet Canary`s E-mail...leastways, your Daughter`s, or check for missing change/credit cards, off the bedroom dresser....?...Did he crash on your couch once? Your car keys?... Missing Lexus?.... No matter.
And yet in this psycho-culture-demographic character...who - I feel - has actually been stalking ME (of all people) in my last months here in Europe, I dont fall under his spell, but...compared to the average "dick-head" who you "oft" encounter in cities like Denver, on streeets like East Colfax, and who affect you NOT! -Atemis Blagovich-Smith is a breath of fresh air...and his diatribe of dialogue and perverse observations are "to die for"...
...and for THIS....
he is blessed.
.....And "whom" to YOU - on & off", here in this blog-book... I will introduce...thru the social safety of cyber-space.
God forbid I give HIM your actual address...
By x by: What IS your address?
And the name of your daughters?
Atemis Blagovich-Smith.
(Watch out!)
It`s a Stalker`s World.
c. davedelacroix, The Magi revisired. Augsburg. 2011, our dude in Bayern.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 38: ALWAYS READ the small print
Part 38: ALWAYS READ the small print...
Shopping in Europe (OK girls. You knew I´d get around to this much loved travel activity at some point) is indeed a "pandoric" affair: WHEEEE!!!
Shoes, girls! Shoes!
And dresses...and leather jackets.
Boots! Jesus, yes! Boots!
Exotic stuff. Expensive stuff. Cheap stuff. Bargains! A Continent of "flea" markets!
Or?
You can mortgage your house and hit the major Euro (haute) fashion houses just to look "super-geil" (cool) if only for a (fashion) half-hour!
But...back to Earth, my OWN shopping sprees usually revolve around every day necessities: Cans of Soup. An onion. Basmati rice. Milk, coffee, beer & smokes!
I know. It´s (shoppingly) pitiful.
OK. I ocassionally spring for a new guitar.
...Biggest problem for THIS "sad sap", however, (on the road) is that I´m an impatient shopper; a typical guy.
I never shop for food unless I´m starving, or "jones-ing" for a brew? -only after a 3 day enforced drought (due to penury)...whereby it´s: "Just gimme that frickin´ 6 pack. I´m dying, here!"
-slapping cash on the counter: "Make it snappy, Happy!"
So it will come as NO surprise to "y´all" that when I think I´ve bought a slab of beef, it´s pork...or worse: Soy-tofu! And TWICE on this memorable (sic) Euro-trip I´ve hiked TWO FRICKIN MILES (...AND BACK) to the nearest brew outlet only to find I`ve purchased alcohol-FREE suds, or something called "Radner" (Radler?) which is Pilsner beer mixed with lime juice or god knows what?
Suicidal moments, dear ones, I can tell you.
Cos', like (dude!?) who the frick reads the labels, especially ones IN German, where every label-posted word is TEN syllables long?
"FURSTEN-BRACKEN-BOMISCHES-LÖWEN-
YOUR-BRAU-ROTHAUS-GANTER-BITBURGER-
CITY-BABY-STEIN!"
(alkohol frei)
I mean!?... C´mon!...?
And oddly (lol), these 2 beer purchase mishaps BOTH happened (one in Summer, one in Winter) whilst residing in the South of Germany in Baden-Wurttemberg; actually, the Schwarzwald (Black Forest), a guest of my old Roman Holiday friend, St. Thomas (von Freiburg), who had not so much a "Schloss" (castle or mansion) but almost a Ski Lodge affair with many rooms be-decked with hunting trophies...taxi-dermied to almost "born-again Christian" living excellence!... And thank god my OWN room in this somewhat vast hospice had it´s own bathroom as I would - middle of the night/needing a pee - never have found my way back to my sleeping post.
St. Thomas, these days, incidentally, long since "hied" from a proletarian/bohemian existence...and, to re-iterate, I had known him 7 years previous, in my Roman Holiday (Veni, Vidi, I CRASHED!) days; then, a stalwart of the Freiburg I. Breisgau/Atlantic bar (which still exists), habituee.
Recalled by circumstances/family obligations to his roots (the Schwarzwald), he was still lean, tall (6`- 4"), with scraggy black hair, be-spectackled (test-tackled?) like a dotty professor...and now the "Laird" of his family´s domain; forever attired in flannel shirt, Jodpur pants, riding boots (he stabled a dozen horses). A Hunter! And ever, EVER accompanied by 2 Great Dame hounds; guns, muskets, crossbows decorating his den/study....sharp of wit, quick of humour, though he was a "mensch" who would rarely explode with laughter.
His style was...deadpan.
A huge drinker, of course. Beer, booze. An afficionado of gentle wines; cigars, always!
Anyhow, (French Horns resounding) this epitome of a German hunting lodge was - though in need of a serious dusting/cobwebs in all the right places, not just in the wine cellar - was not without touches of antiquity, evident in St. Thomas´s array of ancestral portraits that punctuated one´s progress on the emphatically solid, grand oak (?) staircase that one ascended-descended twix sleep and waking activity.
About a dozen, if my memory serves me. All ornately framed of course. Some painted by worthy "kunstlers"; others, kind´a amateurish, least ways to MY eyes.
Subject with his horse.
Subject with hunting dogs.
One, seated, holding a bible/tome.
A parade of fashion history, too.
Knee britches. Thigh-high riding boots (with spurs). A three cornered hat, etc., etc. And some of these "snaps" in Oils were reasonably antique; the earliest dated 1725.
One evening, after a select gathering had dined on a spit of recently killed wild boar and some choice clarets, post brandy-cigars, St. Thomas and I viewed this gallery of "dead souls", relaxed (stoned?), and in our cups.
I remark that one of the earliest portrait subject reminded me of Voltaire...?
St.T: "The family knew him, of course."
Me: "Who?"
St.T: ""Voltaire."
ME: "You don´t say?" -my mouth agape, no doubt.
"Indeed:" he continued, dryly, "I believe there´s a picture...in the hallway, by your sleeping quarters." -at which point, the hour being late, he nodded reverently and bade me "good night" and "sleep well", he and his faithful hounds retiring to his den/study.
So, quite indolent from the evening´s sumptuous fare and convivial activity, the other dinner guests having long since departed or posted to their beds, I make for my own, yet resolve to keep my mental "porch light" on so as to note "The Voltaire" in the small corridor leading to my guest room... And am in no way surprised to discover it not ten feet from my very door.
Silly me, for not noticing it before...!
It was a smallish picture. 2 feet by 18 inches, or thereabouts. Gold-gilt edged, ornate frame, illuminated quite softly by an overhead, sunk-ceiling spot light.
Quite respectable and a perfect representation in every way.
Black & White, of course.
The subject, Voltaire (looking uncannily like St. Thomas) in full 18th century regalia, leaning on the hood of a Mercedez-Benz convertible...yakking into a Blackberry Cell phone.
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/Offenburg-germany
Shopping in Europe (OK girls. You knew I´d get around to this much loved travel activity at some point) is indeed a "pandoric" affair: WHEEEE!!!
Shoes, girls! Shoes!
And dresses...and leather jackets.
Boots! Jesus, yes! Boots!
Exotic stuff. Expensive stuff. Cheap stuff. Bargains! A Continent of "flea" markets!
Or?
You can mortgage your house and hit the major Euro (haute) fashion houses just to look "super-geil" (cool) if only for a (fashion) half-hour!
But...back to Earth, my OWN shopping sprees usually revolve around every day necessities: Cans of Soup. An onion. Basmati rice. Milk, coffee, beer & smokes!
I know. It´s (shoppingly) pitiful.
OK. I ocassionally spring for a new guitar.
...Biggest problem for THIS "sad sap", however, (on the road) is that I´m an impatient shopper; a typical guy.
I never shop for food unless I´m starving, or "jones-ing" for a brew? -only after a 3 day enforced drought (due to penury)...whereby it´s: "Just gimme that frickin´ 6 pack. I´m dying, here!"
-slapping cash on the counter: "Make it snappy, Happy!"
So it will come as NO surprise to "y´all" that when I think I´ve bought a slab of beef, it´s pork...or worse: Soy-tofu! And TWICE on this memorable (sic) Euro-trip I´ve hiked TWO FRICKIN MILES (...AND BACK) to the nearest brew outlet only to find I`ve purchased alcohol-FREE suds, or something called "Radner" (Radler?) which is Pilsner beer mixed with lime juice or god knows what?
Suicidal moments, dear ones, I can tell you.
Cos', like (dude!?) who the frick reads the labels, especially ones IN German, where every label-posted word is TEN syllables long?
"FURSTEN-BRACKEN-BOMISCHES-LÖWEN-
YOUR-BRAU-ROTHAUS-GANTER-BITBURGER-
CITY-BABY-STEIN!"
(alkohol frei)
I mean!?... C´mon!...?
And oddly (lol), these 2 beer purchase mishaps BOTH happened (one in Summer, one in Winter) whilst residing in the South of Germany in Baden-Wurttemberg; actually, the Schwarzwald (Black Forest), a guest of my old Roman Holiday friend, St. Thomas (von Freiburg), who had not so much a "Schloss" (castle or mansion) but almost a Ski Lodge affair with many rooms be-decked with hunting trophies...taxi-dermied to almost "born-again Christian" living excellence!... And thank god my OWN room in this somewhat vast hospice had it´s own bathroom as I would - middle of the night/needing a pee - never have found my way back to my sleeping post.
St. Thomas, these days, incidentally, long since "hied" from a proletarian/bohemian existence...and, to re-iterate, I had known him 7 years previous, in my Roman Holiday (Veni, Vidi, I CRASHED!) days; then, a stalwart of the Freiburg I. Breisgau/Atlantic bar (which still exists), habituee.
Recalled by circumstances/family obligations to his roots (the Schwarzwald), he was still lean, tall (6`- 4"), with scraggy black hair, be-spectackled (test-tackled?) like a dotty professor...and now the "Laird" of his family´s domain; forever attired in flannel shirt, Jodpur pants, riding boots (he stabled a dozen horses). A Hunter! And ever, EVER accompanied by 2 Great Dame hounds; guns, muskets, crossbows decorating his den/study....sharp of wit, quick of humour, though he was a "mensch" who would rarely explode with laughter.
His style was...deadpan.
A huge drinker, of course. Beer, booze. An afficionado of gentle wines; cigars, always!
Anyhow, (French Horns resounding) this epitome of a German hunting lodge was - though in need of a serious dusting/cobwebs in all the right places, not just in the wine cellar - was not without touches of antiquity, evident in St. Thomas´s array of ancestral portraits that punctuated one´s progress on the emphatically solid, grand oak (?) staircase that one ascended-descended twix sleep and waking activity.
About a dozen, if my memory serves me. All ornately framed of course. Some painted by worthy "kunstlers"; others, kind´a amateurish, least ways to MY eyes.
Subject with his horse.
Subject with hunting dogs.
One, seated, holding a bible/tome.
A parade of fashion history, too.
Knee britches. Thigh-high riding boots (with spurs). A three cornered hat, etc., etc. And some of these "snaps" in Oils were reasonably antique; the earliest dated 1725.
One evening, after a select gathering had dined on a spit of recently killed wild boar and some choice clarets, post brandy-cigars, St. Thomas and I viewed this gallery of "dead souls", relaxed (stoned?), and in our cups.
I remark that one of the earliest portrait subject reminded me of Voltaire...?
St.T: "The family knew him, of course."
Me: "Who?"
St.T: ""Voltaire."
ME: "You don´t say?" -my mouth agape, no doubt.
"Indeed:" he continued, dryly, "I believe there´s a picture...in the hallway, by your sleeping quarters." -at which point, the hour being late, he nodded reverently and bade me "good night" and "sleep well", he and his faithful hounds retiring to his den/study.
So, quite indolent from the evening´s sumptuous fare and convivial activity, the other dinner guests having long since departed or posted to their beds, I make for my own, yet resolve to keep my mental "porch light" on so as to note "The Voltaire" in the small corridor leading to my guest room... And am in no way surprised to discover it not ten feet from my very door.
Silly me, for not noticing it before...!
It was a smallish picture. 2 feet by 18 inches, or thereabouts. Gold-gilt edged, ornate frame, illuminated quite softly by an overhead, sunk-ceiling spot light.
Quite respectable and a perfect representation in every way.
Black & White, of course.
The subject, Voltaire (looking uncannily like St. Thomas) in full 18th century regalia, leaning on the hood of a Mercedez-Benz convertible...yakking into a Blackberry Cell phone.
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/Offenburg-germany
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 37: Test-Tackles, part 2
Part 37: Test-Tackles, part 2
Call me crazy, but...
...speaking of which, and with YOU, dear blog-fan, and ONLY you, I must confide that - of late - I have been having a slight skin irritation in my "erogenous" zone, (jock-itch?) caused - I believe - partly (probably!) by stress and through travel; not shedding my clothes, 2 days at a time, plus binges & the "sweats"!
Georgie (Gold), and of late, recently released on his own cognizance, from the Linz haupt-kranken-haus, where - incidentally - he was much beloved by the swarms of skin-tight, white uniform-clad...and VERY nubile kranken-swesters...and, again...recently released with a clean bill of health...
(he was ...er, "in-turned" for a cocktail of Bohemian complaints)
....but suffers NO erogenous symptoms outside of really "jones-ing" for a pack of smokes & a keg of schnapps.
So! By pre-arrangement, I pick him up at the haupt-kranken-haus´s main portal using a super-market trolley cart, handing him a much needed bottle of Jack Daniels.
(the latter, "on loan" from the same market the shopping cart came from)
....And... "in the early morning rain"...in Linz...we go in search of an "ashtray" (smokey bar), hopefully open!
It´s, like... 6 a.m.
Of course (I love starting sentences with "of course"...like Soup, first on the menu).... Of course, "in-flight" conversation is initially polite, cursory, minimal. The weather? Your health? Got "laid" lately?, etc., but I DO - man to man - mention (out of the blue) my erogenous zone complaint and...due to Georgie´s (Georgie Gold´s) limited grasp of English, though IN CONCERT he is extremely eloquent...specify most pointedly that I am indeed referring, again, "specifically", to my Ball-bag, my testicles....which I immediately discover "testicles" is indeed a foreign word to the average Austrian, including Georgie von Gold.
Now, I DO say "in-flight" conversation as the trip from the haupt-kranken-haus to the nearest (open) bar in a supermarket trolley cart takes about 45 minutes, yet it´s Georgie (Prozac-Xanax-ed to the gills) riding in the cart, with a bottle of "Jack", cltuching a plastic bag filled with his "meds", and me...behind...Aqualung-scraggy, huffing & puffing, trying to navigate the blessed trolley-cart along cobbled streets, dodging potholes, etc., and LIKE Georgie (Georgie Gold) am "jones-ing" for a keg; in MY case? -Brewskies!
However! -in-flight conversation! My erogenous zone business. Ball.bag. Testicles!
Yup! That trick or treat bag that God gives to every boy at birth.... And, HOLY-MOLEY! -you´d better pray, Lads, it works!
Anyways:
Me: "Erogenous zone."
GG: "Vas!?"
ME: "Ball-bag!"
GG: "Soccer?"
ME: " TESTICLES!... And give me a slug of the `Jack`!"
I pause the "trek", catch breath, take a slug of J.D., fire up a "rollie", then push on ahead.
Rattle-rattle, cough-burp, along we go with the super-market (super?) trolley cart like 2 sacks of spuds (potatoes); one splayed IN the cart, the other (ME), huffing and pushing behind.
"Ha-ha!" exclaims Georgie, moments later.
Me: "Wha?"
GG: "Test-tackles!"
"Tess what?"
"TEST-TACKLES!!!"
Thinking Georgie has STILL got his mind on Soccer, least ways, Sports, I refrain from again pausing - to explain/clarify the venacular - and push double quick-time in the direction of a faded yellow neon that spells: BAR., ergo, WE (Georgie Gold & I) "test-tackle" at full speed-a´clatter, crash through the bar´s double doors, cart and all...where I park/abandon Georgie (in cart) AT the actual ancient wooden bar, hit the "john", then return to find his "One-ness" holding court with several all night, chain smoking, binge folks/GG-fans....
...and we, there-on, "test-tackle" our way through a couple of kegs/casks until mid-afternoon, which - of course! - is when the money runs out!
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/Schwarzwald-germany
Call me crazy, but...
...speaking of which, and with YOU, dear blog-fan, and ONLY you, I must confide that - of late - I have been having a slight skin irritation in my "erogenous" zone, (jock-itch?) caused - I believe - partly (probably!) by stress and through travel; not shedding my clothes, 2 days at a time, plus binges & the "sweats"!
Georgie (Gold), and of late, recently released on his own cognizance, from the Linz haupt-kranken-haus, where - incidentally - he was much beloved by the swarms of skin-tight, white uniform-clad...and VERY nubile kranken-swesters...and, again...recently released with a clean bill of health...
(he was ...er, "in-turned" for a cocktail of Bohemian complaints)
....but suffers NO erogenous symptoms outside of really "jones-ing" for a pack of smokes & a keg of schnapps.
So! By pre-arrangement, I pick him up at the haupt-kranken-haus´s main portal using a super-market trolley cart, handing him a much needed bottle of Jack Daniels.
(the latter, "on loan" from the same market the shopping cart came from)
....And... "in the early morning rain"...in Linz...we go in search of an "ashtray" (smokey bar), hopefully open!
It´s, like... 6 a.m.
Of course (I love starting sentences with "of course"...like Soup, first on the menu).... Of course, "in-flight" conversation is initially polite, cursory, minimal. The weather? Your health? Got "laid" lately?, etc., but I DO - man to man - mention (out of the blue) my erogenous zone complaint and...due to Georgie´s (Georgie Gold´s) limited grasp of English, though IN CONCERT he is extremely eloquent...specify most pointedly that I am indeed referring, again, "specifically", to my Ball-bag, my testicles....which I immediately discover "testicles" is indeed a foreign word to the average Austrian, including Georgie von Gold.
Now, I DO say "in-flight" conversation as the trip from the haupt-kranken-haus to the nearest (open) bar in a supermarket trolley cart takes about 45 minutes, yet it´s Georgie (Prozac-Xanax-ed to the gills) riding in the cart, with a bottle of "Jack", cltuching a plastic bag filled with his "meds", and me...behind...Aqualung-scraggy, huffing & puffing, trying to navigate the blessed trolley-cart along cobbled streets, dodging potholes, etc., and LIKE Georgie (Georgie Gold) am "jones-ing" for a keg; in MY case? -Brewskies!
However! -in-flight conversation! My erogenous zone business. Ball.bag. Testicles!
Yup! That trick or treat bag that God gives to every boy at birth.... And, HOLY-MOLEY! -you´d better pray, Lads, it works!
Anyways:
Me: "Erogenous zone."
GG: "Vas!?"
ME: "Ball-bag!"
GG: "Soccer?"
ME: " TESTICLES!... And give me a slug of the `Jack`!"
I pause the "trek", catch breath, take a slug of J.D., fire up a "rollie", then push on ahead.
Rattle-rattle, cough-burp, along we go with the super-market (super?) trolley cart like 2 sacks of spuds (potatoes); one splayed IN the cart, the other (ME), huffing and pushing behind.
"Ha-ha!" exclaims Georgie, moments later.
Me: "Wha?"
GG: "Test-tackles!"
"Tess what?"
"TEST-TACKLES!!!"
Thinking Georgie has STILL got his mind on Soccer, least ways, Sports, I refrain from again pausing - to explain/clarify the venacular - and push double quick-time in the direction of a faded yellow neon that spells: BAR., ergo, WE (Georgie Gold & I) "test-tackle" at full speed-a´clatter, crash through the bar´s double doors, cart and all...where I park/abandon Georgie (in cart) AT the actual ancient wooden bar, hit the "john", then return to find his "One-ness" holding court with several all night, chain smoking, binge folks/GG-fans....
...and we, there-on, "test-tackle" our way through a couple of kegs/casks until mid-afternoon, which - of course! - is when the money runs out!
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/Schwarzwald-germany
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 36: Test-Tackles, part 1
Part 36: Test-Tackles, part 1
I must hereby state - for a myriad of legal reasons - that this blog/book, DAVE DELACROIX: OUR MAN in EUROPE is, of course, largely a work of fiction (sort´a-kind´a) and that ANY similarity to actual places, names AND people, living or dead OR in the "loony bin"... is purely co-incidental; ergo, don´t bother suing me because outside of a cheap-ass Spanish guitar, I (of no fixed address) have absolutely NO assets whatsoever, anyway....better you buy a case of BREZNAK ORIGINAL BOHMISCH PILS (beer) and go soak your feet!
Call me crazy, but...
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/schwarzwald-germany
I must hereby state - for a myriad of legal reasons - that this blog/book, DAVE DELACROIX: OUR MAN in EUROPE is, of course, largely a work of fiction (sort´a-kind´a) and that ANY similarity to actual places, names AND people, living or dead OR in the "loony bin"... is purely co-incidental; ergo, don´t bother suing me because outside of a cheap-ass Spanish guitar, I (of no fixed address) have absolutely NO assets whatsoever, anyway....better you buy a case of BREZNAK ORIGINAL BOHMISCH PILS (beer) and go soak your feet!
Call me crazy, but...
c 2011. davedelacroix/our man in europe/schwarzwald-germany
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