Part 61: "Judith's Special".
...Met a guy in Hieger, or Marburg, Munster; some place...I was jammin' on the street...who "kopt" me in some Deutsche bohemian pub...and invited me to tell him my tales of travel....which, free beer ensuing, I nevertheless gave him the "abreviated" version... to a stone cold stranger.
Infact, he was actually just desperate to talk, to spill his guts, to tell HIS story!... He was the epitome of unhappiness. Not just drunk, (we both were) but a deeply scared soul...of mega proportions.
Tall. Lean. A skull of a face. Blonde, going on ragged. 25 to 39 years of age. Affectedly demented, but wryly wise. HARD as nails. (Hans? Klaus? Wolfgang?)
From a good family, one supposed?
His Doctor (Sans Borders) parents had raised him in Iraq, Iran, and later? Afghanistan.
(Idiots?.... Thinking: Girls?...Never trust a Doctor, ALWAYS marry a Dentist!)
...And he had - at first hand - seen the damage the "toys" of the Super Powers (in this case, Russia...and then the United States) had had on the people scratching out a living in the outlying villages/provinces of the afore-mentioned countries; the Butcher's bill of WAR...and to witness as a child...!?
When, finally, after 5 or 10 years, "Doc" Mom & Pop (and the now extremely traumatized child) eventually moved back to Germany...presumably to either save their son's fragile soul/finish his schooling in more sympathetic surrounds/regroup their sordid zealousness ...and plan their only son's yet future exposure to NEW horrors!!?...HE (the kid), hooked up with some equally severely deranged brat who...at a rail-road (bahnhof) station - I'm not making this up, folks - decided to throw himself in front of an express train, yet could NOT execute this madness without firstly ANOUNCING IT to my drinking buddy (Hans, Klaus, Wolfgang?) ....looking him DEAD in the eyes...then commiting his act of self destruction.
(think splashed, squashed, tomatoes)
.........
This (scared) young fella? -Now a Tree Surgeon by trade:
"I'd like to PLANT trees, Dave... But all I get asked to do is cut them down!?"
-he laments, whilst expressly advising me NOT to go a´roaming - as is my want - in the mid-East countries of his childhood.
"You`ll be kidnapped, gang banged, then skinned - literally - alive!"
And this/my drinking buddy (Hans, Klaus, Wolfgang?) had on his maturity, circumnavigated - hitch-hiking - the globe... (in search of?) ...and had pretty much sailed the Seven Seas, to boot! -which in the course of, he had gathered / had many tales to tell....and that mostly, would be un-believed;
Marco Polo had the same problem...you may recall?
This night? This week? I am a guest of a great landowner and civic figure in the German countryside, south of Hanover, where there is great merriment, music and eloquence of Life.
His guest house - at present - being under re-model? -he has me housed in a "marquee" of a House Tent comprising of six rooms with a fully stocked kitchenette, deck furniture, inter-net access, guitars and all the "mod cons" that if you WERE Lord & Lady "Muck" you`d expect on a trip that would make "camping" tolerable!
Also? -Situated thus, it does not escape me that my host had considered their residence`s garden locale, apart from the main house`s "goings on"... that I would have "creative space" to compose and write without disturbance.
Most gracious.
My HOST, my friend, a stella musician, incidentally, the HEAD of this ancient family, has an adorable older sister who, having taught English IN England, spending many year there...has great fun fixing me "olde Brit Cafe" style breakfast fare:
Sausage & Chips
Eggs on Toast
Beans on Toast
Lots`a ketchup!
Sausage, chips, eggs, beans on toast!
(Lots`a ketchup!)
....and as her name is Judith? -we call each breakfast plate... a "Judith`s Special".
"TWO JUDITH`S SPECIALS, LUV, AND A POT OF TEA!"
(Actually, I write this "in jeste" as Judith does in fact prepare many great, exotic meals; her culinary skills are quite brilliant; sprinkling Paprika AND Curry powder on quality wurst (huge sausages) I thought was beyond haute cusine and, indeed? -a stroke of Genius!...I`ll never gnaw on a naked sausage ever again!)
But BACK to my drinking buddy...who I met in Heiger, Marburg or Munster (Hans, Klaus, Wolfgang?), for... subject to his tragic aura and jaded kharma AND on-going trauma...I fear he will never experience, encounter OR attract the kind of "safe harbour" experiences OF Life that my own life - uncannily - regularly meets in my travels.
Alas, for most folks, he is too DARK a Messenger...but I convey his story, here...and someday in the future? -we will meet again... And? -because we in fact got along famously, talking of many interesting and lighter topics; it`ll be a Jamboree. A Jamboree!
I hope so.
We`ll make it....a "Judith`s Special!".
c 2011/Monsoon June/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Lower Saxony/germany
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Our Man in Europe: dave delacroix: Part 58: The After-life
Part 58: The After-life
...It has occurred to me, ref. ze (my) "magnum opus": Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix...that should body & soul relieve me of their existence during these days of travel...that I should leave a cavalier (cavalli) note.
I know.
(It's a dark & stormy night, here...in high Germany)
1) Please bury/burn me with a bottle of Selsin Blue Anti Scalp-itch shampoo, Aloe Vera, Cortisone cream, a LOT of suntan lotion, a pack of Drum tobacco, Marie cigarette papers, a pint of low-fat milk, a 6 pack of decent brew...and a bottle of Pernod!
2) Matches or a lighter, doubtless, will NOT be a problem.
c 2011?rainy June/our man in europe/dave delacroix/borsum/germany
...It has occurred to me, ref. ze (my) "magnum opus": Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix...that should body & soul relieve me of their existence during these days of travel...that I should leave a cavalier (cavalli) note.
I know.
(It's a dark & stormy night, here...in high Germany)
1) Please bury/burn me with a bottle of Selsin Blue Anti Scalp-itch shampoo, Aloe Vera, Cortisone cream, a LOT of suntan lotion, a pack of Drum tobacco, Marie cigarette papers, a pint of low-fat milk, a 6 pack of decent brew...and a bottle of Pernod!
2) Matches or a lighter, doubtless, will NOT be a problem.
c 2011?rainy June/our man in europe/dave delacroix/borsum/germany
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Our Man in Europe: Part 57: Scorpions
Part 57: Scorpions
The frog & the Scorpion. Aesops fables, like the poetry of Pablo Neruda (one of 3 known literate people in the South American region, the others being Che Guverara`s cousin, Sergio Mendes, and the double act of Luigi & Luigi who do the best Gay Tango on the planet)) is obviously an easy read and as clear as day...like a
Mozart Aria,
a Pinot Grigio,
or Inter-net porn.
Sushi, in general, also comes to mind.
These are (ahem!) the best of times and the worst of times (depending on the Italian railway system, the Post Office, or whether the CIA is tapping your long distance phone calls)
Ask anyone!
"Everybody`s right!" -that`s what I always say.
And trying (once again) to get the perfect - pre-noon - Bloody Mary (or even an IL RENO!) in the pristine Gothic city square (platz) of Hildersheim, Germany CAN be a challenge, yet one must persevere, especially on the German calendar day AFTER "Himmel Phad" (a day of debauched drunkardness, thats origins escape me) which should righteously be re-named "DICK-day", leastways (in the immortal phrasing of my "soldier-in-arms"/songwriter-bro, Jason Eklund):
"Donkey-Dick-Day!"
It`s a NO-brainer...even for people (the Morons) who all live in Utah ( a leetle place just outside of Paris, France...OR, Texas), its "jest a`leeetle" ways out there; er? -Amigo!
(Bloody Mary... finally, finally, finally shows up!)
"Vielan danke, Happy!"
"Happy". -Bartender/waiter`s name. You KNOW it. -He`s an idiot. (You know that, too) cos he dosent have/or has to borrow the Giga-counter from his banshee, - in this case, female - wretched looking colleague so as I can pay with my (USA) Visa cred card.....and then dutifully continues to screw up the math AND this instrument of online calculation, where-as I end up paying DOUBLE the price of my wretched cocktail!
WE ARE the Frogs who ferry these jack-ass Scorpions across the river of Life. AND!....Because they are Scorpions? Trust me. They will always sting you.
c2011/june/our man in europe/dave delacroix/hildersheim/germany
The frog & the Scorpion. Aesops fables, like the poetry of Pablo Neruda (one of 3 known literate people in the South American region, the others being Che Guverara`s cousin, Sergio Mendes, and the double act of Luigi & Luigi who do the best Gay Tango on the planet)) is obviously an easy read and as clear as day...like a
Mozart Aria,
a Pinot Grigio,
or Inter-net porn.
Sushi, in general, also comes to mind.
These are (ahem!) the best of times and the worst of times (depending on the Italian railway system, the Post Office, or whether the CIA is tapping your long distance phone calls)
Ask anyone!
"Everybody`s right!" -that`s what I always say.
And trying (once again) to get the perfect - pre-noon - Bloody Mary (or even an IL RENO!) in the pristine Gothic city square (platz) of Hildersheim, Germany CAN be a challenge, yet one must persevere, especially on the German calendar day AFTER "Himmel Phad" (a day of debauched drunkardness, thats origins escape me) which should righteously be re-named "DICK-day", leastways (in the immortal phrasing of my "soldier-in-arms"/songwriter-bro, Jason Eklund):
"Donkey-Dick-Day!"
It`s a NO-brainer...even for people (the Morons) who all live in Utah ( a leetle place just outside of Paris, France...OR, Texas), its "jest a`leeetle" ways out there; er? -Amigo!
(Bloody Mary... finally, finally, finally shows up!)
"Vielan danke, Happy!"
"Happy". -Bartender/waiter`s name. You KNOW it. -He`s an idiot. (You know that, too) cos he dosent have/or has to borrow the Giga-counter from his banshee, - in this case, female - wretched looking colleague so as I can pay with my (USA) Visa cred card.....and then dutifully continues to screw up the math AND this instrument of online calculation, where-as I end up paying DOUBLE the price of my wretched cocktail!
WE ARE the Frogs who ferry these jack-ass Scorpions across the river of Life. AND!....Because they are Scorpions? Trust me. They will always sting you.
c2011/june/our man in europe/dave delacroix/hildersheim/germany
Our Man in Europe: Part 55: Belle du Jour
Part 55: Belle du Jour
She is Monday thru Sunday. Fresh as a Summer`s rain; anywhere!.... Unless you live in the Sahara.
It`s always her poise, her walk, her casual-affair-ness. Her swing.
She. Who haunts Man`s darkness, the promise of non-promised tomorrow`s
unkempt promises: The gallows of ALL men`s souls.
Today? She´s in sandals. Another? A print dress, bracelet, anklet, a modest necklace, a Gucci handbag, perhaps?
But it is Man alone who is/are her accessories...as she always butterflies the streets, malls, stations, airports, sidewalks, and the inveitable Lost highways....
of Men´s dreams.
Grey men go to their deaths with only HER picture/vision in their mind`s eye.
c 2011/june/our man in europe/ROME/Italia, of course.
She is Monday thru Sunday. Fresh as a Summer`s rain; anywhere!.... Unless you live in the Sahara.
It`s always her poise, her walk, her casual-affair-ness. Her swing.
She. Who haunts Man`s darkness, the promise of non-promised tomorrow`s
unkempt promises: The gallows of ALL men`s souls.
Today? She´s in sandals. Another? A print dress, bracelet, anklet, a modest necklace, a Gucci handbag, perhaps?
But it is Man alone who is/are her accessories...as she always butterflies the streets, malls, stations, airports, sidewalks, and the inveitable Lost highways....
of Men´s dreams.
Grey men go to their deaths with only HER picture/vision in their mind`s eye.
c 2011/june/our man in europe/ROME/Italia, of course.
Our Man in Europe: Part 54: The Dream
Part 54: The Dream
Today? Au jourdhuis? Heute?.... My "dick" fell off.... There was no warning, no erogenous zone irritation/anticipation (see chapter: Test-tackles, part 11 of this blog-book), plus? -I hadnt had sex with myself FOR DAYS, nor with any one else for that matter, for months!
Still. I AM an Artist. I could take it in my, er...stride. I`m freelance. And answer ONLY to 1-800-frickin-God! Unlike most folks, having to show up (dick-less) at the factory or office, red-faced, wondering if anyone can tell the difference from the (dick-attached) day before, foregoing wearing the usual black-spandex pants...and (again) foregoing the usual "pirouette" every time the dinner bell gongs (whereby ones colleagues would notice an absent clump in the jock area... Still (again), and MEN not liking to be seperated - for any great length of time from handling - their "dicks"....I resolve to carry it around in my right hand.....so greeting people is a bit of a bother. I put it in my left hand and extend my now free-right hand, in greeting....which, alas, is met with complete dismay!....(?)
Still, (again) it IS my Dick. And I AM an Artist, which is a giant leap forward from Vincent Van Gogh with his pesky Ear! -though I DO/can see..."Vinnie" hanging out at the (Arles) Brasserie patio with his groupies, holding out his detached Ear....to the mouths of the babes, and saying: "LOUDER! LOUDER!"
.....Cant pull THAT stunt with a Dick, of course.
(Or maybe you can?.... "Speak into the microphone, Sweetie!")
Thank God it was just a Dream.
c 2011/May/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Munster/germany
Today? Au jourdhuis? Heute?.... My "dick" fell off.... There was no warning, no erogenous zone irritation/anticipation (see chapter: Test-tackles, part 11 of this blog-book), plus? -I hadnt had sex with myself FOR DAYS, nor with any one else for that matter, for months!
Still. I AM an Artist. I could take it in my, er...stride. I`m freelance. And answer ONLY to 1-800-frickin-God! Unlike most folks, having to show up (dick-less) at the factory or office, red-faced, wondering if anyone can tell the difference from the (dick-attached) day before, foregoing wearing the usual black-spandex pants...and (again) foregoing the usual "pirouette" every time the dinner bell gongs (whereby ones colleagues would notice an absent clump in the jock area... Still (again), and MEN not liking to be seperated - for any great length of time from handling - their "dicks"....I resolve to carry it around in my right hand.....so greeting people is a bit of a bother. I put it in my left hand and extend my now free-right hand, in greeting....which, alas, is met with complete dismay!....(?)
Still, (again) it IS my Dick. And I AM an Artist, which is a giant leap forward from Vincent Van Gogh with his pesky Ear! -though I DO/can see..."Vinnie" hanging out at the (Arles) Brasserie patio with his groupies, holding out his detached Ear....to the mouths of the babes, and saying: "LOUDER! LOUDER!"
.....Cant pull THAT stunt with a Dick, of course.
(Or maybe you can?.... "Speak into the microphone, Sweetie!")
Thank God it was just a Dream.
c 2011/May/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Munster/germany
Our Man in Europe: Part 53: Mamma-mia!
Part 53: Mamma-mia!
(Thought for today: The Family that breakfasts together...sticks together.... Leastways until someone (the Caterers?) shows up with lunch!)
And, oh! Pronto! -On speaking "Italian"?
It may not have escaped your attention that when communicating to the Italian race/nation, leastways, South of Napoli, that a certain skill is required.... Simply pronouncing the parlance is something of a lost cause:
"Scusi? La Stazione, per favore?"
("Where`s the frickin station, buddy?")
Better you adapt a theatrical poise, frantically wave your arms about - with all the fevour of heated masturbation - and rotate your hands a fingers, DO a back-flip (or cartwheel) and SCREAM (using all 5 octaves):
"SCUSI! SIGNORI!"
(Cartwheel)
"LA STAZIONE!!!"
(Then mellow out)
"Per favore...?"
And usually you`ll get an adequate/pertinent response such as:
"2 blocks straight, then make a left. A 100 yards! You cant miss it!" (in perfect English)
OR?
"Idiot! You`re standing in front of it!"
Which brings me to the Calabrian town of PAOLO. A snip of a coastal town on the main East coast rail route. For unlike Germany, which has the most logical and efficient system in the world, Italy`s railroads - like England`s - has a system sooooo designed that if you have to make a connection, your second train will have faithfully departed 20 minutes before you arrive at the connection stazione. In a nut? Nothing runs on time & ANY posted train schedules should be regarded as "official hearsay" and not fact.
Thus! My (visiting from the USA) Accountessa and I find ourselves stranded at PAOLO for a 3 hour wait/delay en route the resort town of Maratea.
So! To the small stazione bar/cafe. Tables, chairs, sidewalk arrayed, station front; directly across the street? -the town`s Police Station. An Art Deco building, 5 storeys, presumably once a hotel or block of condos as the upper 4 storey`s LOOK like condo units...with large windows/patio doors that give out onto individual small balconies, a dozen in all......WHICH both I and my Accountessa humorously pounce on!
....Thinking, should one be arrested IN Paolo for some misdemeanours such as spitting on the locals, urinating in public, getting busted for running a "Ponzi" scam, or being an outright serial killer?....perhaps one could request a cell with a balcony, a view of the Stazione, and the Mediterranean sea, a scant mile away?....
...Before, that is, they (the cops) go at you with the rubber hose and nail pliers, to extract a "guilty" confession?
"Mamma-mia!!!!!"
c 2011/may/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Paolo/Italia
(Thought for today: The Family that breakfasts together...sticks together.... Leastways until someone (the Caterers?) shows up with lunch!)
And, oh! Pronto! -On speaking "Italian"?
It may not have escaped your attention that when communicating to the Italian race/nation, leastways, South of Napoli, that a certain skill is required.... Simply pronouncing the parlance is something of a lost cause:
"Scusi? La Stazione, per favore?"
("Where`s the frickin station, buddy?")
Better you adapt a theatrical poise, frantically wave your arms about - with all the fevour of heated masturbation - and rotate your hands a fingers, DO a back-flip (or cartwheel) and SCREAM (using all 5 octaves):
"SCUSI! SIGNORI!"
(Cartwheel)
"LA STAZIONE!!!"
(Then mellow out)
"Per favore...?"
And usually you`ll get an adequate/pertinent response such as:
"2 blocks straight, then make a left. A 100 yards! You cant miss it!" (in perfect English)
OR?
"Idiot! You`re standing in front of it!"
Which brings me to the Calabrian town of PAOLO. A snip of a coastal town on the main East coast rail route. For unlike Germany, which has the most logical and efficient system in the world, Italy`s railroads - like England`s - has a system sooooo designed that if you have to make a connection, your second train will have faithfully departed 20 minutes before you arrive at the connection stazione. In a nut? Nothing runs on time & ANY posted train schedules should be regarded as "official hearsay" and not fact.
Thus! My (visiting from the USA) Accountessa and I find ourselves stranded at PAOLO for a 3 hour wait/delay en route the resort town of Maratea.
So! To the small stazione bar/cafe. Tables, chairs, sidewalk arrayed, station front; directly across the street? -the town`s Police Station. An Art Deco building, 5 storeys, presumably once a hotel or block of condos as the upper 4 storey`s LOOK like condo units...with large windows/patio doors that give out onto individual small balconies, a dozen in all......WHICH both I and my Accountessa humorously pounce on!
....Thinking, should one be arrested IN Paolo for some misdemeanours such as spitting on the locals, urinating in public, getting busted for running a "Ponzi" scam, or being an outright serial killer?....perhaps one could request a cell with a balcony, a view of the Stazione, and the Mediterranean sea, a scant mile away?....
...Before, that is, they (the cops) go at you with the rubber hose and nail pliers, to extract a "guilty" confession?
"Mamma-mia!!!!!"
c 2011/may/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Paolo/Italia
Our Man in Eureope: Part 52: "IL RENO!"
Part 52: The RENO!
In my never ending search for the perfect "Bloody Mary".... Actually?... In my (European) never ending search for ANY bartending idiot who HAS TOMATO JUICE (they always have Vodka) ergo, I get my hangover fix!... my destiny prevails and leads me to the Ristorante Commercio in (yes!) Piacenza.
Piacenza (like the rest of Emilia-Romagna) is home to the finest Proscuito and a whole bunch of "other stuff" (I`m a stickler for details!) that`ll knock the socks off ANY Tahitian!!!... No problemo, Dude!
Anyways; Ristorante Commercio, via Colombo, Piacenza/Italy, and ON this quest for the bloody, Bloody Mary, I discover the "Sword in the Stone" (T.H.White) and draw it from the rock, effortlessly....and wave it about in the air (as boys will do)....courtesy, mind you, of a cool dude named RENO who runs the restaurant and an adjacent B & B where I and my (USA) visiting Accountessa sojourn.
(Sojourn? -heeeel! Why not?)
Me: "Bloody Mary."
Reno: "Que?"
Me: "Vodka-Tomato juice."
Reno: "No Tomato juice."
Me: "I`m going to kill myself!"
Reno: "Before lunch?"
Me: "Si!"
Reno: "Momento!"
...And promptly returns with that rarest of living jewels, the perfect take on a perfect idea....like Opera, spreading its Valkyric wings, soaring high, then alighting on an island called JAZZ!
(Spretzler water & Vodka.)
It`s Rossi-ish. Actually? Quite pink...with a knuckle or 2 of ice and a lemon/orange slice....SERVED (details! details!) in a Martini Soda glass of triangular design some idiot in the back office of a Milano AD Agency dreamt up before realizing that that particular business - like Hollywood - really did/does suck....and then quit the gig and fled to the forests to live in the nude!
Anyhow/anyways (?), receiving this Hemmingwayian epiphany (no relation to Epiphone guitars) I fell (off my chair) to my feet on the crowded ristorante`s cool marble floor... IN FORGIVENESS to "Our Lord" for this treat...whilst the - by now - lunch time sun, beaming thru lace curtains, positively creating a halo/aura around my (according to my Accountessa) beautiful, thick, wavy hair, BROUGHT ME, the waiters, the clientele, the clackety-clak ristorante kitchen, the traffic on the via Colombo outside, Piacenza town, the WHOLE of Emilia-Romagna, Milano, Italy, maybe the State of Texas too!!? -to a halt.
This....was BIG.
And so, my friends, I say (wiping my sweaty brow) let me introduce you to my new "leeetle friend": IL RENO:
1/2 Vodka
1/2 Spretzler
1 wedge of lemon/orange
2 Rocks.
And chill!...
c.2011. june 14/our man in europpe/dave delacroix/ piacenza/italia
In my never ending search for the perfect "Bloody Mary".... Actually?... In my (European) never ending search for ANY bartending idiot who HAS TOMATO JUICE (they always have Vodka) ergo, I get my hangover fix!... my destiny prevails and leads me to the Ristorante Commercio in (yes!) Piacenza.
Piacenza (like the rest of Emilia-Romagna) is home to the finest Proscuito and a whole bunch of "other stuff" (I`m a stickler for details!) that`ll knock the socks off ANY Tahitian!!!... No problemo, Dude!
Anyways; Ristorante Commercio, via Colombo, Piacenza/Italy, and ON this quest for the bloody, Bloody Mary, I discover the "Sword in the Stone" (T.H.White) and draw it from the rock, effortlessly....and wave it about in the air (as boys will do)....courtesy, mind you, of a cool dude named RENO who runs the restaurant and an adjacent B & B where I and my (USA) visiting Accountessa sojourn.
(Sojourn? -heeeel! Why not?)
Me: "Bloody Mary."
Reno: "Que?"
Me: "Vodka-Tomato juice."
Reno: "No Tomato juice."
Me: "I`m going to kill myself!"
Reno: "Before lunch?"
Me: "Si!"
Reno: "Momento!"
...And promptly returns with that rarest of living jewels, the perfect take on a perfect idea....like Opera, spreading its Valkyric wings, soaring high, then alighting on an island called JAZZ!
(Spretzler water & Vodka.)
It`s Rossi-ish. Actually? Quite pink...with a knuckle or 2 of ice and a lemon/orange slice....SERVED (details! details!) in a Martini Soda glass of triangular design some idiot in the back office of a Milano AD Agency dreamt up before realizing that that particular business - like Hollywood - really did/does suck....and then quit the gig and fled to the forests to live in the nude!
Anyhow/anyways (?), receiving this Hemmingwayian epiphany (no relation to Epiphone guitars) I fell (off my chair) to my feet on the crowded ristorante`s cool marble floor... IN FORGIVENESS to "Our Lord" for this treat...whilst the - by now - lunch time sun, beaming thru lace curtains, positively creating a halo/aura around my (according to my Accountessa) beautiful, thick, wavy hair, BROUGHT ME, the waiters, the clientele, the clackety-clak ristorante kitchen, the traffic on the via Colombo outside, Piacenza town, the WHOLE of Emilia-Romagna, Milano, Italy, maybe the State of Texas too!!? -to a halt.
This....was BIG.
And so, my friends, I say (wiping my sweaty brow) let me introduce you to my new "leeetle friend": IL RENO:
1/2 Vodka
1/2 Spretzler
1 wedge of lemon/orange
2 Rocks.
And chill!...
c.2011. june 14/our man in europpe/dave delacroix/ piacenza/italia
Monday, June 13, 2011
Our Man in Europe: Part 51: The Girl
Part 51: The Girl
In these (and may you live in) interesting Times; Chinese proverb. (Confuscious, probably)....of tsunami weather, ecconomic disasters...and a society of ritzy paupers...in this "rental" of a Life...pit stops of reflection abound, rarely appreciated as the World momentarily stills...in an attempt to distill Man`s destiny....or lack, there-of.
It`s a funny old Life. (You think?)
In these (and may you live in) interesting Times, I sit in a non-descript, yet Fellini back-drop of a street cafe on the Via Colombo, like East Colfax, Denver, here in Piacenza, Italy.
It`s 7 a.m. on a sunny (but cool, thank christ!) Sunday morning. Cafe Longhi. birra Moretti. The serving wench is (Mandarin) Chinese:
"Meee How!"...:)
....but she speaks perfect Italian: "Buonjorno, Delacroix!"
I have been here before.
The only other dawn customer? The Girl. Popping in & out of the Cafe...with the "de rigeur", surgically attached cell phone, pacing, anxious, waiting for her ride. She is "bella" in tight fit jeans, bust fit-tit-tee-shirt, khaki utility vest, blonde and "busta-move" poise; oh! and of course, some studded black leather handbag, the price of (?) which could finance a 3rd world Banana Republic.
In Italy, clothes, like food, is cheap. If you`re hungry? Buy a pint and the food/snackies/tapas show up. They nail you on the drinks (not me: You!) and re. clothes? -Always on the accessories. Handbags, gloves, Michael Jackson paraphanalia, trinkets, shoes!
...but back to "the Girl".
Obviously, she`s head`in to an important family re-union, church, a weekend cocaine party, or waiting for 2 or 3 dubious, ill shaven Italian dudes (to show up in a crappy Fiat), prepped to go rob a bank, assasinate the Pope...or hit a city kiosk and make off with all the Lottery tickets.
It goes without saying.
....And in reference to said "eye-candy" blonde bombshell....wearing tight fit jeans, bust fit tit tee-shirt, khaki utility vest, blonde and "busta-move" poise.....:)
.....
.....I wish her "Buono fortuna!"
She just might need it.
c 2011/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Borsum
In these (and may you live in) interesting Times; Chinese proverb. (Confuscious, probably)....of tsunami weather, ecconomic disasters...and a society of ritzy paupers...in this "rental" of a Life...pit stops of reflection abound, rarely appreciated as the World momentarily stills...in an attempt to distill Man`s destiny....or lack, there-of.
It`s a funny old Life. (You think?)
In these (and may you live in) interesting Times, I sit in a non-descript, yet Fellini back-drop of a street cafe on the Via Colombo, like East Colfax, Denver, here in Piacenza, Italy.
It`s 7 a.m. on a sunny (but cool, thank christ!) Sunday morning. Cafe Longhi. birra Moretti. The serving wench is (Mandarin) Chinese:
"Meee How!"...:)
....but she speaks perfect Italian: "Buonjorno, Delacroix!"
I have been here before.
The only other dawn customer? The Girl. Popping in & out of the Cafe...with the "de rigeur", surgically attached cell phone, pacing, anxious, waiting for her ride. She is "bella" in tight fit jeans, bust fit-tit-tee-shirt, khaki utility vest, blonde and "busta-move" poise; oh! and of course, some studded black leather handbag, the price of (?) which could finance a 3rd world Banana Republic.
In Italy, clothes, like food, is cheap. If you`re hungry? Buy a pint and the food/snackies/tapas show up. They nail you on the drinks (not me: You!) and re. clothes? -Always on the accessories. Handbags, gloves, Michael Jackson paraphanalia, trinkets, shoes!
...but back to "the Girl".
Obviously, she`s head`in to an important family re-union, church, a weekend cocaine party, or waiting for 2 or 3 dubious, ill shaven Italian dudes (to show up in a crappy Fiat), prepped to go rob a bank, assasinate the Pope...or hit a city kiosk and make off with all the Lottery tickets.
It goes without saying.
....And in reference to said "eye-candy" blonde bombshell....wearing tight fit jeans, bust fit tit tee-shirt, khaki utility vest, blonde and "busta-move" poise.....:)
.....
.....I wish her "Buono fortuna!"
She just might need it.
c 2011/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Borsum
Our Man in Europe: Part 50: "Say wha!?"
Part 50: "Say wha!?"
Come live with me... and be my love....?
"No thanks!" -Lonesome Dave, like LUCKY LUKE (German comic book-Cowboy character, quick on the draw/faster than his own shadow!....) is happy, solo, and fearing NO man....and grateful for (his) the miracle of Life.
At the "ETE HUS" bar-kneipe, in Steinhude am Meer, I play a sold out/late night concert....to a largely inconsequential crowd (didnt get laid) and make a whooping 60 euros & a half bottle of Jim Beam.
(thinking...)....Odd thing IS....is that whilst, aging, I continue to "flail" in the Music biz....TRYING TO GET OUT!!!....but "the Biz" keeps pulling me back IN....and - the Biz - likes what I do (?).
Something to DO, I guess.
Steinhude Am Meer, the "meer", a large shallow lake, no water craft can have a "keel", and a lot like Lake Hamilton, Hot Springs-Arkansas, is a secret oasis/eden...`cepting....the light here is pure Turner (English painter, 1800`s/ no relation ti Ike & Tina/ and "light-wise", no need to go to Venice!)...patronized by the "cogniscenti" and the odd lost tourist (Loud tee-shirt/looks horny).....and Steinhude, the "ville", reasonably lush, pristine, a "deutsche" no-brainer. Souvenier shops, Cafes, a pub or two, and restaurants whose speciality is (smoked) Eels, fresh from the lake, as it were. A lakeside promenade; visitors oozing relaxation.
But back to my Gig....at the ETE HUS, managed by a very decent fella named Karsten, the crowd, mid-30`s going on 50, but in THIS case "well keeled"....alas....ASSUME that someone ELSE is filling my Tip jar and quite oblivious - in the holiday/carnival atmosphere... to my actual monetary needs! (?)
Still. The gig is a blast. A Babe-A-Rama/eye candy for the Soul, etc.... Strangest thing? IN the throng, I meet sweet Catherine and her boyfriend Burt. Burt is from Holland; a Dutch dude (sic). And, leastways, in Europe, the Dutch are known for being, er...the most frugal - outside of Swabians - with their money.
European traffic carry national identity bumper stickers. GB for Great Britain, F, yes; for France, B for Belgium, I, for Italy.... Holland? NL, for the "Nederlands" which the French translate into "non-lucrative" as the Dutch always bring ALL their stuff (food, smokes, booze, etc.) with them when they go touring on holiday...so as not to get fleeced by the locals.
Anyhow, Burt (from Holland), happy in his cups, springs for a taxi - so as I can go fetch my guitar from a nearby house/which I forgot to bring, er....actually? I had infact forgot all about the blessed concert!
(Ahem!)
So Burt (from Holland) PAYS for the taxi and then bets me 50 euros that if I sound GOOD....he`ll put 50 euros in my tip-jar...
(Stay with me, folks. This gets good.)
.....BUT (says Burt, from Holland) if I SUCK? -I pay HIM 50 euros!
OK. That`s a Dutch guy talking. You can take a Hollander outta "Dutch-land", but you CANT take the Dutch outta a Hollander!
(Somethin like that)
Anyways; great concert: Baddabing! Good boogie: Axel, Jenny, Karsten & "Ralph", bartending....but the ONLY money in my tip-jar is a speckle of loose change (10 euros) and a very proud/bold FIFTY Euro banknote from (Hollander) Burt!....and, presumably, his sweet gal, Catherine!
Go figure.
And like I`ve told a million bartenders - and now You! - .....if no-one has "stoled" your Bible or complete works of Billy Shakespeare.....You do well TO peruse, if not for Faith? -then for the Getting of Wisdom!
"Say wha!?"
c. 2011/our man in europe/dave delacroix/ Hildersheim
Come live with me... and be my love....?
"No thanks!" -Lonesome Dave, like LUCKY LUKE (German comic book-Cowboy character, quick on the draw/faster than his own shadow!....) is happy, solo, and fearing NO man....and grateful for (his) the miracle of Life.
At the "ETE HUS" bar-kneipe, in Steinhude am Meer, I play a sold out/late night concert....to a largely inconsequential crowd (didnt get laid) and make a whooping 60 euros & a half bottle of Jim Beam.
(thinking...)....Odd thing IS....is that whilst, aging, I continue to "flail" in the Music biz....TRYING TO GET OUT!!!....but "the Biz" keeps pulling me back IN....and - the Biz - likes what I do (?).
Something to DO, I guess.
Steinhude Am Meer, the "meer", a large shallow lake, no water craft can have a "keel", and a lot like Lake Hamilton, Hot Springs-Arkansas, is a secret oasis/eden...`cepting....the light here is pure Turner (English painter, 1800`s/ no relation ti Ike & Tina/ and "light-wise", no need to go to Venice!)...patronized by the "cogniscenti" and the odd lost tourist (Loud tee-shirt/looks horny).....and Steinhude, the "ville", reasonably lush, pristine, a "deutsche" no-brainer. Souvenier shops, Cafes, a pub or two, and restaurants whose speciality is (smoked) Eels, fresh from the lake, as it were. A lakeside promenade; visitors oozing relaxation.
But back to my Gig....at the ETE HUS, managed by a very decent fella named Karsten, the crowd, mid-30`s going on 50, but in THIS case "well keeled"....alas....ASSUME that someone ELSE is filling my Tip jar and quite oblivious - in the holiday/carnival atmosphere... to my actual monetary needs! (?)
Still. The gig is a blast. A Babe-A-Rama/eye candy for the Soul, etc.... Strangest thing? IN the throng, I meet sweet Catherine and her boyfriend Burt. Burt is from Holland; a Dutch dude (sic). And, leastways, in Europe, the Dutch are known for being, er...the most frugal - outside of Swabians - with their money.
European traffic carry national identity bumper stickers. GB for Great Britain, F, yes; for France, B for Belgium, I, for Italy.... Holland? NL, for the "Nederlands" which the French translate into "non-lucrative" as the Dutch always bring ALL their stuff (food, smokes, booze, etc.) with them when they go touring on holiday...so as not to get fleeced by the locals.
Anyhow, Burt (from Holland), happy in his cups, springs for a taxi - so as I can go fetch my guitar from a nearby house/which I forgot to bring, er....actually? I had infact forgot all about the blessed concert!
(Ahem!)
So Burt (from Holland) PAYS for the taxi and then bets me 50 euros that if I sound GOOD....he`ll put 50 euros in my tip-jar...
(Stay with me, folks. This gets good.)
.....BUT (says Burt, from Holland) if I SUCK? -I pay HIM 50 euros!
OK. That`s a Dutch guy talking. You can take a Hollander outta "Dutch-land", but you CANT take the Dutch outta a Hollander!
(Somethin like that)
Anyways; great concert: Baddabing! Good boogie: Axel, Jenny, Karsten & "Ralph", bartending....but the ONLY money in my tip-jar is a speckle of loose change (10 euros) and a very proud/bold FIFTY Euro banknote from (Hollander) Burt!....and, presumably, his sweet gal, Catherine!
Go figure.
And like I`ve told a million bartenders - and now You! - .....if no-one has "stoled" your Bible or complete works of Billy Shakespeare.....You do well TO peruse, if not for Faith? -then for the Getting of Wisdom!
"Say wha!?"
c. 2011/our man in europe/dave delacroix/ Hildersheim
Our Man in Europe: Part 49: Saint Somebody
Part 49: Saint Somebody
In the sometimes fog of travel, Osnabrück, Deutschland, busking on the street in the shadow of that - city landmark - Catholic church, Saint Somebody`s...North or South (East or West) of the town`s main pedestrian drag, the "fussgangerzone...two tall German-Russian (?) lithe & raven haired girls...all dressed in black (....am waiting for that inter-net-Facebook connection!...) patronize my street action, 2 evenings in a row...!
"I just vant to dance!" sez one; drop dead gorgeous.
"Me too!" sez I.
NO! REALLY!!!...Meee too!...(lol)
(Me. Who hasnt washed in 2 days. Hair shampoo? A 5 day distant memory....and a "wheelie-bag" choked with old laundry; self esteem? -At an all time low...)
The girls take pictures with their "handies", cam-corder action, etc., whilst GYRATING to my song, FIRE EXIT...on spandex clad legs that rise to their necks!.....Jeeze -Can we at least meet in the next Life?
(Even Atilla the Hun gets lonely...)
...And... sat there... crossed legged on the church`s expansive pigeon soiled forecourt, guitar semi-busted/but functioning, I look UP to these black clad Amazons...who clearly love my action in the pre-Easter sun, radiating...and can only strum and sing and observe...divinities metallic silhouettes, GA-GA gyrating at my guitar plectrum`s command.
I might add, inwardly, I recall panting like a deviant dog...and pining like only a Poet can!
But, alas! The late afternoon sun, bleating, the World, the Day, the evening, soon to be night, dances by... as is it`s Will...and cogs turn, wheels spindle, Life`s blood flows, whilst hands once clasped, soon release, a kiss, a chill; amidst a carnival of music, soon to fade; a grape`s burst of Life.
I must go North, to Hanover: "Sofort!"
c. 2011/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Borsum, bei Hildersheim.
In the sometimes fog of travel, Osnabrück, Deutschland, busking on the street in the shadow of that - city landmark - Catholic church, Saint Somebody`s...North or South (East or West) of the town`s main pedestrian drag, the "fussgangerzone...two tall German-Russian (?) lithe & raven haired girls...all dressed in black (....am waiting for that inter-net-Facebook connection!...) patronize my street action, 2 evenings in a row...!
"I just vant to dance!" sez one; drop dead gorgeous.
"Me too!" sez I.
NO! REALLY!!!...Meee too!...(lol)
(Me. Who hasnt washed in 2 days. Hair shampoo? A 5 day distant memory....and a "wheelie-bag" choked with old laundry; self esteem? -At an all time low...)
The girls take pictures with their "handies", cam-corder action, etc., whilst GYRATING to my song, FIRE EXIT...on spandex clad legs that rise to their necks!.....Jeeze -Can we at least meet in the next Life?
(Even Atilla the Hun gets lonely...)
...And... sat there... crossed legged on the church`s expansive pigeon soiled forecourt, guitar semi-busted/but functioning, I look UP to these black clad Amazons...who clearly love my action in the pre-Easter sun, radiating...and can only strum and sing and observe...divinities metallic silhouettes, GA-GA gyrating at my guitar plectrum`s command.
I might add, inwardly, I recall panting like a deviant dog...and pining like only a Poet can!
But, alas! The late afternoon sun, bleating, the World, the Day, the evening, soon to be night, dances by... as is it`s Will...and cogs turn, wheels spindle, Life`s blood flows, whilst hands once clasped, soon release, a kiss, a chill; amidst a carnival of music, soon to fade; a grape`s burst of Life.
I must go North, to Hanover: "Sofort!"
c. 2011/our man in europe/dave delacroix/Borsum, bei Hildersheim.
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