You Smoke Joint? Marijuana? Hashish?

Two blogs in one day? Are you not entertained?

The title of this one refers to the constant refrain someone of my nationality, age, gender, and hairiness level is bound to hear when walking around Old Town or Wenceslas Square--esp. at night.

It always a strange encounter because it's always a Roma--Gypsies (an ethnic minority here)--walking toward you, and they kind of mutter, "You smoke joint? Marijuana? Hashish?" Always that exact phrase. And they never stop, never wait for a response. It's more like a greeting than an offer.

It's become sort of a punchline around here, this awkward phrase that is somehow unconnected to reality in any way. I've never seen anyone say yes to them--or no, for that matter because the seller is long gone before you even realize what they just asked you.

Down and Out in Paris and London

So you've all been clamoring for a new blog, but I'm just too busy to write 'em. That's a lie. Mam hodne volno. But I'm lazee, so nuts to you.

But here's a little wrap-up of my weeklong trip to Paris and London.

First, we--me, Ben Wesselschmidt, Arthur, and Abby--had to wake up at 4:30 am to go to the airport. At the airport Ocko was on TV, showing--what else!--London Bridge! I knew it was going to be a good trip. So we arrive in Paris at like 8 in the morning. We go the hotel, and we're in this tiny room--two queen sized beds and a huge armoir that completely blocks you from walking around the room and a minute table and chair. With four people and four suitcases, it is pretty much impossible to move around. The bathroom is just a curtained-off shower and sink--no toilet!! The room is too small for the bathroom to have a door! Anyway, we decide to go to this brasserie right around the corner, and we receive a chilling prelude to our wide-eyed trip to Paris. This bizarre, rum-drenched Cameroonian starts talking to us, saying Paris is finished. There's nothing for me here. And he tells us how he always wanted to be in London--Abbey Road, like the Beatles--but he ended up in Paris which killed his music career. He continually broke into snatches of popular songs, especially Beatles' songs. The best was when the waiter seemed to deny him more coffee and he broke into Mr. Big Stuff--"Who do you think yoooouuu arrree??" Wonderful. Paris is finished.

But we went to the Eiffel Tower--a long line one stands in for a couple hours--the Louvre--at which you can take a "Da Vinci Code" tour--Musee d'Orsay, Pompidou--cool inside-out architecture with exhibitions on R. Rauschenberg and Yves Klein--Notre Dame--they actually have a souvenir coin-press in the church!--and all that stuff. Oh yeah--I LOST MY CAMERA!!! and I HAD TO PAY 230 EUROS FOR A TRAIN TICKET!!!!!!!! Not a good day--needless to say I bought some cheap, cheap champagne and met a bunch of Belgians, one of whom pretended to be Borat.

Also, I saw a bunch of famous graves--incl. Oscar Wilde, Chopin, Stendhal, Truffaut, and Jim Morrison!

London:

I wasn't in a tourist mood in London, so I did go to the British Museum--cultural artifacts looted from other countries--and I saw Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, etc. but I didn't really do much there. I did see a cool play by Tom Stoppard called "Rock'n'Roll" about the Czech Republic. London is ungodly expensive by the way.

Well, that's what I did on my little vacation. It was crazy!!!!

And there you go--a new blog.