À la recherche du benzine perdu

Our moronic governor, Sonny "Head in the Sand" Perdue assures us there is no gas shortage in Atlanta.

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Unfortunately, 18 of the 20 gas stations I've passed in the last day didn't listen to the news.

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Somebody needs to tell them, so they will start selling gas again.

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[P.S. In the French language, "perdu" means lost. A good name for our gov.]

Vignettes from a Voyage

I haven't said much about my trip to Europe. Now that I've been back for more than two weeks, I guess I'm overdue.

I plan to do several posts. For this one, here are some random impressions, thoughts, and tidbits.

• Number of times I felt endangered on the trip: 2. Once, when riding the MARTA subway train from my house to the Atlanta airport; the other time, when riding it home from the airport. Budapest and Vienna both are very safe cities, even at night, and even when you're alone. The worst hooliganism I saw in two weeks was a high school kid slapping his hand on a subway car window in order to scare a passenger inside. Contrast that with Atlanta, where passengers are threatening fistfights with each other (really).



• Number of dirty toilets I encountered on the trip: Zero, unless you count the Atlanta airport. It didn't matter whether I was in airports, restaurants, museums, or cafes, I never had to deal with a dirty toilet or a seat that someone had peed on. It was bizarre.



• Number of waiters who introduced themselves ("Hello, I'm Adolf and I'll be your waiter today!"), and number who came by every 10 minutes to ask, "Is everything OK?": Zero. The Austrians and Hungarians have a different view of service. Shortly after you come in (and seat yourself), the waiter approaches your table and asks what you'd like to order. He then brings your food and leaves you alone. When you're ready to pay, you catch his eye (it's not usually hard), he comes to the table, you pay, and you're out of there in 30 seconds. No faux friendships, no sucking up, but no neglect, either. They seem to realize you're there to eat, read, and converse with whoever came in with you; you're not there to be entertained by the staff. Although waiters in Vienna (especially in cafes) can be arrogant, even disdainful, I like this form of service better than ours.



• Number of people in Budapest you can stare at: Almost zero. Particularly because I was alone, I did a lot of people-watching on this trip. But I found that's a difficult proposition in Budapest. It seems that the residents of this city have very active eyes, so if you're looking at them, they'll figure it out in about 2 seconds.



• When I would like to move back to Vienna: Never. More about that later, perhaps.

Photos: Cafe Diglas (top) and Cafe Sacher (bottom), both in Vienna

Coming or Going

I've been doing a lot of traveling lately, for both business and pleasure. Maybe too much. Earlier this morning, I pulled an itinerary out of my briefcase marked, "9/20 ORD" and asked myself, "Why am I going to Chicago on the 20th?" The scary part is that it took me maybe 20 long seconds to recall the purpose of this trip. Could be a sign of excessive travel! Or early Alzheimer's.

Here are a couple things I've been thinking about while traveling:

I Feel the Earth Move Under My Feet
At ATL, I avoid the shuttle train between the concourses and take the moving sidewalks, instead. It's an attempt to compensate for a lack of exercise in my daily life. I've been on and off these moving sidewalks so many times that I don't need to think about the transitions from "ground not moving" to "ground moving" to "ground not moving." But here's the kicker: every now and then, one of the moving sidewalks won't be moving. And usually, I'll walk on it, anyway, just for fun. And you know what's weird? I usually lurch getting on and off. My brain is so accustomed to having that piece of metal beneath my feet moving that it doesn't adjust well to the times it's not moving. It used to be that I could close my eyes a few steps before the beginning or the end of the dormant sidewalk and make the transition seamlessly, but lately when I've tried that, I stumble, anyway. Apparently, my brain is now calculating the distance and preparing for the transition even without the proximate visual cues.

I'm sure there's a spiritual lesson somewhere in here about learning to deal with life a certain way and not transitioning well to new realities, but frankly, I'm more interested in the physio-cognitive aspects of this phenomenon. Brains are amazing things.

Vogue, Glamour, Elle, GQ, . . . and Then There's Us
A recent poll of 1500 European hotel managers (see pages 2-3) reported that Americans are the 2nd best overall travelers, behind the Japanese, and the most generous tippers by far. One category that stands out, based on my own recent and upcoming travels, is Best Dressed. The Italians win this one, by far, followed by the French and Spanish. I'm planning to go to Italy next month, so maybe I'll pick up a few duds while I'm there. And perhaps I need to: the Worst Dressed in the poll were the Americans, by far. I've done my own survey on my last couple airport trips, and I have to agree. Just go to the airport and try to find someone dressed with any sense of style. When you do, it'll most likely be a foreigner. What is it about America that requires us to look like slobs when we go out in public? Why is comfort our highest value, and why are we so aesthetically clueless? Is there any connection between poor fasion and poor architecture and poor city design? Is it a coincidence that some of the world's best architecture is in Italy and France, the countries where the people dress the best?

That's all for now. I need to go pack for tomorrow's trip.

Unlucky Break

Life is fragile. So are hips.

Yesterday, Mom missed a step, fell, and broke her hip. I was actually with her at the time, though not in the same room when it happened.

We ended up in the emergency room, of course, and she'll be having surgery today or tomorrow. I'm - conveniently - at the airport waiting for my flight back to ATL. Thankfully, I have a sister, brother-in-law, and nephew who live in Portland and can help out with things. It'll take a team effort, but I'll be mostly on the distant sidelines cheering.