Wellen Reiterssh

so getting from amsterdam to berlin was no easy goddamn feat, and not only can marion and i attest to that but so can ivan, brent, ty, van, ivan's mother and an irish and polish lad who's names i cannot recall. i don't know where we went wrong, but about 3 hours into the trip, and 3 wrong train stops later, we ended up with two americans, a german, and two colombians in tow-- making every coach we were in the party car. that means that we have new best friends.

we were supposed to get in at 8 pm, but we ended up getting here at 4 am the next morning, where we stayed in our hostel. on one local train from germany our party joined up with a bachelorette party of russian "stewardesses" (outfits included) who shot syringes full of minty green liquid into our mouths and gave us little bottles of plum brandy (i also got some furry leopard print handcuffs from the bride herself-- i was a huge hit with the girls bc they were all drunk and kept rubbing my baldy head raw and kissing me and grabbing me. it's probably because i look like a lesbian)

our party stopped somewhere else in germany (it looked like freaking las vegas) where we all ordered too much tequila and took a bunch of really adOREable photos that have since mysteriously disappeared from my camera.

now we are in berlin with david and staying at a hostel and waking up too late to get the cheap-o breakfast and thanking god david knows passable german bc all i know is "ich ben ein berliner" and "mein kampf" and marion keeps mispronouncing "kreutzberg."

"I really don't wanna shower in there" M. Cohn

marion's friend set us up in a superduper little apartment nearish the red light district kind of in the heart of amsterdam. it overlooks... well it overlooks some fucking street the name of which i can't remember, it probably ends in "straat." the guy below owns a laundromat-- his name is mr. singh, and he's delightful, although his taste in coffee shops is questionable. please note that mr. singh's apartment comes with a fully stocked kitchen (anyway, there is no NEED to buy any goddamn marijuana in this city, you get high by simply walking around.)
anyhoo. the scariest part of mr. singh's apartment (i really can't complain about the vertiginous stairwells because that's typical here) would have to be the shower, which is probably on loan from auschwitz and marion and i have only braved it once each. it is communal, and today i heard some guy doing EXTREMELY TROUBLING breathing exercises up in thurr when i had to pee, and so rather than go up there and risk seeing some dude in a hockey mask standing over the remains of some american tourist, i crossed my legs real tight and haven't been up since. the sink is looking pretty good right now.

"Stop saying 'goddammit' when you like something, Hal. You're misusing the word." M. Cohn

goddammit, amsterdam is gorgeous.

"Yeah, Hal, let's get you high on mushrooms and then go and get you some ink." M. Cohn or "welkom to amsterdam"

so. on a map basically what amsterdam looks like is if your kid brother got out a bunch of colored crayons and went berserk all over the paper. assuming my proper role as the sancho panza to mar's don quixote, i deferred to her on all things geographic, which basically meant me looking over her shoulder trying to ascertain the difference between various "stracht" and "gracht" (i DID learn how to say "i am a nurse" -- ik ben een verpleegkundige-- in an ex-pat bookstore, but i'm doubting the usefulness of that phrase in particular, because, if i ever had the chance to use it, i would undoubtedly end up exacerbating any situation for which it applied as i am NOT a verpleegkundige and in fact have no medical training short of applying bandaids.)

(okay. i can think of some other situations where "ik ben een verpleegkundige" would be useful, but marion refuses to go to a sex show here with me.)

anyhow. marion is a baller Reader of Maps, and i owe the fact that i slept in a familiar bed last night to her. in fact i think i offered to buy her breakfast for navigating us home. this might be an expensive way of compensation.

THIS PICTURE REFERS TO MARION IN HER TEN EURO SEX-PANTS.

"oh my god, hal, i look really good right now."

"yes you do. SCORE."

"no, you don't understand. i look, like, REALLY good...."

turn computer upside down

the dangers of smoking in the UK: if you are a child you will kill yourself; if you are not, you will grow hideous facial hair.

PATRIOTISM

(insert revolutionary war joke here)

Requisite Telephone Booth Shot

(apologies.)

"Am I allowed to pick my grandmother?"

TOP THREE MOST ATTRACTIVE MALE CELEBRITIES:

M. Cohn

Jay Z

Will Smith? James Dean? Montgomery Clift?

...Ashton Kutcher

H. McPherson

Adrian Brody

Cillian Murphy

Whoever that guy in "the dreamer's" was-- not michael pitt, the french one

TOP THREE MOST ATTRACTIVE FEMALE CELEBRITIES:

M. Cohn

Kristen Stewart

Eva Green

Penelope Cruz

H. McPherson

Juliet Binoche

Audrey Hepburn

Sigourney Weaver

THE BEST PART ON A MAN:

M. Cohn

Joints (apparently, not the kind you smoke)

H. McPherson

Arms (um, duh)

L. Shenstone

"Don't I have great knees?"

BEST PART ON A WOMAN:

M. Cohn

Joints

H. McPherson

Hips (um, duh)

L. Shenstone:

"Well the shape of their shoulders is super important, they can't be like, bending in, y'know, oh, and also those women who don't have ankles? Deal breaker."

a weekend in the country/how exciting/how incredibly droll

so. marion and i, not wanting to overstay our welcome with our first lovely host, scrambled desperately around for another place (i.e. if you were on the receiving end of any one of those frantic emails i sent out, my sincere apologies. i don't mean to mooch off of your continental connections).
we contacted an old mother of a friend of a sister (shout out julie cohn!) and she generously offered to house us in chichester (where the cathedral is).

topics of conversation included:

-- levels of alcoholism in england vs. usa

-- it's a fetus, not a penis, on my foot

-- how lucky the americans were to tie when the brits were clearly a superior team (also, what being "off-sides" means, complete with demonstration)

--mythology of SSRI's

--an awful lot about weddings

Priestly Finery

i think the robe would make him look like batman. but really. no one would fuck with a batman priest. i'd be putting all my pounds in the collection basket.

Things That Make You Feel Small

like the chichester cathedral. which is fab (marion wasn't completely sold on it, but then, she's seen it before).

inside there are SO MANY DEAD PEOPLE. see, here on this lawn it's basically one big ole cemetery with people waltzing around all the graves and whatnot. and inside there isn't a single goddamn flagstone that hasn't been engraved with the names of some late duke or earl or lady or squire or priest or quidditch player or something. and then, there are literally all of the TOMBS of the aforementioned english(wo)men all lining the sides of the cathedral, and stacked up real high, so that the walls of the thing are literally fortified with, oh, you know, skeletons in coffins.

so, needless to say, the combination of the fact that you are walking on what is incredibly holy ground to some people, the gothic fucking arches and spires, add some really baller stained glass and the presence of hundreds of invisible corpses, plus the fact that this all is about a thousand years old, makes you feel a little microscopic in god's scheme of things.

"this was made in the name of god."

"yeah, but by man."

"which is baller, but still in his NAME."

"i've been craving pate since i became a vegetarian" -- M. Cohn

to our devoted followers: i must apologize for marion's (and my) bloggal neglect these last few days. we have been enthusiastic tourists with so flamboyant a schedule that we really haven't had time to update.

SO.

<--- this is godforsaken proof that yours truly (marion) is no longer a vegetarian. the small rectangle of gray paste to the right of the bread is pureed duck liver (also, she's been eating fish 'n chips and bangers 'n mash, though i didn't have the foresight to immortalize those.

this is in chichester, england, where we spent a lovely night with lovely people. before our host could pick us up with explored the town and people-watched and got a little sauced on wine and cider and met a dog named bailey ("after the drink," his owner kept saying) and explored a cathedral.

ALSO: story has it that "chichester" was named for some duke of chester who, sadly, had a terrible stutter. (the veracity of this is debatable)

ye olde pub

<--- that's marion's knee not posing for a picture in some pub that's been here since 1600 somethingaruther (i realize i'm going to have to get crafty if i'm going to keep taking pictures of this girl without risking defenestration)

THE LESSON OF THE NIGHT

PUBS IN NOTTING HILL DO NOT STAY OPEN PAST MIDNITE

(says the old bloke with bad teeth and the shifty eye at Churchill Arms, "ye girls should walk about 200 meters west-- there's a pub that stays open till 1." woo-fucking-hoo.)

(nyc: 1, england: 0, in terms of that, anyway)

also-- world cup match between USA and ENGLAND is TODAY. marion and i are going to find a nice american bar where they won't smash pints of guinness over our heads if we root for the wrong team. (that was a joke)

oh, and marion DRINKS guinness, guys. give the lass a hand, eh?

"Let's take this here to prove it does get sunny in england" L. Dixon.

and yesterday i met with our english bird laura dixon, who explained to me what "chavvy" meant (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/chav) and took me to the campden town market (alas, marion did not join us). the campden market is basically like st. marks only the punks mohawks reach higher and they can wear ramones/clash t-shirts without seeming like complete assholes because, well, you know.

laura dixon was the necessary exchange student who went to boarding school with kengo and me when we were sophomores-- we haven't seen each other in four years, but literally the moment i got off the tube and saw her gorgeous mug it didn't seem like time had passed at all ("you haven't changed a bit, hallie," "well, shit, laura, i've stagnated"). laura dixon is now completing her masters degree in media/advertising (right, laura?) and working for Avon just outside of londontown. for all of my self-deprecating, hyper-concscious bullshit that i seem to exude, i must say it was completely beautiful meeting up with laura and we spent the appropriate amount of time staring goggle-eyed at each other and repeating "FOUR YEARS?" and dropping old names and introducing new ones. she is funny as hell, smart as a whip, cute as dixie, and a complete pleasure to be around. only upon seeing her have i realized how much i miss her. (kengo, i offered up your apartment for when she comes to visit us in new york, and i might also have promised that you and i will buy all her liquor for her)

also-- mar and i saw a bloke on the subway the other day with ENGLAND written in big gothic letters down his arm, and marion pokes me in the ribs and goes, "that shit would NOT fly in the states" and so i asked resident english bird laura dixon about it and laura dixon said that it does not fly here, either (hence "chavvy." apparently it's only okay to do it in scotland and wales so that you can be all patriotic about your national identity apart from england. see, we're learning crap here, too, guys)

right now i'm experiencing a really discomfiting bit of deja vu, so i think i'll go have some orange juice.

For Galen

active ingredients are pencil and dead birds applied directly to wall: i was thinking something along these lines for our apartment next semester?

Dali

and this one you may have seen before, but it's by dali and it's quite small and lovely and when i one day find myself exfoliating with diamond-studded soap and sprinkling beluga on my morning cheerios (ie i have become grotesquely successful as a writer of rom-coms with kengo and have become an important patron of the arts) i think i will hang it above the toilet in one of my guest bedrooms. shit, i forget what it's called, but it's also something lovely like "inexplicable horizons" or "boats and nipples" or something something something

"Lady Gaga is a Crucifix" --H. Mcpherson

"hallie, literally listen to what you're saying." M. Cohn

and so, less than a week in, our tummies full of pints and our loyalty to NYC wavering, we discover that talking loudly about art (in a pub, on the street, in bed, in an art museum) is "pretentious." from here on out, in order to talk about any specialized, rarified, lavish intellectual pursuit i am going to have to get marion completely loaded, or she will mock me ruthlessly when i look up from my pillow, doe-eyed, and say, "but mar-- lady gaga is a crucifix!"

went to the TATE MODERN the other day which is the beauteous, beauteous art museum where i found this series of three (i mean, i have a fucking fetus on my foot, did you not expect me to capture these?) the one on the far left has a blue pad and a fish tattoo (fyi).

Religion 101 -- M. Cohn

mcpherson: i don't like how they just ASSUME all of us are sinners

cohn: hallie. that's how religion works.

"Hallie, that's freaking Big Ben. How is that not impressive?" - M. Cohn

right okay, but to be fair i didn't see what she was pointing at right away, and i thought she was talking about all the crummy-looking scaffolding that is currently exo-skeletoning westminster abbey (princess di is buried there, i think, and also you can get in free if you pretend to pray -- or really pray, i guess-- but we weren't about to risk a smiting thunderbolt to fake it). i took a real baller photo of big ben, too, but it didn't save or something, so instead i'll leave you with these iconic renderings:

marion's and my associations with big ole ben were, respectively, basil the GREAT MOUSE DETECTIVE and PETER PAN.

oh oh oh, and by the way, westminster abbey is uber impressive, too, (built circa 1050).

(also, just to prove i'm here)

guys, london is staggeringly beautiful. this is the view from kay's flat window (marion tried to teach me how to say her last name but i keep forgetting. she is graciously lending us her house and shoveling really gorgeous food down our throats and totally being a surrogate mother to us both.) sutaria. sutaria is her last name (right, mar?) and she's a fantastic woman-- exceedingly generous.

to reiterate. london is staggeringly beautiful.

"go, go to bed now. quickly. quickly and slowly."

this is kind of like, the essence of this blog

***also, lydian, marion would have you know that she prefers the tube to the subway

self-explanatory -- portobello st.

also, apropros definitely not of this, lydian, i prefer the subway to the tube but only because the subway is romantic and gritty and the tube has sort of a dumb color-scheme to which i'm very sensitive

Marion's (and my) Time in Londontown

ladies and gentlemen, i have affirmed that jet-lag does, in fact, exist. i was sort of under the impression that it was one of those myths like S.A.D and ADD, but lo and behold, it's real. godmotherfuckingdammit. so even though i took like 6 xanax on the plane i'm tired as fuck today and it's only 6:30 pm here in ye olde londontown and marion and i are about to hit the proverbial sack.

marion and i were tragically separated on our 747 today.

text from kengo read: "i'll give you a pony if you yell 'WHO FARTED' loud enough for her to hear." (i didn't)

<---this is marion outside some fancy shmancy glasses store wearing her hand-glasses.

it's still light out. thank god virgin atlantic provided us with nifty eyepatches to block out light.

ALSO--- DID YOU KNOW WHEN YOU FLY TO EUROPE YOU FLY OVER ICE?????? YEAH, AND A BIG PINK SUN. ALSO ON THE PLANE I WATCHED HALF OF "THE LOVELY BONES" AND I WEPT SO HARD FOR SO LONG THAT THE NICE ENGLISH BLOKE SITTING NEXT TO ME OFFERED ME HIS GODDAMN HANDKERCHIEF.

Xanax

these little puppies and a bloody mary will make the flight to heathrow a joy

(thanks mommy)

the "REAL" camera

"and so it begins..." -- M. Cohn

indeed it does. let me tell you cats and kittens how this blog is going to work. basically, since i've had to read all ya'll stupid travel blogs over the years i've decided to retaliate by making my own now. marion says that this is "selfishly motivated" and that travel blogs are "lame." therefore, out of spite, this blog will center around marion as the trip's protagonist (honestly, kids, who am i kidding? i'm definitely the sancho panza to her don quixote-- really just here for comic relief) and will be written by me. i have the (digital) "camera that shall not be scratched" (thanks, dad) and marion has the real camera with which she will take heartbreakingly beautiful photographs on honest-to-goodness film, but which you won't get to see until we come back (i know you're all waiting with bated fucking breath).

so anyway-- we're about to head out for SFO (is that the right abbrev. for san francisco airport???) and we're gonna arrive in heathrow at some goddamn time, i guess. we've got xanax for the flight and i think marion selected the "hindu" meal option (god bless virgin atlantic) but she's not even a vegetarian anymore so really she could've gone with anything.

if you want a goddamn postcard send me your address and i'll put smooches all over it and whatnot.

bon voyage