nice to meet you

I’m doused in red wine (it’s chilled, I know that might be kinda weird, but, I like it. So what… it’s cabernet from Cali) and now of course I am inclined to write… perhaps the twenty-millionth-trillionth beginning to my first novel and/or first actual finished work. I mean, this is just how it goes, right? Re-write, re-write, re-write (revise, edit—edit—edit). Without anyone ever reading it, except maybe your best friend or significant other. And they’re like, Brooke, I support you, You gotta write more! …The italicized words in no way indicate mockery or an allusive condescending tone. I mean, I believe in myself and my voice. Ya know. I’m just skeptical of the public… (it’s more complicated than that, really).

Weren’t (aren’t) all great writers drunks?

Not saying that I am a drunk, of course (or a great writer). Or that all writers are alcoholics (am I contradicting myself?). No no (I’m not a drunk). I just got back from Europe (aren’t I high-brow? …but I backpack-ed it, no wheeley suitcase or hotels for me… which makes me a traveler not a tourist, in some ways) and I pretty much drank everyday while I was there. No school, no job, just pure adventure and traveling and everything that goes with it (explosive and unexpected and nauseating diarrhea, malfunctioning metros, claustrophobic night-train sleep-cars sans AC, and a juicy case of bed-bug-bites from the hostels—fucking disgusting and repulsive). Aside from this, clearly beer and wine were mandated… I mean, it’s Europe for Christ’s sake. Jesus. The alcohol was a part of the whole cultural experience; and was fucking flowing like the Danube, like the Vltava, like the Seine, like the Tiber…into the Adriatic, into the Mediterranean. Just ripples and wakes of alcoholic goodness. Ya know, Soproni beer and (homemade) Pálinka liquor and Villányi wine (straight from the barrels in the cellar) in Hungary, Ursus beer in Romania, Pan Pivo beer and (deadly) Rakija liquor in Croatia, Wyborowa vodka in Poland, Staropramen beer in the Czech Republic (I drank red wine in Slovakia and I don’t remember what it was… just the cheapest glass, really), Ottakringer beer in Austria, Peroni and Moretti birra in ITALIA (and some Chianti in the north… or whatever the vino di cassa was), 1664 bière in France (plus some authentic Champagne which my beloved Parisian friend provided), and of course SANGRIA in Bar-theh-low-nuh.

Don’t worry, I saw the Sistine Chapel, and stuff like that.

But the beer was awesome.

And the café espresso (black with one sleeve of sugar).

Okay side note: my significant other is also slightly doused in red wine (he got his own bottle of merlot, absolutely not chilled) and just assembled his (our) new camping tent in the middle of his studio for my viewing pleasure (Ta-dah!). We’re backpackin’ Havasupai Indian Reservation (the Grand Canyon) this coming Monday (therefore he’s super excited about all his new outdoors-ey gizmos n’ gadgets: he just prepared tonight’s dinner in the Jetboil personal stove system). Boys and their toys, yuh.

Well the supposed three-person tent is quite comfortable and spacious for two people (and two kitties). I assume it would be quite the opposite for the supposed three people.

And the Ramen was good.

Trust me, I’m not getting paid or anything to drop all these brand-names. It ain’t like that. (A little extra cha-ching would be nice, though… seeing as I am fucking broke with credit card debt and, in addition, embarrassingly enough fucking broke with my parents and the loans they lent me… in the thousands). Quite frankly, the Euro is kicking the Dollar’s ASS, among other things. But, Eastern Europe is not on the Euro, yet. Hungary is planning to switch their Forint (165 HUF to 1 USD) in 2010 to the Euro, but, the way their economy and extreme political pessimism is lookin’… yeah, not so much.

Sigh.

I need to go back to Budapest. Egesegedre. Jó szerencse.

Okay, I can hardly hardly speak any Hungarian (after living there for four months), nonetheless talk about their current political slash economic situation (keeping in mind communism fell there just less than twenty years ago… after I was born…) – fucking crazy, crazy shit.

But Budapest is so beautiful.

Alright, I am losing my “train of thought” here. Maybe I should refill my wine glass (purchased at the Dollar Tree… not the wine, the actual glass)? Or maybe I should just slap myself in the face and be like, ‘What kinda writer are you, biatch? Stay on the goddamned topic!’

Okay.

I’m trying to refrain from the self-abuse (no face-slapping).

Back to the point? Yuh.

Well why don't you just ...call me Ishmael.