Sep 8, 2007


So, it's a wee, small hour of the morning. I just woke up all itchy-scratchy to find my cat meowing and hopping around like mad, pouncing on my butt and back, staring up at the ceiling, hunting a big, fat mosquito and as this is happening, I realize my back, neck and arms are covered in bites. Where am I, the jungle? Where did this guy even come from? I don't think I've gotten a mosquito bite in the city in... well, a long time. But, here we are. And, of course, it was a jolt to wake up with a cat pouncing on one's ass, so I'm awake. And, it's a wee, small hour of the morning.

So, let's see, what can I tell you about? My guest spot at Jewcy shall continue starting Monday, which I'm tickled pink about. I'll be blogging there, this time, for a month. Very excited about that. I'll be sure and link as I go.

I went to shul tonight, and wrote a little summary about some things to consider right here (if you are interested in that sort of thing) on the more serious, kicking-around-ideas, meaning-of-life-brainstorm blog I do also. Anyway, I'm sitting there at shul, Leah is there next to me (who saved me from sniffling into paper napkins by producing tissues from her awesome red purse) and suddenly there is a ruckus. And, I mean ruck-us! Long story, but somehow, the rabbi's wireless lapel microphone was interfered with/interfering with another frequency (just a guess based on the ruckus, but I'm no sound tech) and suddenly we are getting the sound of tuning an old radio super-loudly, then a super-loud shot of Arabic pop music that went on for a few minutes before the rabbi laughed and took off his mic and decided to wing it with the fortune of a loud voice and tonight's small crowd.

Anyway, I split after, as I still don't have much of a voice, at least not a non-squeaky one, came home, ate some dinner, played with my cat, talked on the phone a bit, conked out, and that pretty much brings us up the point where I woke up with the cat pouncing on my butt and back as I was being bitten to shit by a mosquito. I have no idea what became of the mosquito, but I'm hiding under the sheets except for my arms and face.

Tomorrow morning, in a hood a bit north of my apartment, there is a huge German heritage festival. (If you are plotting to stalk and/or murder me, by "north" I mean, of course, way way south.) Last year, a few hours before the parade started, a polka band slipped away and decided to warm-up and practice in front of my building. So, we're talking like 8ish in the morning, meters away from a Polka band. (Yes, I said meters, yes I did. I'm Eurotrash waiting to happen. Or, really, like third-generation Eurotrash still happening. Er, wait, fourth, no, no third. Wait, shit. Whatever. Eurotrash in any case. Which is probably what drew the damn polka band to my building last year in the first place. They saw my name and umlaut on the buzzer and thought, Ja! Die europäische frauline! Die Eurotrashen!)

If the Alsatian (where my people are from) flag wasn't so funky-looking, I'd hang it out the window in the morning, but who knows what kind of shit that would start? You nevah know when someone will cross your path who is somehow still bent about the WWI/Treaty of Versailles/Woodrow Wilson/Kaiser/League of Nations biznass. Har. But really, Alsatian ain't a bad set of roots-- you get to half-assedly do Oktoberfest and Bastille Day. Sort of. Just with less enthusiasm about polka.

Good grief and holy shit.

That's my life, kids. Awake at the crack-of-jack, blogging about Eurotrash roots, polka bands and a cat pouncing on my ass. Fascinating, I realize.

Aaaand, right on cue, dicktoast mosquito just flew in and bit my cheek. Nice.


Leah said...

Wasn't it the most bizarre thing? The blasting Arabic music...

Eric Spitznagel said...

For the sake of starting a really pointless literary feud, I am considering being bent out of shape about the Treaty of Versailles.

Lang lebe der Erzherzog Franzie! Georges Clemenceau kann auf meinem demilitarized nutsack saugen!

Amy's Mom said...

I guess you got your dad's mosquito magnet gene. If there is one mosquito in a 20 mile radius, it will find your dad. It must be that Alsatian blood.

You should have called me. I think I was awake about that same time also due to a cat pounce! Only mine is soooo much bigger than Chairman M. that he knocks the air right out of me. Quite the surprise in the middle of the night!!

Amy Guth said...

She's not lying-- her cat is like 20 pounds whereas mine is tiny at 9 lbs.

Amy Guth said...

Spitznagel, the pointless literary feud is ON, muthafuckah!

Anonymous said...

Ahhh, you made me misty. Polka - the music of my people, add the Chicken Dance, and I'm good to go.

My Ma thinks nothing of getting up in a german cafe and doing a little "chicken" on occasion. Of course wine is usually involved as well.

Wings - john k said...

1) Eric ... your nutsack was "militarized" at one time? Hmmmm ...

2) Amy, Leah, do you really think the RF interference at shul was an oops?

3) Alsatian, rural Louisiana, my Lord what a combo

4) Eric, does your suggestion constitute Necrophilia?

Eric Spitznagel said...

Okay, Guth, let's do this.

First of all, you Alsatians need to choose a national identity and stick with it. "I'm German, I'm French, I'm German, I'm French." You're the geographical equivalent of a swinger. And you eventually settled on France? Seriously? Do you just have a thing for baguettes, street mimes and surrender?

Sure, giving up on Germany was probably a good call. You got out before a certain talentless painter took over and made a mess of things. But why not consider Switzerland, where my peeps are from? We're just a few miles away, we've got mountains with rivers of fondue, and we're not nearly as arrogant as your new daddy.

What kind of short-sighted mouth-breather would agree to the Treaty of Versailles? Did the typical Alsatian think, "Hmmm. The Swiss are offering yodeling and chocolate, and the French have body odor and Jerry Lewis movies. What to do, what to do? Well, obviously. I'm gonna put on a béret and stripy chemise and start chasing my little red balloon. I'm French now!"

Amy Guth said...

Wings, I wonder. That was my first thought, too, it being High Holidays time and all, especially. :(