Cats that look like Wilford Brimley

This is a website where you can see 5 cats that look like Wilford Brimley.

I don't know what else to say except: Bravo.

The first one is my favorite. It's the smoldering stare. It's not really anger, so much. More a general disdain.

The cat, I mean. Not Wilford.

Grand & Antelope Canyons, Zion NP

Okay, so no written thoughts from my trip to the Grand Canyon, Antelope Canyon and Zion NP. But I would be remiss if I didn't at least post some pictures--they are each pretty amazing places.

Here's a (brief) slideshow of some highlights.

Photos

Well, clearly I am back from my trip at this point, and have simply been catching up on the documentation of it. So, at long last, here are the pictures....

http://flickr.com/photos/14480366@N08/sets/72157602249751298/show/


I'll be going back to the bliss heap now, so please join me there until the next trip!

Berlin Undaunted

After staving off my Okto-hangover with some fried schnitzel goodness (and a few hairs of the dog) at the very cool Franzikaner restaurant in Munich, it was off to Berlin.

Berlin is still an evolving city. When I was there in '98, it was completely transforming itself--construction was taking place everywhere, with cranes poking at the horizon in almost every direction. Nearly 10 years later, that is still the case--but it is already a whole new city. Sure, there are still some aesthetically-challenged Cold War era buildings and sections of its infamous eponymous wall up. And as I went by a Stasi prison complex (the one shown in the Oscar-winning movie "The Lives of Others"), I couldn't help but get a little uneasy. But to me, the remnants of Berlin's past simply serve as a testament to its indefatigability.

Berliners just don't seem content to get back to the status quo; to snuggle back into the way things used to be. They remember, they learn, they re-create, they redeem. They seem to want to be better, always.

Nowhere is that more apparent than at the Brandenburg Gate. The square in front of the gate--once vivisected by the Wall--is now home to upscale boutiques, hotels and gawking tourists. The gate was just one of many that marked the border of Berlin at one point. When Napoleon conquered Berlin, he walked through the gate in a symbolic show of power. In an attendant show of hubris, he took down the Quadriga--the four-horsed chariot statue on top of the monument--and brought the pieces of it to France.

Once he was defeated, Berlin put it back together and back on top.

After WWII, the Gate was nearly completely destroyed in the shelling of Berlin.

As with everything in Berlin, it was rebuilt.

Somehow, after all it has been through, this city has retained its dignity. I was impressed by many sights in the city:

• The TV tower -- not the prettiest part of Berlin, but at over 1,200 feet tall, it dominates the skyline and the historic Alexanderplatz where it stands.






• Marienkirche-- anachronistic alongside the Star Trek-ish TV tower, it's a quiet place of stability and tranquility, and the oldest church in Berlin (dating to at least 1292).






• The Reichstag (now called Bundestag)--I was in awe of some of the history that would've taken place here, in public and behind closed doors. It's the most visited seat of government in Europe.






• The Berliner Dom -- beautiful cathedral. Although its reconstruction was only completed in 1993, it still looks like it did in 1900--they made it new without making it feel new.






• The arboreal urban thoroughfare of Unter de Linden--city streets somehow seem less chaotic when they are lined with trees.






• The Berlin State Library--the ivy-covered walls of the quiet courtyard made me want to sit down with a book and a coffee for about 4 hours.

My favorite, though, was Gendarme Market. It was named that because this was where French regiments were stationed in the 18th century, and is supposedly modeled after the Piazza de Poppolo in Rome. We went at night, on a whim, with the moon high and silver clouds moving quick and low across the sky. The impressive, columned buildings on three sides were lit up, and all was quiet.

Almost.

A man, sihouletted under antique streetlamps, stood at the far corner of the square. He was playing the violin better than probably anyone I've ever heard in my life. There were only three of us there--he clearly was not doing this for money. He was just playing. It was a surreal moment in time, when you stop and realize how cool and serendipitous life can be sometimes.

When he was finished, we all clapped and he offered a bow. I could see the bottom of his trenchcoat flapping in the light wind, but I never saw his face. It was just about the perfect cap to my second experience in Berlin.

Special shout-out to Jana--the best Berlin tour guide a person could ask for!!

Ein Prosit

When I was a kid, many things would get me excited.... toys, ho-ho's, sports, snow days, girls, beaches, lakes, streams, big sandwiches, waterslides, sunshine, ice cream...

In reviewing this list, it appears that all of the things that used to get excited about, I still do. But there is one thing that is an adult addition:

Beer.

Oktoberfest, for someone who loves beer, is like Valhalla. It's a hoppy happy place; a phantasmagoria of fermented goodness. I almost wondered if it would disappoint me when I actually arrived. It did not.

My jaw dropped immediately upon entering my first tent. Thousands of people filled the place with the din of revelry. Singing. Drinking. Swaying in unison, stumbling solo. Colorful streamers hung languidly from the rafters. A raised platform housed a fun-loving and active band, playing everything from traditional German classics to Frank Sinatra. My mouth got dry, my hands clammy. My eyes were wide in wonderland amazement, head thrown back to take it all in. I breathed a 'whoa' in puckish glee, and my liver held its breath.

As with so many of my other favorite events, the common denominator here (along with steady and copious and admittedly irresponsible consumption) was smiling. People throughout each tent (we went to 4 of them), were in various states of happiness: the muted grin of a true Oktoberfest pro enjoying the moments they look forward to all year, the beaming stupor of a novice and every mirthful shade between. I love it when a place and time is flooded with fun like that. Does the heart good.

Shortly after I arrived, I heard for the first time the theme song of Oktoberfest:

"Ein Prosit, Ein Prosit, Der Germutlich-keit!"

I looked around, and everyone was singing it. You might not recognize it without the umlauts, but it is essentially a song about how happy everyone is to be together and cozy. A bunch of happy drunks, too blitzed to sing any song that requires the utterance of double-digit lyrics. I loved it. I'm going to check iTunes to see if there's a dance remix.

I got my first beer--the signature one liter "mass"that is the staple of this event. It was like a taste bud carnival, and the guys that work at the carnivals are all angels who are drunk. Admittedly, that doesn't make any sense--so, suffice it to say that I was going to have a lot of this stuff and enjoy every blessed sip.

And I did. I had a little over 6 masses (the majority at a table at the Lowenbrau tent with new friends Marcel and Hans, who collectively have over 50 years of Oktoberfest experience). For those of you keeping score at home, that rounds out to about a gallon and a half of high-alcohol beer. The results of such blinding excess (or the ones I saw fit to post) are in evidence on this page.

The person you see here screamed lyrics to songs he didn't know. He slow-danced to 'Johnny Be Good' with a 60-year old Dutch woman, and tried to carry on a conversation with her despite the fact that she didn't speak English. He got up on benches, stumbled in streets and got gloriously, starkly drunk.

I will be making room on my ever-growing list--somewhere between ice cream and waterslides--for Munich's Oktoberfest.

Blonde Ambition

Back at home, kings with startlingly descriptive names ruled the land.

There was Olav the Peaceful. Harald Hard-ruler. Erik the Red. Another Erik, who killed all of his brothers, was forced from power by Hakon the Good and sent to England, where he ruled York as King Erik Blood Axe (I have to wonder if Erik's wife would've taken that name. Maybe she hyphenated).

My favorite is Harald Fair-Hair though. Harald Fair-Hair was the son of Halvadan the Black. If I were Harald, I would be a bit miffed at Dad. The "Black" might inspire fear in enemies, intimating an inner darkness or sinister cunning. There's a purpose in that. What would 'Fair-Hair' inspire in Harald's enemies? Have them asking for highlighting tips? I would bet Senator Clinton would have a much harder time being elected as "Hillary the Blonde".

As it was, Harald's dad must've inspired some real Oedipal or Boy-Named-Sue angst in him--because he and his armies beat all comers. As leader, he was the first convince various kingdoms to come together in a united Norway around 872 AD. The story goes that he did so to get carnal with a certain woman, who said she could never be with a man whose kingdom wasn't even as big as Denmark's. Harald, Harald... forever trying to prove himself to others.

Oh, one more little factoid: another Norwegian named Leif Eriksson had already explored the coast of North America. If he'd been a touch more curious (or Norway more imperial) we might be celebrating Eriksson Day in Washington, D.E. (actually, we do celebrate Eriksson Day a day before Columbus Day, but most people aren't aware that they are celebrating it. They simply feel oddly Norwegian, and feel a predeliction for using several consonants in a row).

Maybe they weren't loved enough....

As in most cases when I come to a country, I try to get a sense of the history. Norway has quite a history, full of unusual people.

First, there were the Vikings. The vikings, as is well documented by historians, were badasses. They build the strongest sea-faring boats then on record; ships capable of oceancrossing where once it was impossible. Around the 9th century, they were also big on polygamy, and so there were lots and lots of babies. These babies (the male ones at least) grew up and wanted a share of the families lands. This, of course, led to family squabbles, clubbings and pent-up aggression. So many of the Vikings decided to take those sturdy boats aplunderin'.

And the were successful in said plundering. Independent from each other, these Viking hordes conquered areas as far south as Spain and as far east as Russia. The only town that they couldn't really capture was Istanbul. They were ruthless, too... specifically targeting monasteries and monks because of their riches and the perceived threat to their panthestic traditions.

Attached are some pics from my visit to the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo... amazingly restored burial boats , intricately carved and constructed, for a queens and chieftains (each is over 1000 years old). Yep, they buried them in boats-- along with their accumluated riches and several animals and slaves the would need in the afterlife. I imagine the slaves was not fond of the idea of death by association.

Remembering Better Lindsays

On the ferry ride I mentioned, they were playing 'The Parent Trap'--and it got me nostalgic about the Lindsay Lohan we all used to know. Unassuming, adorably mischievous, notably coherent... her cute little nose unmarked by residual cocaine. Lindsay was Lindsay back then... when it was about tomorrow's dreams and not last night's bender, when publicity shots outnumbered mug shots. Pre-rehab. And well before Post-rehab rehabilitation.

Those were the days. Get better soon, Lindsay.... ya little train-wreck scamp.

A note to the Norwegian ferry company: The Parent Trap? That's the movie I am supposed to watch twice on the four hours ride, to keep me distracted from the tumultuous ride wreaking havoc with my equilibrium? Really? Really?

Cool Crossing

Norway has a certain something, an indefinable class. Or so would seem to be dictated by their crosswalk signs.

Eschewing the more simple and pedestrian (nyuk, nyuk) stick figure with no hat, Norwegian towns have replaced it with a more stylish fella pictured. As you can see, he is donning a fedora.

He also seems, by the look of his hands, to be sauntering rather than merely walking. Like he might take a quick stutter-step and burst into 'Singing in the Rain' at any moment.

So, crosswalks in Norway draw only the coolest walkers, it seems. Amblin' hipsters, Rat-Pack throwbacks, crazy kat chickens just tryin' to get to the other side.

Another day

I did more planning for this trip than I usually do, given my limited time. I wanted to see as much as I could in a reasonably short period. I couldn't afford to lollygag.

So, there was little room for error or wrinkles in the plan. One such wrinkle, purposefully kept at bay in my expectant mind, was the prospect of rain in Stavanger.

Guess what? It rained. Heavily. The whole day.

So, I wasn't able to do the hike that I had wanted to do: Preikestolen, or Pulpit Rock. It would've been about a 2 hour hike, to an astounding 2,000 foot precipice overlooking Lysefjord. The kind of view that would probably make you a bit dizzy... although that is not a good idea, since there is no fence to stop you from falling over the side.

According to the authorities in Norway, no one has ever fallen over the side. A French daredevil apparently did a handstand on four balancing chairs at the edge. I looked for a picture of that, but couldn't find one.... so a picture of Preikestolen sans Frenchy will have to do. Sacre freakin' bleu.

So, as frustrating as it is, I have to say "Another time". But then again, I guess the "Someday"s help to get us through the Everyday.