I, Muehlenhaus. U, Riedermaus.

Krisztian wrote today. He sent me a link to the Magyar wedding bash. Hands down, I missed an incredible party! Here is a link to the pictures of Magyar Mayhem. The Hungarians know how to celebrate better than any culture I been in contact with. The Brazilians may know how to dance and dress in minimal attire, but no one can compete with the Hungarians' ability to rock 'till dawn. And I missed it. Merde. Kurva isten faszat! Gratulalok, Krisztian es Nori!

I'm feeling real badly about not being in Hungary at my host-brother Krisztian's wedding this month. In fact, so bad that it is kind of tearing me apart emotionally. My Hungarian family drove to Germany to be at Birgit's and my wedding, and I couldn't even manage to get over there via plane for his?!

I know it would have been near impossible for me to make it. I'm broke this summer, particularly because of unforeseen expenses such as needing to take a tree down and fix our garage. Also because I don't have a $3500 research grant to travel to Hungary this summer like I did last year. Even if I could afford it, I'm teaching this summer. I would have to leave Friday morning, get to Budapest on Saturday morning, travel to Gyongyos that day, and fly home the next day. Of course, the problem is, that is exactly what the Hungarian family did when they came to Germany. They drove two days straight, partied that night like rockstars, and drove two days straight back home. Unbelievable!

So I feel like shit. But since it is definitely too late to get there, now all I can do is figure out what kick ass gift to send in my place. This, of course, presents numerous problems too. For one, Hungary is now developed and there is nothing I can send from here that they don't have there. Secondly, I don't really know what Krisztian and Nora have received already. Finally, I don't really know what can make up for my rudeness in not showing up in person. So all of these thoughts are coalescing into a quagmire of guilt. I resolve to figure this gift situation out today! Come hell or high water. Or heat waves. Essentially, come hell or the current weather in Hungary.

Intervening Event: I came downstairs last night at around 12:30. No lights are on, as the dog was asleep so I had turned them off. Stepping off the stairs, I realize the smell of shit permeates the entire living room. Pitch black. Frantically searching for a light. Find one. Dog hunched up in corner of kennel. Excrement across living room floor, just missing couch. Excrement in kennel all over mattress. Excrement on kennel bars. Dog looking very perplexed, sitting on only dry inches of kennel floor.

Panic: Birgit is asleep. Extremely tired from lack of sleep, long day dealing with K-12 educators in her computer lab at work, and guitar lessons. Don't want to wake her up. Dog is still stuck in cage, with shit. Shit is still all over the wood floor outside of cage and getting very close to our only nice piece of furniture -- the couch. Stench is so strong, I feel like puking.

Solution: Let dog out. Check to make sure she is not entirely covered in crap. Wipe up poop outside of kennel with paper towels, wet washcloths, and anything else I can get my hands on. Take Mette outside to see if she has to go more. She pees. Go back in. Get Mette a new chew stick. Continue cleaning. Carry comforter/bedding outside and throw it in Mette's empty kiddie pool. Liquid poop has rolled everywhere, under the cage, behind the cage, all over her toys. Get spray, attempt to get rid of the smell. Give Mette a bath in basement tub. Water every goes where. I am now drenched and covered in stench. Continue cleaning up around cage. Wake up Birgit while attempting to gut out the final remnants of crap off the kennel, where poop has gotten into and between the hinges, etc.

2:07 a.m. Birgit helps me clean up further. We throw the comforter cover in the wash. We play with Mette a little. Mette looks at us in dazed, sick confusion. Continues chewing on her stick.

2:34 a.m. I tell Birgit I must go to bed. I read 2.3 pages of High Fidelity and pass out.

6:45 a.m. Dog has the shits again. Can't stop going. Birgit is leaving for work. I must wake up and watch the dog and take her out as necessary.

6:47 a.m. Within two minutes of Birgit leaving the room for work, I pass out.

7:48 a.m. Phone rings and awakens me. Birgit on the horn. Knowing I wouldn't wake up the last time, asks me to take Mette out.

10:18 a.m. The dog seems to have finally gotten everything out that she needed to. I have no energy to work on anything today. Unshowered and unkempt.

Opinion: My day off has turned to shite!

What I need to do today:

• Create a "Free Ghazi!" website for Political Geography Specialty Group
• Grade insanely long map test I created without thinking about how long it would take to grade them
• Bike to Stillwater with my friend Darren, which I commited on last week before knowing about the full scale invasion of Lebanon and Ghazi being locked up
• Go to dinner at my in-laws to celebrate getting older

What I would like to do today:

• Finish High Fidelity so I can return it to the library
• Watch one of the films I borrowed from Roger
• Work on dissertation topic
• Plan and completely revamp my Cold War lectures for the end of the semester (not too urgent, I guess, but fun)
• Listen to Thom Yorke's new CD over and over and over... bloody excellent stuff!
• Call up some friends to say hi and see if they are available for inebriation tomorrow evening

What I will most likely end up doing/getting done today:

• Bike ride halfway to Stillwater before cramping up and keeling over
• Dinner and drinks on in-laws back balcony assuming I don't die when keeling over
• Listen to Thom Yorke's new CD in the car on the way to and from dinner at in-laws
• Ignore map tests until Sunday
• Ignore lectures on Cold War until next weekend
• Think about calling up some friends but never quite get the courage or time to do it between biking and dinner
• Read 10 pages of High Fidelity before passing out in a semi-drunk state this evening after dinner and drinks at the in-laws
• Promise myself that I will work on the Free Ghazi website with due haste first thing tomorrow morning and all day until it is done
• Debate starting one of Roger's movies upon returning from dinner, put one in, and after five minutes realize that I am not going to make it much longer and take it out.
  

Much better. With such realistic expectations, I can't foresee letting myself down.

Looking back on it all, I guess it's been a good ride. I mean, the 20s were overrated anyway. You spend your teens just chomping at the bit to turn 21 (at least as an American citizen), so you kind of overlook turning 20 years old anyway. By the time you wake up from your hangover, you are 24 and have a receding hairline that won't grow back. So you become introspective and start writing short fiction and poetry about the rain and sun and clouds, instead of "love" and "peace," which was so 1990, and you reach to your inner depths to illustrate that you are much deeper in your thoughts than you really are. After all, at around 24 or 25 your youthful looks begin to fade and all you have going for you from this point on are your brains and sensitivity. This works for a while, even though in the end your hormones always trump the act of being sensitive and no matter how much you talk about good authors with your girlfriends, you really just want to roll around in the sheets with them. Nonetheless, you start to feel as though you have this "life" thing figured out. You discuss culture, win someone over, make love in a very bourgeois setting and way, and then go protest some injustice together before things don't work out because you aren't feminist enough or she isn't cultured enough. After this spat, you begin settle down even more. You might get married and realize it is a mistake. Instead of overeacting, you just get out of the unhealthy situation -- all calm like. Everything is very clear -- like a penalty shot in soccer. The only way you can miss is if you panic. You stop drinking as heavily. You stop dissing popular culture just to diss popular culture -- a habit I made quite a living on through my teens. Though, still engaging one's mind by venturing into overpriced art museums around the world, you also begin to enjoy the small things in life, like going to a Twins game and sitting inside when it is a beautiful day outside. Instead of thinking, "I'm missing a great day outside," you are relieved that you have free air conditioning. Then the mid-20s pass you by, and suddenly you start to feel far older than most of the blokes and gals you see in the halls of academia around you. This is terribly frightening, actually. For as a grad student starting out in your early-to-mid-20s, you fit in with the undergraduate students around you. You were essentially one of them with the privilege of grading them. As these are the people you had seen yourself associating with throughout the rest of your career, this being the reason you chose the academic route to begin with, even subtle differences in outlook and ways of doing things begin to rattle your nerves. The differences don't necessarily come from being older in years, I suppose. It is more or less because you better understand the academic system, the structure of things around you. You are less insecure within the university. You know that all of these rules and regulations and bureaucratic hurdles are negotiable. You take things less seriously, particularly after working in the real world for a year, as you realize that unlike the working world, nothing is life-and-death in the academic one. In a sense, you become less volatile. (Although, my anti-Israel tirade from last night may prove me otherwise.) Tamed through experience. Less, I don't know, less intense. I guess another way of saying this, rather than saying what it is not, is to say that you become comfortably lazy. Hell, you stop going to concerts as much. Far more content on buying the CD and listening to it in the comfort of your own living room. You stop socializing just to not feel lonely. In fact, having space becomes a priority. Of course, it is not a fair comparison, as for a start, you find that you actually have more physical personal space. For example, after a while, as you approach 30, it suddenly dawns on you that you have a living room in which to hang out. I can't explain it, but one day you come down stairs -- your stairs! -- and realize that you don't have to avoid the living room anymore, because there are no annoying flatmates coming in and compulsively talking your ear off. All of the training you acquired from communal living and over-socializing in your early 20s begins to wear off like the tattoo of an ex-lover's name. You start growing in new ways. You start to see your mortality. (Sometimes this insight is sped along by having a gun pointed at you in a foreign city with no one coming to your aid.) And then, before you know it, before you even pause to think about it or care, one day you turn 30. And nothing changes, but everything feels better. You associate with the number more than you could with 20-something. You now have a positivist division from those still lingering in your 20s. A quantitative justification for being emotionally separated and different from those below you. At 29, you don't have that comfort. Other than being a prime number, you ain't shit. But at 30... 30 feels good. The receding hairline? I don't have to spend as much time trying to hide it. Hell, I'm thirty. I'm on my way to the grave. Downhill from here, assuming that all the Central European cuisine I've consumed in my lifetime has irrevocably begun gridlocking my arteries. Glasses... I need to pull those out. Hopefully gray hair settles in before too long, so I start to look aged like a decent cheese. I ain't sharp cheddar anymore. I'm getting soggy and soft like Brie or Camembert. Not as easy to trim the edges when I get moldy. The youth is long gone, but now the age is right and I can start to don that "professorial" look -- graying, receding hairline, glasses, enhanced crow's feet from reading too many godawful journal articles, and ear hair. Yes, lots of ear hair. Here is the terrible truth, I started getting ear hair at 21, which is far too early. And creepy! Even I find it repulsive. So the plucking began long ago. And I've made it nine years. I can now let it show a little more. It only adds to that aged persona.

Some things don't change, however. I still love hanging out with friends of any age chatting about good movies, good tunes, and politics. I enjoy getting buzzed at my in-laws and challenging their lab to a wrestling match, which I can't possibly win. I still universally cheer for the underdog. I enjoy hanging out with my family and flying off the handle about inane extended family gossip. I love just holding Birgit's hand as we walk around the lake. I am content as hell sitting on my front stoop with Mette. I still distrust academic geographers, a surly lot that largely ended up in academia merely because they didn't have any interest outside of getting 4.0s and sounding smart. I still love to sound provincial to put people at ease, and then, when I feel cornered by pomposity in a social setting, I love to pull out the ol' GRE vocab for a sucker punch. (By the way, that's about all the GRE is good for.) That's never changed. Before the GRE vocab it was the ACT vocab. And before that, it was Newsweek vocab. Yes, I guess I've always been an ass like that. But it is my last defense, and that has not changed. And I am digressing, because this isn't about turning 30 at all anymore, but about how I am feeling more comfortable with who I am, who I am not, and who I will never become than ever before, and I'm glad it is all kind of settling into place around a magic number that society puts a lot of weight on. Yes, that's what I'm getting at. Probably a good place to end, as really I am just procrastinating working on the Cold War PowerPoint I want to finish today. Some things definitely don't change, procrastination is one of them.

Luckily it hasn't hit 100 degrees yet, not until tomorrow and Saturday, because this week has been long already. This is probably the first week where I've been busy from sun up until sundown since... well, since I was an undergraduate student. It feels great! It is invigorating! I can't wait to veg out in front of the television and just watch 12 movies this weekend!

I've created and presented nearly 15 hours of new lectures this week, which has been both fun and insane. The Institute of Global Studies workshop is going really well. I did my nationalism spiel yesterday, and my PowerPoint and lecture felt far more streamlined than ever before. I almost wish I would have had it this streamlined for my real class, but at least next fall I will have it down. I've enjoyed hanging out with Roger and lecturing in the mornings again. The classes are three hours each, but I'm used to that at this point, so it hasn't been bad. I'm giving a midterm to my class today. I only finished writing it last night. I think it is much fairer than the one I wrote the first semester I taught this course. The questions better pertain to the material.

Otherwise, I'm reading books for my class to keep up on their readings. I am reading "Into Thin Air" too. The dog is eating again. Life is good, and I don't have much to say or complain about because I'm too busy to think. Ciao.

Now that the World Cup is coming to a close, with two Indo-European and Catholic countries battling one another for the ultimate glory, I find myself a little confused about how to spend my spare time. I am definitely up in our office more these days, working on my dissertation outline, my European Geography class, and listening to tunes. I've also, strangely, been reading as involuntarily as I breathe since the soccer games began thinning out last week. Finished the five books of "Shogun," which weren't as good as I remembered them being -- perhaps age has made me see schlock writing better. The ending of Shogun was so anti-climactic that I was pissed I spent weeks reading the 1200 pages. Bummed out that such a great book could be spread out over so many slices of dead trees and that an ending could be so unconvincing (seriously, I think the author just got bored with the book he was writing and decided to end it), I picked up the next book I could find. It happened to be a used copy of "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time," which Birgit had bought sometime ago in the back of a Barnes & Noble that was going out of business. It was covered in dust on a shelf in the guest the bedroom. I figured I would give it a shot, because one day at the Christian Caribou, which is how I refer to the Caribou Coffee joint near my house, because it is always full of Christian therapists telling desperate housewives to stick it out with their abusive, drinking, or just lazy ass husbands, because the Lord has a plan for everyone and divorce is a sin, I saw someone reading this book and laughing outloud as he read. He didn't look insane and he couldn't put the book down either -- his girlfriend, or significant other, or Christian comarade, whatever, wanted to leave, but he couldn't until he finished the book. I wanted to suggest she get a divorce, but I thought I might be taken hostage by the Bethel therapists lingering around and the last thing I wanted to do was hear scripture! At any rate, the book is bloody brilliant and I really can't say enough about it except read it if you can in the near future. (Best book I've read in years! Hands down. Plus, the graphics in the book are brilliant!) Finishing this book in a day or so got me in the mood for Salinger, as it kind of reminded me of "The Catcher in the Rye." So I plowed through a copy of "Franny & Zooey," which had been collecting dust on various bookshelves throughout my graduate school career until this past week. It was an excellent read too -- though not as good as Salinger's "Nine Stories." It got me excited for my forthcoming subscription to the New Yorker as Franny & Zooey were originally two short stories (or long?) in that magazine back in 1955 and 1957. Having finished those books, and with no sign of the World Cup championship game in sight, I also read a really corny, terrible, boring, short, condescendingly stupid, MBA self-help book lying around called "Who Moved My Cheese?" It helped me get into the mind of corporate America, I suppose, as about 14 CEOs of various evil corporations sprinkled testimonials on the back cover and throughout the first 25 pages of the 93 page book about how the "Who Moved My Cheese?" changed their lives and how they make every employee read it before joining "the team." Essentially, this book summarizes the taken for granted nature of neoliberal capitalism better than any Nikolas Rose, Foucault or washed up, balding, prissy-voiced political geographer from Great Britain can. It's pure evil! I love dipping my toes in it.

Met with Roger, whom I'm doing a workshop with next week, again yesterday. He stopped by on his BMW motorcycle -- a beautiful machine that I would love to test out on an Autobahn or back country Canadian highway if I weren't as clumsy as Mr. Bean or Chevy Chase back in the early 80s. What? Exactly. Roger dropped off the readings I've assigned to the K-12 teachers, which I realized I haven't read in many years and need to read this weekend, which is fine, because I'm out of fiction material as noted above. Ahhh... creating my PowerPoint for this class. I'm kind of flabbergasted at how much I make my students go through in a semester. Slide-after-slide of notes on conceptualizations of Europe and nationalism in Europe and... man, it's cruel. Oh well, I know they have to learn something if they want to pass my class -- if nothing else, how to memorize PowerPoint slides. Anyway, I'm trying to lighten it up for the K-12 teachers a bit, just because it is only a week long workshop and it wouldn't be right to kill them with too much information. Right? Right!

Well, that's about it. Last night Birgit was devouring a book and didn't want to hang out, so I went and rented three videos -- Trainspotting, the Grizzly Man, and some television show that I can't stand but Birgit asked me to rent if they had it at the video store. I actually stood in the aisle debating whether or not I should lie and say I didn't see it there, that's how much I dislike the show, but I decided that would be unethical and that, if I was renting two videos the least I could do was rent her one with five crappy episodes. After all, just because I rented it doesn't mean she ask me to watch them... I hope. Also picked up a 12-pack of Pilsner Urquil, because I felt like watching videos and sipping on a foreign beer. But when I got home my neighbor Mike was just hooking up the television in his backyard to watch the Twins get slaughtered by the Rangers. So I cancelled the movie night by myself and hopped the fence with a six-pack to watch the Twins... get slaughtered by the Rangers. (It was six-to-nothing by the time I even got over there, so really we just chatted. His brother Jeff and a friend of theirs was over there too.) Came home at 11:00 and tried to convince Birgit to watch Trainspotting with me, but she wouldn't so I started it and then had to give up any chance of getting through it by 12:00.

So there are movies to watch today, dogs to take for walks today, and chores to do. I have to call Adam. Adam, if you are reading this, I apologize for not calling and thanks for the link from the BBC the other day. If you feel like watching the Grizzly Man, drop me a line. Cheers to everyone else out there too. Hi Bjorg!

Corny, I know, but it was one of the first pics with my new camera.

My friend Jeff is traveling through Alaska and the Yukon Territory these days with his wife Anne. If you want some wicked cool pics of the North American Arctic, this is the place to go -- http://www.longstrangetrip.typepad.com. He is a helluva photographer and pretty fun to drink with in Chicago too, as I found out last spring at the geographers conference where he, Birgit, Colin and I all got silly and started devising geopolitical board games, including one called H*A*T*E. But I digress, please give his blog a shot if you have a moment.

***

As for life... the weekend was exhilerating and then devastating, as Germany beat Argentina and then lost their legs against Italy. Spent both sporting events in Brit's Pub, surrounded by Germans dressed in red, yellow, and black, shouting "Deutschland, Deutschland" and getting heckled by Argentinians and Italians all the same. The Italians were a raucaus bunch, nearly getting in fights and far too drunk for their own good. The Argentinians on the other hand, though outnumbering us about 3:1, were quite good sports about the loss. Rolf bought one a beer after the match as a sign of good will ambassadorship, etc.

***

Was up at my parents' cabin this weekend to celebrate my birthday a little early. I scored a new camera out of turning 30, so I am quite happy. Will post some pics of something from the little device shortly.

Had fun sitting in the woods, swimming with my niece, and drinking gin and tonics with my sister, her friend, Laurie, Birgit, mum and Chris. Came back Monday night, spent Thursday watching Germany lose to Italy and recuperating from the devastating loss by sitting on my German in-laws' back deck drinking Dutch beer and celebrating the family being together again -- as Birgit's sister is back in town.

Oh, I went and saw an exhibit at the Minnesota Science Museum called "Body Worlds" created by some deranged German quasi-scientist who is into plasticizing human bodies. I have never seen so many human organs and bodies spliced, diced, and put in weird configurations as I did in the two hours there. It wasn't half as disgusting as you might imagine it being, but it wasn't half as thrilling as many baby boomer people seemed to imply either. The only thing that really shocked me is how my testicles hang on strings. I always figured they were pretty snug but they aren't -- and that isn't meant to be gross, it is just an anatomical fact discovered by looking at cadavers for two hours. Not worth the $22 to get in, probably, but definitely something to do on a rainy weekend for anyone stuck in Minnesota this summer. Of course, it doesn't rain here any more, so the odds of it being worth $22 are slim, but I digress.

***

Really nothing new to report. I am going to lecture on Nationalism this week, which is my favorite topic! I'm stoked. Then I show a movie and lead discussion in class on Tuesday and give a midterm on Thursday. I am also lecturing at an Institute of Global Studies workshop next week with Roger -- the coolest faculty at the University of Minnesota in my humble opinion. I lecture on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday on Europe. Essentially, I am stealing material from my class and repackaging it for K-12 educators -- the audience of the workshop. Some extra income... should be fun.

***

Check out Dr. Crump's blog if you get a chance, and I'll write more once the World Cup is over. I'm still upset by Italy's run. Both teams are in the final on dubious penalty kicks -- Italy's versus Australia in the 91st minute, and France's from Zidane's tumultuous tumble. (Though, I really am happy to see France in the finals. Portugal seemed more dramatic than the Italians, even, which of course is impossible, hence the word "seemed.")