Eurotrippin: the morning after

After the two-week baguette binge that was my European vacation, I found myself abruptly awoken by the noonday sun, alone on the floor of my New York apartment, half-naked, dehydrated, and confuddlizzledingly asking myself "What the hell happened?" I had a migraine of memories jammed into my head, and they needed sorting out. After days of nursing myself back to health during this withdrawal period--during which time, I visited ZARA almost everyday whenever I desperately needed a fix of Euro-crack--I've been able to put the pieces back together and make sense of it all...kind of like a Real World reunion episode. Here are my lasting observations from Europa:

Hot women work regular jobs just like in the movies!
Don't you despise Hollywood and it's bastard child the porn industry for deluding us with fantasy worlds where uber-attractive people work everyday jobs? Halle Berry as a poor single mother? C'mon, why doesn't she just go be a supermodel?? (I admit, I stole this last joke from a comedian I don't remember. Joke piracy!) But the truth is that they were really just presenting us the reality in Europe and re-dubbing it for us monolingual idiots into English. I came across so many 7s, 8s, and even 9s on the hot-o-meter sitting behind kiosk counters, clicking tickets on trains, and even intimidating city denizens as tough cops on the street.

In Paris, we tried to take our picture with a couple of female police officers. When the foxxy police officer unfurled her throaty, accented voice and told us photographs with them were "forbidden," I not only jizzed my pants but the pants of every 2-legged homo-erectus in a 30 foot radius. Europe gives hope to super-hot people everywhere, essentially telling them, "You shall not be pigeon-holed. You too can be just as mediocre as everyone else if you want to."

Go to Europe, get tongue-bathed!
Where were Americans when brains were handed out? Probably busy quibbling over which Yale alum they'd rather have a beer with or coming up with ways to imprison people for pant-sagging. In the meantime, Europeans got their learn on! The average person over there speaks a minimum of 10 languages including English, American slang, and the universal language of looooove (Virginia, you got nothing on Europe). Even 7 year old German kids stopped to ask us in perfect English if we needed help navigating the Munich subway system. (This was after they tried asking us in perfect Chinese, Vietnamese, and the Micronesian language of Kiribati.) Train conductors repeated everything in at least 3 languages. Could you imagine if conductors in the U.S. were required to have such linguistic abilities? Amtrak would have more success employing parakeets than Americans.

And biggups and respect to all the immigrants over there. They are truly the most cunning linguists. In the U.S. they'd usually only have to learn English. In Europe, they have to be fluent in like 20 other languages on top of English. They're practically the Rosetta Stones of the continent and were able to learn it all without the help of MUZZY.

Chillin' is the most successful franchise
Forget Big Macs, Quarterpounders with cheese, 20 piece nuggets, Whoppers, Croissanwhiches, Frosty's, Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers, Gordita Burritos, Taco Supremes, Orange Mocha Frappaccinos, Stuffed Crust Pan Pizzas, Chicken and Mashed Potato Bowls, 10 Patties 10 Buns Animal Style, or any other glorified hot pocket that's cooked in a dirty microwave and gushing with cheese, cholesterol, and more hormones than me as a teenager (or me as a 25 year old for that matter). Mass produced for the masses and massively consumed to make us massive, fast food is the fascist franchise in America. Find one on every block in your neighborhood and follow the trail to your every artery.

And yet, in Europe, the only thing that comes fast are their trains (none of this languishing on a musty platform waiting for 30 minutes for a train that they forgot to tell you isn't even operating). Sure, the golden arches may have a presence (I'm talking McDonald's, not McDougal's), but the real franchise king is a refrigerator 'cuz everyone over there is straight chillin! (WORDPLAY!) They have as many chill spots (which ironically are wi-fi hotspots) as we have fast food chains. Whether it's sipping a cafe at a corner bistro for 8 hours, or guzzling a litre of bier in a garden for 10, or just breathing at an Amsterdam coffeeshop for what felt like 10 minutes but was really the entire day, Europeans know how to relax and just kick it.

We live in a society where America runs on Dunkin Donuts coffee (note that neither Dunkin nor Donut is spelled correctly, d'oh!), while they live in a society where governments mandate vacation time and direct deposit you holiday funds for holiday funnnn. Why wasn't that in the stimulus package? "Dear POTUS B-HO, I've been a good boy all year. Please send me Caribbean cruise cash, or Bahamas beach bucks. I wanna be chillin like a villain god-willin. Sasha and Malia got a puppy, I want a vacation. Peace, BB"

Eurotrippin Joint #4

Brown from Amsterdam here, taking in some purple. The sky is blue, the water is green, and the elephants are a delightful turquoise. The people are white but are only as tall as my thumb. My thumb however is the size of the mooon! I hope to traverse the canals soon perhaps riding atop a pink unicorn. And at some point, have a run in with Van Gogh or Vermeer. Maybe they'd be down for some Sun Chips and Hendrix.

Last stop: the airport

P.s. The toilet bowls are oddly shaped here. The hole of water sits closer to the front of the seat. So when u pee aiming for the center like good little soldiers do, the bowl collects a puddle of piss and slowly overflows creating a cascading waterfall in to the actual water hole. It's so absurd to see, kinda like this entry.

Eurotrippin 3rd partstag

Greetings from Munchen, home of Oktoberfest in may. It's official, I'm now guilty of a BWI--blogging while intoxicated. 2 beer gartens plus beer hall makes Boogie Brown a silly boy. I am this close (my index finger is just slightly hoverin above my thumb) to doing my Hitler/schwarzenegger impression in the middle of the train station.

I've also decided that Munich is the equivalent of DC and silver spring, MD but instead if politicians, they have liters of beer. They're so huge I could practice synchronized swimming in the glasses.

I've also decided that women here are also quite large, vertically at least, and often make me feel like a toddler looking for his mom. I wonder if they ever get the urge to pick me up and burp me before u cry and crap my pants.

Final observation, spoken Deutsche sounds straight up evil. I hear two Germans talking and it's like they're plotting to steal the Ark of the Covenant. At the mere sound of "gutten morgen" and I commando roll into the bushes and whip put my beretta with silencer. But in reality, the liters of beer keeps everyone here sedate. The only evil plot there is is to occupy your heart with pig fat and sauerkraut. Mission accomplished.

Until Amsterdam snitches,
Boogie Brune

Eurotripping Part Dos!

Hola chicas y chicos! Greetings from Barceloners, the city that I have officially dubbed San Angelesfornia. If Paris is the New York of Europa just with grand ol´buildings and long phallic bread, then Barceloners is the amalgated west coast complete with crunchy hippies, skaters, sunshine (pronounced soon-she-neh), curious disdain for the spanish language, and wafer-thin women (I´m looking at you Olson twins\hermanas identicas).

So far I´ve learned that the architect Gaudi is probably the root source of the word gaudy because his buildings are the epitomy of that word. I never knew you could make a church that looks like melted marshmallow and a park out of mosaic-tiled reptilian statues.

Furthermore, keyboard layouts are deviously befuddling for American bloggers such as yours truly, El Cafe de Bugi. For one thing, the question mark is not where it should be. If I were to ask questions using the key where that interrogative punctuation should be, my preguntas would like this: Donde esta el bano_ Por que el ciel es azul_ Que el fuck____ Quien es tu padre___ See, messed up. My questions look more like Madlibs. Additionally, there are crazy things i dont understand like ççç¿¿ÑÑÇ¿ÑÇ¡¿

Finally, for a city that prides itself on late night fiesta-ing till 6 in the mornin, there´s a surprising lack of post-club businesses catering to the liquor-induced hunger pangs of many an adolescent partyer, un fiestero if you will. I could sell uncooked slices of spam served on a toothpick, and easily corner the market and amass a small fortune. I could also do the same selling used bathwater in large orange cups that are actually my used sweat socks. The thirst must be quenched in Barceloners!

Onward to the damn of Amsters!

Eurotrippin!

Bon jovi from France snitches! For those that don't parle the francais, that means good jovi from the land of lovers. Aside from mastering the language that sounds like you're trying to talk while your tongue is numb, I've learned a number of fascinating tidbits from our neighborly Statue of Liberty gift-givers. For example, Parisians love their McDonalds and are willing to wait in long lines and shell out 9 bucks for Royal with cheese. See Pulp Fiction for translation.

I've also learned that French iPhone users don't buy unnecessary casing for their expensive handhelds. Instead, they're economical and use a latex condom for extra protection that still allows for sensitivity. I shit you not, the touch screen still works through the lubricated film while protecting the phone from VD and pregnancy.

Lastly, I've learned that Paris is not Tokyo and the likelihood of random bystanders understanding English is far greater. I really can't get away with blurting out random interjections on a packed subway car like "my nipples are on fire!" or "French people fear America!" Fortunately though, my only punishment was to be dressed as an ostentatious clownish Louis the XIV and parade around the Arc De Triumfe on a unicycle. That was fairly tame. What's else you got for me Frenchies?

Onward to Barcelona!