Oh. What a stretched day already. Forgot pen, had to borrow pencil. The only reason I would have needed a pen would be forgetting my laptop, which I did also. I would have left Umelecka earlier and in a more sensible fashion would I could find my umbrella which is probably at Nonstop Chicken or at A.O. And I'm wearing wool and it's been pouring rain so I had to settle for a raincoat over wool but really it's not that cold outside so it was a drenched, hot, muggy walk down here to Bohemian Bagel where I'm not quite sure I'll be able to accomplish anything. Here's a start and already by some God damn anomaly of science the more I move this pencil the better I feel, like opening a window and you may have been alone in that room but then the wind comes in and at least you have someone to keep you company.
Last night was an utter failure and greatly broke my confidence in Prague's ability to nightlife. Went to Roxy, setup was cool enough, great sound, decent prices but yikes, it was a sausagefest to give Oktoberfest a run for its money and most of the girls cold and distant-- I completely missed some chances I admit by whimping out of talking to them. Kody had more success than I did and he has a girlfriend. Ow. Well, he was dancing with this Slovakian chick who wasn't good looking but really into him and when he went to say goodbye she yanked him in and planted one-- had he not dodged the lips it could have been a make out sesh. I went 0-3. Tried speaking Czech to an uber flirt, nerozumeem. Out. Tried dancing with a girl who was also Slovakian, talked for a bit, then I walked away and struck out. Out. Talked to some Czech girls in the back of the bar, talked about school. They were on their way out, didn't say where. Out. We stopped at AO to visit a British waitress friend of ours, Hannah on her last night in town. But at that point I was so defeated I said screw it and schlepped it up to Nonstop.
Sometimes I wonder if it is I who is the nonstop chicken. To introduce two Kundera "Words Misunderstood"; Forgetting and all the chances that are played out, that you never took, that nevertheless are played out ad infinitum in another life. Where are all the mes fulfilling their time in Prague now. How great their stories must be. And the flight here, you know how they say you “lose a day” when you fly over time zones, what exactly does that imply. Where does the day go? If I could fly around the Earth fast enough would I not just lose all my days? Of course I wouldn’t but it still leaves that difficult place where there is no answer. Are the hours just spun off the face of the Earth? Are they just waiting for me to take my return flight at a similar speed to relinquish themselves to me like a loan? What if I never took a return flight? “Losing an hour” is kind of how I feel about the whole of my trip so far here in Prague. I haven’t lost nearly all of it. But many, many hours and some days.
It doesn’t make reasonable sense, with all the documentation and fun I’ve had that so much of this has so quickly faded into obscurity. I hereby firmly resolve to work on my otherwise neglected Prague Blog, not a smart project—but now it’s for me. If I can update it using a combination of memory and old journal entries (which are not really journal entries because they are undated and not necessarily about travel) that triangulated with the course schedule find out where I was, where I am. Part two of the resolution is to see absolutely everything in the rest of the Prague. Petrin Hill, the Castle District, spend more time in the Little Quarter, more places like the café I wrote at in the Jewish Quarter, more bars like the hometowny one in 3, of course I will see the now infamous Club Cross and hopefully squeeze in some time for beautiful waitresses at bookstore cafés. Counting today, Sunday, that’s twelve days to do so. That sounds like not a lot, but it is the halfway point for me, just now. For them they’ve already reached the tipping point, what happens now will be considered Kundera’s “sunset of dissolution.”
Praha means “the threshold,” what poetic justice! I feel I’m fast approaching the intensity, the magnitude that must be exceeded for a certain reaction but I can’t yet say what that reaction is. Someone reminded me today of something I had said earlier on the terrible irony of this city, “In Prague I have all the time in the world to go to class, write, journal, read and see all of Europe.” I wish I had more time but there is no time as it is, there will be no time in August.
I’ve been debating getting a haircut; I’m having tremendous insecurities over my current shag. I feel like it makes me look young and like a hippy. Neither of which am I. I also have to keep it because of our costumed theme party where I’ll be Gaspard in Chicago circa mid-August and I kind of want to prove to myself now that I could pull a girl without having some kind of requisite hairstyle. Every haircut I’ve ever gotten in Europe has been terrific, each one replacing the last for the title of best.
We came back from a hookah place tonight when a big group of Hostel tourists got on our tram, most were English but one girl was American, they were somewhat rowdy and drunk and fishing for their tram passes.
“Stupid Americans,” I said in a low, foreign accent.
“Sorry,” I explained, “We were making fun of Europeans,” I should have added.
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