Blogging from Prague

Yes, that's right, it's a Prague blog! I'm in a smoky cafe where there's free wifi, because I horked my boof's laptop for the day while he's shooting. It finally stopped raining today (swell!) and I'm inside (stupid!) but I had to slog for about an hour and a half to get to this place and now I'm making the most of it. Take that, Prague spring (the weather, not the cultural uprising). It's lovely here, just as lovely as I remember it from my first visit (Prague 1.0) in April, 1997. Except that I fracked up my calf muscles something fierce by overworking out on the infernal arc trainer, and we are staying on top of the giant hill where the castle is, so every trip to and from the hotel requires either hiking straight down or hiking straight up and now I feel like I am walking around in a way that can best be described as how Martin Short, when playing the old woman who just wants pudding, hobbles in a wobbly, bow-legged way.

My flight here was mildly uneventful, if by uneventful one means getting the world's worst migraine and waiting it out in the flourescently-lit Frankfurt airport during a two-hour layover, where the German CNN blasting in the waiting-area was so loud that I had to decide that German CNN is the most abrasive sound in the whole world, a sound that could only be improved by drowning it out with Death Cab on my ipod. Yeah, I'm that person. Suck it.

But I finally made it here, 15 hours after starting my journey from JFK, where I drank overpriced glasses of white zin in order to prepare myself for the Transatlanticism (see, I told you I was that Death Cab person. Suck it). I have become inordinately fond of white zinfandel, and I must reveal that while I was in the Los Angeles, I bought a cheap-ass bottle of the white zinfandel at the Trader Joe's and watched Top Model in bed with the bottle resting on my sternum and thought, "This is good."

My passion for Top Model knows no ends. I was telling my friend Tom that I love Top Model so much, it would almost be difficult to choose between Top Model and having sex. Luckily, that is never a literal choice to make, seeing as Top Model airs Wednesday nights, and really, who's having sex at 8/7c? But the point remains the same - I mean, really? An hour of Top Model or an hour of having sex? The choice is almost too difficult to make, and that's coming from a person who loves both activities with equal ferocity. But Top Model this past week was almost too good to handle, between the girls jetting off to Thailand and the expulsion of Nenna, who looked so good on tv but took lame-ass photos. And that clip show!!! Who watched the clip show? It was like a mutiple orgasm of Top Model greatness, and served mostly to solidify my ever-growing girl crush on Joanie (who is known, in my household, as the Christ Whore, due to her daddy being a preacher and her amateur stripper nights back home.) Oh, Joanie! You are so sweet and so nice and you just want to understand Thai culture and not offend the Thai women by flashing your breasteses. How I love you. If only I'd had a bottle of white zin resting on my tummy ... but, no! That would have been too much goodness for my weary soul.

I am going to leave this cafe relatively soon and go figure out if one really can bring Absinthe back into the USA. I expect you won't hear from me til Wednesday, when I return, but fear not, I will be armed with bagfuls of souvenirs for all the folks back home, and possibly a visit from the green fairy (but not of the Kylie Minogue variety)