Notes from Budapest

7/23/04: Abruptions

The aforementioned best-laid plans (midnight flight to Europe, getting sleep en route) did, in fact, go awry. I got less than an hour’s sleep during the flight from Newark to Copenhagen (no direct flights on my budget). This was partially because of the fact that airplane designers are clearly biased against the gawky. It was also because one of the passengers BROUGHT HER DOG ON THE FLIGHT IN A CARRY-ON. I’m serious. Some biddy had her poodle in a handbag on the goddamn plane. And, wouldn’t you know it, dogs don’t deal well with the changes in air pressure.

Neither did the three-year-old in my aisle. I felt bad for the kid, because he was in absolute torment.

Fortunately, official VM Dad bought me a pair of noise-canceling headphones from Bose. I owned a pair from Sony, but they were earbuds, and got mighty uncomfortable on long flights.

The headphones paired nicely with my latest geek-out episode: buying a new 40 gig iPod the day before this trip. My rationale was that the 12-hour battery life of the new model would serve me better on a long trip. And I’m a geek.

Anyway, I listened to music and read a chunk of Lester Bangs’ reviews and essays during the flight. Then I drifted off.

Let this be a warning to you, dear reader: never drift off while listening to your 40 gig iPod, set to shuffle. Oh, it may seem like a good idea, heading off to slumberland with your very favorite tunes a-play (6,692 of them, according to the Pod). But, I ask you, what if you have Van Halen’s Eruptions among those 6,692 songs? You would be most unhappy to be awakened by that particular song, especially with its high recording level.

Otherwise, the flight was uneventful, although landing was a bit strange. We were on a new Airbus 340, and every seat had its own video screen with all sorts of entertainment options. Among those options: checking out the views from the in-flight belly and nose cameras. For most of the flight, there was nothing to see (note: do not cite Bowie’s Nite Flights here). But during the landing approach, it’s pretty weird to see the view from the nose of the plane. I mean, I’ve played my share of flight simulators in my time, but it’s different when it’s YOUR GODDAMN PLANE THAT’S MAKING THE APPROACH.

Anyway, I’m writing this during the short flight to Budapest. I’ll try to find a hotspot once I’m there, so I can post away.

7/24-25/04: Dateline: Tiszaroff

Wow.

Here’s the chronology. I got into Budapest at 4:30pm on Friday (7/23). I didn’t sleep much, as mentioned earlier. My suitcase was the third one out at the baggage claim, which is unprecedented. I got my passport stamped again. I met up with Rene, another guy coming out here from NJ for the wedding. We got his rental car at 5:30. We drove out to a little town called Tiszaroff, to the castle where the wedding party was staying. We had no currency, and the ATMs on the road weren’t on our network, so we stopped at a supermarket on the way and charged some bottled water, candy bars, and other supplies.

The drive took more than two hours, and the traffic frustrated Rene, who was not accustomed to driving our little Peugeot. We arrived, checked in, greeted the wedding guests, then went to our rooms. I showered, dressed nicely, and headed down to dinner.

The rest of this is somewhat blurry. I mean, I remember everything, but that doesn’t seem to mean much. I ate a little at the dinner, around 8:30pm. By my body’s clock, this was only 2:30pm, but I hadn’t slept the previous night. So I figured I’d have a beer with the guys, then turn in and get a full night’s sleep.

Instead, I had a couple of beers, got into many conversations, had more beers, walked in on a German girl in the bathroom, joined a contingent of Americans and Germans in the pool, decided to doff my swimsuit after the realization that 6 out of 8 of us were swimming naked, and drank more beers.

I thought I bailed out around 3am, but it appears that our skinny-dipping contingent actually split up at 4:30am. Which is to say, I had gone a very long time without sleep, and had 8 or 9 (?) beers in me with virtually no food.

Got upstairs to my room and went to sleep, evidently at 4:30am. Woke up to noise (people going to breakfast) around 10:45am. Knew that if I moved, I’d be sick. Around 11:30am, I moved. I was sick.

After worshiping at porcelain altar, and sitting on floor of bathroom in a cold sweat, I dragged my ass back to bed. Woke up at 3pm.

Got up, showered, ate a candy bar and drank a Coke from the minibar, and put on my suit to get down to the wedding party, which was convening at 4:15.

We drove 15 minutes in a convoy to the town where the bride grew up. The church service was Lutheran, I think, and pretty brief. The minister didn’t know much English, and we joked that we understood her better when she was speaking Hungarian. (This language, I should note, bears virtually no connection to the romance languages, and is made even more incomprehensible by its speakers’ thick accents.)

Got back to the hotel for the reception out by the pool. I drank half-heartedly, but engaged in good conversation with a cinematographer who was seated beside me. He’s married to a Hungarian girl too, and said that he has never understood anything that her parents have said to him. I told him that this was probably a good thing.

Some local teenagers put on a performance of local dance, which was entertaining. I cracked, ‘Whenever I see eastern Europeans in boots, I get a little nervous.’

At midnight, the bride came out in a red dress. This is a traditional rite of marriage, with the bride signifying her no-longer-a-girl transition into womanhood by changing into the new red dress.

We had eaten at a buffet from 7:30-9:30pm (or thereabouts), but now a new buffet was opened up, to feast for the new phase. I ate some pastries, drank half-heartedly, as mentioned, then moved back to Cokes. I stayed sober, and did not jump in the pool naked again.

I had a conversation with the German girl I’d accidentally barged in on the night before. Around 3am, I thought about heading up to my room, packing, and getting ready to leave for Budapest with Rene at 10:30am (he’s flying home on Sunday). But the band stopped playing, and I was cajoled into bringing my iPod down and hooking it up to the speakers, so we could listen to bad ’80s music. We did for a while. (Yes, this means I was DJing at around 3:30 in the morning.)

Two members of the band were absolutely transfixed by the iPod, and asked me many questions about it. The younger one also asked me if I had any Thievery Corporation music. I told him I did, complimented him on the Groove Armada CD they put on between sets, and introduced them to the music of Zero 7. Then I pleased some people by playing “Rock You Like a Hurricane,” by the Scorpions, and “Separate Ways,” by Journey. The band packed up all its stuff, and eventually had to take the speakers away.

Just then, I noticed the sky starting to lighten. A rooster crowed, and I said to Rene, ‘Let’s just stay up, and roll out for Budapest around 9 or 10am.’ We committed to that plan, but later realized that, because of the change of latitude, “it gets early early around here.” It was only 4:30am when we made that realization.

But we decided to stick with our plan. We hung out by the pool, and a few of the other guys, including the groom, jumped into the pool naked. I just watched the sun rise over eastern Hungary.

Now we’ll stay up all night, have some coffee and breakfast around 8am, and roll on to Budapest. Where I will sleep like a motherfucking log, dear reader.

Thanks for your interest.

Here are links to a bunch of pix from the wedding day:

Castle Hotel Tiszaroff.

Wedding #1.

Wedding #2.

To the limo!

Group photo.

The pool.

Jon-Eric & Monika at the reception.

Local dancers.

Bringing out the cake.

Rene, Jon-Eric, Axel (whom I nicknamed Ahmet), and Paul.

That sunrise I mentioned.

7/25/04: Zarva

I’ve settled into the Hotel Gellert in Buda, jus above the Danube by the Liberty Bridge. A single room with no air conditioning: 65 euros. It jumps to 200 euros if I want AC. I’ll probably try to find better (middle-of-the-road) accommodations tomorrow. I napped, then took a walk. Found an Internet cafe, so I could at least check up on my e-mail, if not post this rambling entry.

Sounds like I’m missing another great Yankees-Red Sox series back in the U.S. Oh, well. To establish my Ugly American credentials here, I walked around in my Derek Jeter jersey.

It’s Sunday afternoon, and most of the establishments in Buda are closed (Zarva). My dinner consisted of lo mein and paprika chicken at a Chinese restaurant. Time to chill out and read some of that Lester Bangs.

All speedfreaks are liars; anybody that keeps their mouth open that much can’t tell the truth all the time or they’d run out of things to say.

7/26/04: Andrassy Ut

Took a walk across the Independence Bridge over to Pest, then trundled up Andrassy Ut, which leads up past some pretty significant buildings, to the City Park. It rained (and figures to for much of my stay here, alas). I took a bunch of pix. Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night, turned on the TV, and saw South Park in German. I’m pretty sure I was awake, at least.

I ate Thai for lunch. I’ve now had two meals here, and they’ve both been Asian. Eventually, I’ll have to have some goulash.

During lunch, I read about the history of the city. I found out where my hotel (and the hill it’s located on) got its name. Sez Lonely Planet:

In 1046, a Venetian-born bishop named Gerard (Gellert in Hungarian), who had been brought to Hungary by King Stephen, was hurled to his death from a Buda hilltop in a spiked barrel by pagan Hungarians resisting conversion. The hill now bears Gellert’s name.

Whew! Mystery revealed! (Of course, it does raise the question of whether pagans kept a supply of spiked barrels around for just this occasion.)

Here are links to some pix I took today:

The national opera house.

The Millenary Monument (unfortunately, I couldn’t get a good shot of the colonnades behind it).

That monument again.

A walk in the City Park.

Same shot, different proportion.

Have fun storming the castle!

A monument I don’t know the name of, on Buda hill, right before the Elizabeth bridge.

In Pest, I saw this monument in the big retail walkway.

Safe, Sound, Sleepy

I’m in Budapest, staying at the Hotel Gellert, on a hill in Buda, right by the river. Once I find a wireless hotspot (I’m at an internet cafe in Pest at the mo), I’ll post the story of the two days in Tiszaroff for Jon-Eric’s wedding, a period your humble bloggist would probably do better not to publicize. But hey.

Cuban Launches Missiles

I’m a bit of a moron about finance and money matters, even though I’ve gained a good deal of expertise on the pharma business in the last 5 years. Mark Cuban is too easily goofed on as a self-promoting maniac, but it’s important to remember that he’s not just some internet bazillionaire; he’s also a pretty smart businessman and investor. Here’s his take on Microsoft’s plan to pay out a sizeable dividend and buy back a chunk of its stock.

Some

Some pictures

I live out in the woods, as mentioned in previous posts. It’s only about 25 miles from New York City, so I can get my urban vibe on as necessary. This morning, I opened the curtains in my bedroom and saw the following scene in the backyard:

And that’s part of why I love living out here. Not paying rent is also nice.

Last week, my family came out to visit from St. Louis: brother, sister-in-law, and two nieces (four-and-a-half and one, respectively). On Wednesday, while the Nets were in the process of bollixing things up with Kenyon Martin, and while the unspeakable kept on keeping on in Darfur, I went with my family to the Toys R Us in Times Square, so Liat could spend some time in heaven.

She and my brother Boaz rode on “The Big R”:

They also met a dinosaur:

They didn’t give him a funny name. Liat was too overwhelmed by the two-story Barbie store, where she found her true calling: fairy princess.

We went on from TRU to the Plaza Hotel, where Liat got to live out her Eloise fantasies. Unfortunately, my pictures from there aren’t any good. Appreciate the good things. God is Love.

Irvine Welsh explains it all

Wit and wisdom from the author of Trainspotting:

Hopefully you grow old, but never up. My whole life’s been a midlife crisis. Dunno whether it’s a prolonged adolescence or a premature menopause, it’s seamless to me.

Failure teaches you everything. Success teaches you nothing at all. You learn things about people, how two-faced and sycophantic they can be. People who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire when you’re a failure are suddenly all over you when you’re successful.

Bonnie James Dio

Official VM bartenderess (ret.) Bonnie recently partook in the annual Coney Island Mermaid Parade. She was part of the Iron MerMaiden Brigade. Click on her boobs or something for the link.

Independence Day

I’ve been an NBA mark for years. I’d watched the league as a kid, but I became a fan when the Knicks took Patrick Ewing with the #1 pick in the 1985 draft. For 11 seasons, I was a devoted Knicks fan. I cheered when Ewing made his first all-star team (even though he barely played, in the typical rite of passage for first-timers).

I didn’t understand the game and the team’s recent history well enough to lament the loss of Bernard King to a series of knee blowouts (the same injury I suffered in the spring of 1991). But I cheered when Bianchi and Pitino’s Bomb Squad made the playoffs, when Trent Tucker hit the 4-point play against Chicago with 0.1 left on the clock, when the Knicks swept the Sixers and several players broke out a broom and started sweeping the court. And that was just the high school years. The team fell apart through a series of bad trades and drafts (Jerrod Mustaf? Rod Strickland for Mo Cheeks?). A few years later, Pat Riley came in as coach and the team became a title-contender.

Those were exciting times, especially because Riley’s defense-first style meant every game was a low-scoring affair, which kept things really competitive. In college, my friend Mike, who wasn’t a hoops junkie like I am, watched games with me every Sunday on NBC. After a few weeks of nail-biting Knicks games, he said, “I can’t take this anymore! I’m gonna have a heart attack if I keep watching these things!” I knew where he was coming from.

Within a season, as the 1980s dominance of the Lakers and the Celtics waned, the Knicks were fighting Michael Jordan’s Bulls each year in the playoffs, then battling with the Pacers as the legend of Reggie Miller began. They were great times, even if the Knicks’ style was ugly. The ups and downs were phenomenal. I watched John Starks’ incredible playoff-dunk against Jordan and Horace Grant, Charles Smith’s failure to connect on a layup in that same series, Greg Anthony’s sucker-punch of Kevin Johnson, preceded by Doc Rivers’ spitting out of teeth after getting tripped on-court. I watched Ewing climb onto the scorers’ table in 1994, preening for the crowd like a gladiator, watched him blow a finger-roll against Indiana in 1995 to lose in the playoffs. Sure, Ewing was outplayed by Olajuwon in the 1994 Finals, but it was a heck of a series. And, yes, Starks missed a ton of shots in game 7 of that series, but Ewing’s demands for the ball in the fourth quarter of game 6 may’ve cost them more.

Anyway, what I’m saying is, I was a huge Knicks fan (and general NBA geek). That ended in 1997. Riley had bailed out on New York to take over the Miami Heat two seasons earlier. The teams squared off in the second round of the playoffs, winner to meet Jordan’s Bulls. The year before, Jordan had set the record for most wins in an NBA season (his team went 72-10) with the most ferociously sustained performance since the Lakers won 33 games in a row back in 1972. The Bulls ran through the eastern conference, going 11-1. The Knicks handed them their sole defeat and, after the series, Patrick Ewing made his standard comment after getting eliminated in the playoffs. He said, “We were the better team; we should’ve won this series.” As I said, this Bulls team had just set the record for the best record in the history of the NBA. But that was Patrick: great talent (not great enough to carry a team to a championship), hard worker, and a completely delusional view of the world. What’s not to like?

In 1996-97, the Knicks retooled their team solely to beat the Bulls. They romped in the first round of the playoffs, then took on Riley’s Heat in the second round. Riley had built the Heat as a mirror-image of the Knicks, right down to getting a Georgetown center a la Ewing in Alonzo Mourning. The Knicks, up 3-1 in the seven-game series, were in position to knock them off and face the Bulls, with their best chance of knocking off Jordan and getting back to the Finals.

The Knicks, as was their wont, blew game 5 badly. They were never good at closing out teams, almost always playing too loose in their first elimination game of a series. At the end of that game, Knick guard Charlie Ward took a cheap shot at the knees of Miami’s P.J. Brown. Brown, a foot taller than Ward, flipped him into the front row on the baseline of the court. A brawl ensued. A number of Knick players got off the bench and, because of league rules, were suspended for a game. Without their full complement of players, the Knicks lost in 7 games to Miami, which went on to get dusted by the Bulls. I decided on that night that I could no longer support the Knicks.

How could I keep cheering for a team that seemed to always find a way to let me down? After following the team devotedly throughout the season, I watched them melt down in a single moment, not even failing on the court, but through the stupidity of getting into a fight with Riley’s players.

I decided I’d had enough of having my expectations dashed. No more would I cheer for a basketball team all year long, only to be disappointed. I would cheer for a team with no expectations. I became a Nets fan.

The Nets, see, were one of the biggest jokes in the NBA. The ownership group at the time consisted of “The Secaucus Seven,” a bunch of investors who could never agree on a direction for the team, and left it constantly floundering. The Nets played at the Meadowlands, a cheap arena that looked even cheaper during the 1996 NCAA basketball finals, when a rainstorm revealed numerous leaks in the ceiling. It was a dump. The players hated being there. There was never hope of making the playoffs. Promising players developed terrible attitudes and were traded. Draft picks were disastrous. Coaches were re-treads. I’d found my new home.

I decided that cheering for the Nets would be fun. After all, there was no pressure. The team goes 30-52? That’s better than last year! After all, this team had won exactly one playoff series since it had joined the league in 1978. There was never the Riley-esque slow-and-steady progression to a championship. There was just a basketball team adrift, no real direction and no real location (the Meadowlands are out in the swamps of Jersey, as Bruce Springsteen would put it).

Within a year, unfortunately, the Nets became up-and-comers. The young college coach who took over was energizing the fans. The players came together and complemented each other’s strengths. No one was bickering about a contract. Just my luck: the Nets had turned the corner. The team put on a great run to make the playoffs, got swept by Jordan’s Bulls, and began making offseason plans to become a serious power in the NBA.

And I started to build expectations. When that season got underway, the key player on the squad turned his ankle and the Nets started the season 3-18. I learned that this wasn’t disappointment; with the Nets, this was standard operating procedure! So I got back to enjoying watching them lose. Mid-season, they traded for Stephon Marbury, their first star player in years. On April Fools day of that season (1999), the star player dived for a ball, and broke the leg of the Nets key rebounder and “glue” player, Jayson Williams (who went on to shoot his chauffeur in the chest with a shotgun). Those crazy Nets!

The next season, my buddy and I bought a 10-game ticket plan for the Nets. We watched them lose to a number of exciting teams that had great management and better players. At one point, during a game against the Heat, I turned to my buddy and said, ‘Stephon Marbury is out on the court with Lucious Harris, Stephen Jackson, Aaron Williams and Evan Eschmeyer. Those four guys shouldn’t even be in the NBA! And that’s our crunch-time squad!’

We went to the games. We watched Stephon put up 50 (in a losing effort, of course) against the Lakers. We ate hot dogs and pretzels. We had fun. We never expected them to win games, and they never let us down. The team even added the #1 pick in the draft that year, but he broke his leg midway through the season. Of course, since it was the Nets, he had also broken his leg late in his last college season. It was a risk, but the Nets drafted him anyway. His name is Kenyon Martin.

The Nets went 26-56 that season. My buddy & I re-upped for a 21-game plan. It was cheap: just $25/seat in the lower tier, and the games were all against great teams.

Then disaster struck. The Nets transformed in the off-season, trading Marbury for Jason Kidd, drafting well, and building a winner overnight.

Now, this isn’t as bad as I perversely make it sound. After all, going into that year, even Kidd said that a .500 season (41-41) would be a great accomplishment. That season, they became the best team in the east, rampaging over the competition and reaching the NBA Finals. Along the way, they played in the most exciting pro basketball game I’ve ever seen (game 5 against the Pacers in the first round of the playoffs). We were swept up, but the winning wasn’t expected, so that somehow made it acceptable. It was fun, and we went to half their home games, so we really got to see the players develop and grow.

They were blown out by the Lakers in the Finals, but that was expected. The next year, they got there again, but were beaten by the Spurs. I went into last season (just finished) with a certain ennui. The winning had gotten to me. I now thought about plans for how the team could remain a powerhouse for years to come. Kidd was going to decline a bit as he gets older, but Kenyon Martin’s ferocious defense and fire, combined with the all-around game of 2001 draft pick Richard Jefferson, would keep them competitive for years.

I’d forgotten the #1 lesson of being a Nets fan: success is an accident; you can only plan for failure.

This takes us to yesterday. This year’s NBA off-season has been filled with some pretty depressing turns. The most dominant player of the last 10 years just got traded. A star player who is on trial for sexual assault was given a 7-year/$140 million contract (voidable if he’s convicted: whew!). A key player convinced his team to drop his contract option for next year (he was to get paid $700,000), then took a big-money deal from another team. A player signed a deal to leave his current team, and watched his team owner write a lengthy blog entry about it.

And the Nets, who had changed the face of their team in the past three seasons, just traded Kenyon Martin away for three future draft picks because he wanted a big contract. The team is under new ownership, which plans to move the squad from New Jersey to Brooklyn, and decided that it’s not worth carrying around a huge payroll for the next few years. So the #1 pick is gone, the fiery leader is gone, the man who won a game last April by catching an opponent’s shot in mid-air is gone. In his place? Draft picks in a league where most players take years to develop.

Fans never turned out in huge numbers to Nets games. Even during the two runs to the Finals, the regular-season attendance was usually among the bottom five in the 29-team league. Tickets were expensive, traffic to and from the arena sucked, and there was (almost) always an overall feeling that the sky was about to fall in. Once the move to Brooklyn was announced, even fewer fans turned out. With Kenyon’s departure, that number’s guaranteed to get worse. I’ll be amazed if the Nets play in front of more than 5,000 people a night in another season or two (while the Brooklyn site undergoes the typical construction delays of any city’s mega-building projects).

It’s not my money, of course, but I’ll bet that the amount the team saves from not paying Kenyon is going to be offset by the incredible decline in ticket sales, parking and concessions revenues.

But that’s neither here nor there. What all of this is heading toward is my declaration that I am now done supporting the Nets, the Knicks, or any team. From here on in, I will continue to be an NBA mark, but I will no longer root for one team over any other. I will buy my NBA League Pass on DirecTV again and, whichever games are on that night, I’ll tune in if I’m in the mood. I’ll cheer for whoever interests me that night, and make sure to catch the players I love to watch (Tim Duncan, Kevin Garnett, Jason Williams, Peja Stojakovic (regular season only)). If a team strikes my fancy (like the Grizzlies last season), so be it. But no team gets more than a one-game commitment from me any longer.

That’s the new NBA.

Funny Books

Really long article on comics, by Charles McGrath in the New York Times. Oh, wait. It’s about graphic novels, not comics. My bad.

It actually has some good points about the narrative form, and some neat comments from cartoonists. It doesn’t really get into the finances of the business, which is integral to understanding the development of comics.

I’ll write more extensively about the subject soon, as it’s something I care about a lot. I’m not sure how such a massive article on comics can get published without mentioning (like it or not) the work of Dave Sim, who recently finished a 300-issue serial written and drawn monthly over the course of twenty-seven years, but we’ve all got our lacunae, I guess.

And it’s “McCloud,” not “McLoud.”