And now for something completely different.
It’s the weekend AGAIN?! How the hell did that happen?!
So after my initial shock (what happened to the week? There was a week! I know I saw a week around here and now it’s gone!) I decided to make the best about the fact that time just doesn’t stand still and went museum hopping.
But before we get to that, a word from our sponsor: When life gives you lemons, you’re supposed to make lemonade; but when life gives you old rotten bananas that you bought two weeks ago and then forgot about, you make cookies.
Tada! And now for the museum thing: Every October, there is an event in Vienna where you pay for one ticket and you can visit as many museums as you can fit into the 7 hour span of said event. It’s practically and all-you-can-look-at buffet, and I always use it to visit all the small museums that either are not usually open to the general public, or that I wouldn’t want to spend that much money on, because museums are hella expensive (knowledge doesn’t come for free, so bend over).
So I’m officially old now. I go out on a Saturday night to go to a museum, don’t even have a single drink, and go home at 1 am. Yup, that’s my exciting 20s right there.
(No museum pics for you, btw, because I was either not allowed or too lazy to take any. That’s the weird thing about museums, they won’t always let you take photos, but they don’t sell postcards either, all like “This whole picture business will wreak havoc on your memory!”)
And in case anyone asks, no, I’m not being paid by the department of tourism to write any of this. Sometimes I actually go out and do things.
The entire city was alive and running on Saturday. Between Long Night of the Museums and the usual weekend traffic of dance-happys and barflies there were also a good many events pertaining to the infamous Oktoberfest, aka the weekend everyone gets drunk and blames it on the Germans. So as I stepped outside my door, I was immediately greeted by the sight of various folk attired in Dirndl and Lederhosen, ready and eager to break it down to German Schlager, drink overpriced beer, and generally have themselves some Hüttengaudi (some of them evidently already regretting their choice of dress because it was going to be a cold, cold night).
Fun fact: Long before the Oktoberfest became popular beyond Germany, the word ‘Dirndl’ used to denote nothing more than the type of working dress worn by female farm workers in the Alpine regions. It comes from the German word ‘Dirne’ (which, in turn, apparently comes from ‘*þéornōn‘, a Germanic word meaning ‘unfree woman’ or ‘female servant’) which used to mean ‘girl’, but soon acquired the meaning of ‘prostitute’. However, with the added diminutive of ‘dl’, Dirndl is still used as ‘girl’ in rural regions of Austria and Bavaria (Upper German dialect continuum). So remember, kids: diminutives make girls less whorish.
So off we went. My ingeniously planned program ran thusly: Planetarium, Police Museum, which is only open for this specific event (because it’s a regular station otherwise), quick coffee break, film museum, and Roman museum. So after we learned about the history of astronomy complete with computer generated night sky it was time to go bother the police. On the way through the inner districts we found many an interesting thing, like the Soviet War Memorial:
We also found about a hundred young human females selfie-ing away at the fountain, as well as a dozen or so tourists armed with the type of heavy-duty cameras that tell everyone that they mean business with their vacation. Anyway, Police Museum. Hundreds of officers everywhere. Is it only me, or does anyone else ever feel guilty when in the presence of police officers, even though you haven’t done a thing? Does anyone else do that? I always feel like they feel like I’m up to something.
At any rate, coffee break time! So off we pranced to Starbucks because that’s the only coffee place that’s open at 10 pm. I have some sort of love-hate relationship with pumpkin spice lattes: I love them and they hate me. I know, everyone who is remotely American will now groan, because pumpkin spice?! You are probably sick to death with pumpkin related anything and it’s not even Halloween yet, but to me, that shit is downright exotic. We don’t have that over here! We don’t make pumpkin pie! (I tried last week and failed!) We don’t have pumpkin spice, much less pumpkin candles! I don’t even know what pumpkin pie is supposed to taste like. You know what we use pumpkin for around here? Soup. That’s pretty much it. So in the four weeks that Starbucks actually has pumpkin spice lattes I try everything in my might to get a hold of a cup of delicious overpriced pumpkin-flavoured mostly-milk.
And not only me, because it’s always sold out. (See? Exotic. That’s what makes it so popular.) Or I’m a week early. Or a week late. At any rate, pumpkin spice lattes apparently hate me because they won’t let me drink them. They flee. They hide. They probably laugh at me.
Also, according to the Internet I just outed myself as a typical basic white girl. Okay. Whatevs. I can’t even with that definition, like, totally.
(Before anyone asks, no, I don’t own a pair of ugg boots. You know why they’re called that? Because the first time the designer presented them, the audience went “Ugh! Ugly ass boots!” (Hehe, ‘ugg’ly. ‘Ugg’ly, get it? Geeeet it?))
What were we even talking about? Oh, yeah.
The film museum regaled us with the delightful topic of 100 years of WW1 by showing us real footage from 1914 soldiers and the declaration of the First Austrian Republic and so on. After that, because Vienna is tiny, we walked to our last planned point, the Roman Museum (don’t bother with the homepage, it hasn’t been updated since 2010, even though the entire museum has been renovated, like, twice in the last five years. That should tell you something about mine beloved countrymen and their attitude towards technology.). Here’s some pics from our walk:
Dun, dun, DUUUUN! Church all up in your face!
Vienna is a place of magic and light shows.
Even more church!
So, Roman museum. Boyfriend tries to re-enact Asterix the Legionary with the two poor dudes guarding the entrance dressed as Roman soldiers. Inside, there’s stones. And more stones. Stones, stones, stones, lotta stones. You might say the museum was stoned. (Haaaa, lame joke is lame, five bucks into the lame joke fund, please.)
And information. Lots of information about Roman life in Vienna some 2000 years ago. And sometimes I think Vienna really is something, like, historically. I mean, every European city is, but I was born here, so, you know? There have always been massive amounts of vastly different people in Austria, all kinds of folk all running around. 2000 years ago there were Celts to the South and West, Germanic people to the North, Slavs and Magyars to the East, and Romans fucking everywhere in between. And in the middle of all this a small Roman outpost which was many other peoples’ settlement before that. And the bigger streets they used, they have different names now and decent pavement, but mostly they’re still the same. Same goddamned street, same direction and everything.
And then I had my philosophical five minutes, which happens every couple of months, and suddenly my thoughts ran a little something like this:
“On the streets that I walk everyday, people have walked for over 2000 years. People have taken the same roads thousands of years before we were born and we are looking at their remains, studying, trying to understand, and maybe 2000 years onwards someone will exhume our computers from the rubble of these same streets and wonder.”
And then Boyfriend was like, “Do you think they ever excavated a Roman bordello?” aaaand it’s back to reality. And I was like, “Suppose they have, all the hookers are dead as dust. How would you even know what that place was? You think they wrote it on the door? ‘Park your biggus dickus here’?”
And on our way home our talk was the usual mix of comic book characters, the incalculability of public transport, and That One Time I Almost Got Run Over By A Police Car.
Sunday, I have decided, is pancake day. It’s also Sleep For Twelve Hours day, but we have to be flexible, right? When I was growing up every Saturday was pasta day. I kept with that particular tradition (which of course has nothing at all to do with pasta still being one of the cheapest food stuffs out there as well as goddamned yummy), but I also believe in adding my own. So, pancakes. Because… pancakes! Look at the cute widdle baby pancakes!
I call this one “Still Life with Hungry Man in the Background”.
Boyfriend didn’t even like pancakes until I started dressing them up a bit, because as we know, it’s aaaalll in the presentation. Now he feels indifferent towards them. Food is food, he says.
Then it was time to play mind-numbing MMOs, watch some episodes of the thankfully last season of Babylon 5 (why, Boyfriend, why?), and that was my weekend. Now it’s Monday (weeeell, it’s midnight, so yeah, technically it is already Monday). Mondays are generally dontwanna days with a side of meh. Let’s see what this week has to offer. Oh yeah, classes start on Wednesday. Joy.
Also – and I’m writing this with one hand while my other one is knocking on wood vigorously – I may or may not have a job.