TGIF

It's been a rough week at work, so between that and my obsessive (and so far unsuccessful) search to find the season premiere of The Real Housewives of NYC online, I don't have much going on. Which means I will continue to milk last weekend.


I wish I were enough of a badass to run wearing that.


That would be Cem's bum.


Who needs Chanel when you have snap bracelets?


Ralphie and I were the only ones who thought the free Ovaltine bars were delicious.


We decided everyone looks better in black and white.


Or wearing a mining light.


Contrary to the above photo, Cem did leave his post to run the race.


My little Lexipoo.

I am off to Istanbul tomorrow so will have new stories soon. Hopefully ones involving bathhouses and large Turkish women with loofahs.

Paris Semi

I could get used to living in Paris. I mean I don’t speak French or have any real ties to the city except for an intense love of crepes and nutella, but that seems like enough.

We all trickled into the city on Friday night and spent the evening negotiating sleeping arrangements and accidentally ordering warm milk in cafes.

I realized it was going to be COLD for the race when Lex and I biked to Parc Floral on Saturday morning to drop off our medical forms, and I lost all feeling in my hands. We spent the rest of the day strolling around the city, saying deep things like:

"The subway ride took 40 minutes. We have to run that tomorrow?"

"I love how all of the buildings are so structured in an unstructured way."

I also spent a significant amount of time trying to convince the others that macaroons we bought at a specialty pastry shop were just as good as the macaroons sold at the McDonalds at Versailles.

Besides seeing Lex & co., the best part of the weekend was the actual race. Lex, Oppy, and I ran together, starting and ending in the Parc and looping around the city center. I don't know if it was the course or running with friends or if my brain went numb because of the cold, but the time flew by.

The end of the race was a mob scene; we elbowed our way non-climactically to the finish line, and I think Lex beat up an old woman for a banana. I didn't see it go down though because I was busy tripping Oppy so I could steal his Powerade.


I’m definitely ready for a full marathon. Boston 2011, here I come.

We headed back to the apartments only to realize that - being so laser-focused on the race - the runners locked themselves out of their apartment. No worries! Surely the landlord has an extra key.

He doesn't? No worries! I am sure we can call a locksmith.

Four hours later, we finally got into the apartment - just in time for me to grab my stuff and head out to the airport.

The race pics from the website are fairly frightening, so I'll only post two. Oppy, I'm including yours because you look badass. Lex - how did you manage to have no pictures (I think Cem had 12)? Did you delete them??

Partners In Health

I am leaving cold, windy Budapest for hopefully not so chilly France this evening. Thank you to everyone who donated to Partners In Health on behalf of the Haiti relief effort. I will fill my momyou all in on everything when I get back.

In related news, today Sus sent me this picture from last month's Lunar Party. Henry (right) is the medical director of PIH. And please be assured that your money is funding aid to Haiti and not supplying the country with sequined devil horns.

Let's Make A Deal

I am on a continual quest to find new music. My favorite is alternative/indie-rock, although I am a sucker for popified-punk (my all time favorite concert was Papa Roach junior year of high school when Coby Dick sweat on me. Judge away).

I keep a running list of songs I hear and like on my blackberry - one of my six allowed lists - and rip out magazine pages mentioning good bands.

(I also rip out random magazine pages and throw them on the floor when I am in reading in bed at night to remind myself to do something the next day. This makes absolutely no sense and is why the next morning a New Yorker article titled "Detroit in Ruins" can be interpreted either as a reminder to download an Eminem song or run the dishwasher.)

Then every few weeks I plant myself in my 1.5 chair and pull up each song on iTunes to determine if it is worth $1.29 based on the 20-second sound byte. To get all econ-y on you, my utility derived from getting good music far exceeds any amount of time or money I spend obtaining it.

Following a particularly disappointing list-to-purchase conversion ratio, I was ecstatic when I received a package from Nina this week containing a few new (to me) CDs. Which got me thinking.

I like music and have the privledge/curse of easy access to Euro pop, techno, punk, and even Hungarian rap. You like music and have access to music that likely never will make it to Hungary.

If you send me new music (even the names of songs so I can download them), I will reciprocate. If Deane liked tolerated Lady Gaga's Telephone, I know you will enjoy my Eurotrash-tastic spin mix (slated for official release in Fall 2010).

What have you got to lose? Besides time, effort, and good taste?

Prolific Blogger

As you can tell, I am updating the blog more frequently with shorter posts. This is good because it forces me to write and, in extreme cases, reflect on what I am doing. This is bad because you will be forced to read about my boring daily life (assuming others actually read this).

Over the past month, I have done my half-marathon long runs on the gym treadmill. They have been miserable. In addition to people peering over my shoulder and commenting when I change the pace, the electrcity shuts off at random times.

Optimistic Alex would consider this interval training. Unfortunately, only cranky Alex frequents the gym.

My last long run was so mind-numbing that it took me almost an entire week before I could convince myself to return to the gym, undoubtedly negating all benefits of the training run.

This is why I decided to run outside this weekend. However, given the more-February-than-March temperatures and howling wind, I needed a kick in the butt to get out the door. This is where it gets embarrassing.

I have been relying on running blogs to stay motivated for the Paris semi. Sunday morning I literally sat in my chair and a half and read Runner's Kitchen until I got pumped, put on twelve layers, and headed over to Margaret Island.

It worked. I felt as if I were part of a group of fellow running crazies, dodging the debris kicking around in the wind. And if I clenched and unclenched my fists every 500 meters or so, my fingers didn’t get too numb. It by far was my best and longest run since the summer and reminded me that I run because I actually like it.

Boo-friggin-yah. I gotta do something to keep the endorphins flowing prior to springtime.

Yum-O

Friends, get excited because I now know how to make Chicken Paprikash, Nokedli, Goulash, and Somloi - a popular Hungarian dessert made by layering chocolate and vanilla sponge cake with vanilla custard, raisins, walnuts, chocolate sauce, rum and whipped cream.

Of course, I only snapped a picture of the dessert.


This weekend I got a bunch of people together for a Hungarian cooking class, and it was delicious. The most fun part - besides eating the results - was making the nokedli using a cheese grater. I do not know if I was licking my lips or rationalizing buying a grater to try this at home.


Since New Year's, I have kept my resolution of learning how to cook by experimenting. It took me 4+ years post-college graduation to transition from eating dinner at work or considering half a box of cereal dinner (please disregard last night) to cooking for myself, but better late than never. Sometimes the results are good; sometimes I have a week's worth of gross lunches following a botched meal. But at least I no longer have steady-state mercury poisoning as the result of an all-sushi diet.


I remain cautiously optimistic.

Witness This

I skyped this weekend with KVS, one of my best friends from college and a freelance writer in New Orleans. (One of my favorite memories of New York is when KVS was in charge of making and taking pictures of the recipes featured in New York Magazine each week. Her pictures then were turned into sketches, so every so often I would open a NYM and see a drawing of my hands. Or Megh’s.)

The longer I am here, the more accustomed I am to having stupid conversations (“Hi, I’m Alex. I am American. I like the beach.”), so it was nice to talk with someone who knows me so well. KVS also can relate to some of my feelings about living in Budapest as she moved to New Orleans last year knowing only a couple of people.

Like anything, transplanting to Budapest and New Orleans has its ups and downs, but KVS described it perfectly; sometimes you just want someone to “witness” you. Like if I weren’t to run around Margaret Island in the morning or walk around Tesco during lunch because my office makes me claustrophobic, would anyone notice? This has to be part of the reason why everyone and their mother has a blog or twitter account.

(For the record, the aforementioned “anyone” excludes my mom. One Friday night when I worked at DB, I didn’t respond to my mom’s email because I went to bed at 7 PM after pulling an all-nighter. The next morning I awoke to ten messages from coworkers whom my mom had called trying to track me down.)

At the same time, not having many people “witness” you is kinda fun and part of the appeal about moving to a new city in the first place. So it goes both ways.

And I am sorry to say that you now are witness to my sulking following the mysterious Govinda closure and ramblings resulting from not having moved from the couch except to get up and pour another bowl of cereal. Nougat Pillows, I am cheating on you.