Update Email #1
I pasted the text of an email below. A few times throughout the semester, I'll send out these emails to keep people at least kind of updated on my life. I'll probably post to LJ a bit more often than that, but I'm not sure. If you didn't receive the email, and you'd like to, let me know and I'll add you to the list. If you're not a CMCer, be sure to give me your email address, too. The email was slightly different than the text below, so there is some mild incentive to be on the list.
Hey all-
Prague + Brad = happy
But as awesome as this place is (and I'll get to that in a minute), I feel it necessary to take a break for a bit to write this email. Why, you ask? Even if you didn't ask, I'll tell you, because I'm an extremely helpful and accomodating person (stop laughing, Elissa).
The purpose of this email is twofold:
1) I want to make sure you don't forget about me.
2) I thought there might be a tiny chance that you'd want to hear the fun and/or debaucherous and/or criminal parts about my misadventures in Europe.
If you don't care about #1, and I was incorrect in assuming #2, let me know. I'll take you off the list. And I won't be offended! I promise! You can always just delete the emails, too. Most of you won't be quizzed on the details. The exceptions are Beth, Lindsay, Stephanie, and Mike. You were the lucky ones randomly selected from the group, so you'll be quizzed. Regularly. You will not receive grades, but rather, varying levels of sexual favors to be performed by Ben Fidler. You should see the shit Ben will do if you get a perfect score. (Ben: I assumed you'd be ok with this. If not, let me know, so I can call you a liar).
Don't worry about getting your inboxes clogged with details about every last thing, though. I'll send out no more than five of these the whole semester. Probably not even that many, because, frankly, I'm lazy. And besides, when I send them out, they will highlight only the most ridiculous, amazing, and catastrophic events. As it should be, of course.
So Prague...
I won't go into details right now, but suffice it to say that this place is ri-goddamn-diculously beautiful. The people on the program are cool (except Patrick -- he's a prick), the accomodations are more than acceptable, blah blah blah. Boring, I know. On to more exciting things...
So last night, a huge group of us went out to a club called Le Chateau. I was mildly outraged at the fact that we're in the Czech Republic and we chose to go to a french-named club. But after a rollicking good time in the cavelike basement dance facilities, we headed out.
Most people wanted to go to this other club, I wanted to go back to the dorm, other people wanted to go to the river, and we instead ended up lost and wandering the streets, until we stumbled into a small bar populated by sketchy-looking middle-aged men and scantily-clad blonde chicks. And that's when it happened. I turned to the right, where something in my peripheral vision had grabbed my attention. And what was this compelling "something"?
Naked people. Well, to be honest, just one naked person, but shock had me seeing double. We'd accidentally wandered into the lamest and most depressing strip club ever. The other strippers were sitting around in underwear, sipping their beers, and looking vaguely like they were still behind the Iron Curtain. Apparently, they were just chillin' until it was their turn to demean themselves before an audience of stunned American college students.
We left quickly, at which point I unknowingly got separated from the group. I ended up walking around with a girl named Maya, who goes to Pomona (Evan and Emily: I think she was in your Russian class. And by "think," I mean "know," because I talked to her about you).
By the by, I want to marry the woman who's my program coordinator. She's 26, beautiful, and ridiculously competent. It doesn't even occur to me that she's the wrong gender. She's that hot. Also, Prague people are hot in general. Also, the city itself is hot. If cities were personified, Prague would be my #1 choice for a sexual relationship. I don't really know what that means, but try to picture it. It'll be fun, I promise.
Speaking of hot people, my program director is Dr. Stary. He's approximately 60 years old, wears tight, bright pink shirts and designer jeans, and he sports a faux hawk. He's incredible.
So Katherine, I know you warned me about the weird water situation in Europe, but I just want to emphasize to everyone: you can't get water here. People think you're a freak if you want to be even functionally hydrated. I am thirsty at all times, and I get weird looks if I want anything other than beer (which comes in huge servings), soda (which comes in tiny servings), or sparkling water (which is so nasty that I refuse to acknowledge that it's worth serving in any size). I finally found a bottled water that's not carbonated, so I bought a shitload. But I don't carry it with me, so any time I'm out, my tongue feels roughly like the Gobi Desert.
Last note: the trip here was insane; I almost missed my connection, they lost my luggage, and Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker were next to me in the security line at JFK. The awful trip, though, killed off a significant chunk of my OCD. By the time I get back to Claremont, I think it'll be completely wiped out. "Fat chance," you may be thinking, but I'm pretty confident about this.
Hey all-
Prague + Brad = happy
But as awesome as this place is (and I'll get to that in a minute), I feel it necessary to take a break for a bit to write this email. Why, you ask? Even if you didn't ask, I'll tell you, because I'm an extremely helpful and accomodating person (stop laughing, Elissa).
The purpose of this email is twofold:
1) I want to make sure you don't forget about me.
2) I thought there might be a tiny chance that you'd want to hear the fun and/or debaucherous and/or criminal parts about my misadventures in Europe.
If you don't care about #1, and I was incorrect in assuming #2, let me know. I'll take you off the list. And I won't be offended! I promise! You can always just delete the emails, too. Most of you won't be quizzed on the details. The exceptions are Beth, Lindsay, Stephanie, and Mike. You were the lucky ones randomly selected from the group, so you'll be quizzed. Regularly. You will not receive grades, but rather, varying levels of sexual favors to be performed by Ben Fidler. You should see the shit Ben will do if you get a perfect score. (Ben: I assumed you'd be ok with this. If not, let me know, so I can call you a liar).
Don't worry about getting your inboxes clogged with details about every last thing, though. I'll send out no more than five of these the whole semester. Probably not even that many, because, frankly, I'm lazy. And besides, when I send them out, they will highlight only the most ridiculous, amazing, and catastrophic events. As it should be, of course.
So Prague...
I won't go into details right now, but suffice it to say that this place is ri-goddamn-diculously beautiful. The people on the program are cool (except Patrick -- he's a prick), the accomodations are more than acceptable, blah blah blah. Boring, I know. On to more exciting things...
So last night, a huge group of us went out to a club called Le Chateau. I was mildly outraged at the fact that we're in the Czech Republic and we chose to go to a french-named club. But after a rollicking good time in the cavelike basement dance facilities, we headed out.
Most people wanted to go to this other club, I wanted to go back to the dorm, other people wanted to go to the river, and we instead ended up lost and wandering the streets, until we stumbled into a small bar populated by sketchy-looking middle-aged men and scantily-clad blonde chicks. And that's when it happened. I turned to the right, where something in my peripheral vision had grabbed my attention. And what was this compelling "something"?
Naked people. Well, to be honest, just one naked person, but shock had me seeing double. We'd accidentally wandered into the lamest and most depressing strip club ever. The other strippers were sitting around in underwear, sipping their beers, and looking vaguely like they were still behind the Iron Curtain. Apparently, they were just chillin' until it was their turn to demean themselves before an audience of stunned American college students.
We left quickly, at which point I unknowingly got separated from the group. I ended up walking around with a girl named Maya, who goes to Pomona (Evan and Emily: I think she was in your Russian class. And by "think," I mean "know," because I talked to her about you).
By the by, I want to marry the woman who's my program coordinator. She's 26, beautiful, and ridiculously competent. It doesn't even occur to me that she's the wrong gender. She's that hot. Also, Prague people are hot in general. Also, the city itself is hot. If cities were personified, Prague would be my #1 choice for a sexual relationship. I don't really know what that means, but try to picture it. It'll be fun, I promise.
Speaking of hot people, my program director is Dr. Stary. He's approximately 60 years old, wears tight, bright pink shirts and designer jeans, and he sports a faux hawk. He's incredible.
So Katherine, I know you warned me about the weird water situation in Europe, but I just want to emphasize to everyone: you can't get water here. People think you're a freak if you want to be even functionally hydrated. I am thirsty at all times, and I get weird looks if I want anything other than beer (which comes in huge servings), soda (which comes in tiny servings), or sparkling water (which is so nasty that I refuse to acknowledge that it's worth serving in any size). I finally found a bottled water that's not carbonated, so I bought a shitload. But I don't carry it with me, so any time I'm out, my tongue feels roughly like the Gobi Desert.
Last note: the trip here was insane; I almost missed my connection, they lost my luggage, and Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker were next to me in the security line at JFK. The awful trip, though, killed off a significant chunk of my OCD. By the time I get back to Claremont, I think it'll be completely wiped out. "Fat chance," you may be thinking, but I'm pretty confident about this.