"Blogging isn't journalism, it's graffiti with punctuation."

>butt-fuckers in budapest

>check out my feature in eye weekly’s My Apartment section here.

(i’m not even in town to bask in one week of infamy, but to all those who have found my site from that feature, to you i say wassssssaaaaaaaaaaa-bi)

szia from budapest, my delicious readers. i landed yesterday in a flurry of drizzle and fallen heartbeats. flying over europe is sporadic heartache of desire and foreplay. the sun relfected brilliant off the clouds which were scooped in the sky like ice cream. how appropriate that, while flying over frankfurt, coldplays ‘speed of sound’ zipped over my mp3 headphones. malev airline’s flight attendants are butt-fuckers, but my vegetarian meals always came first.

i am a renegade in eastern europe at 8:16am.

budapest is a place to be seen. outside the city, the sporadic houses all have spanish-tile rooves. men with lunches in hand walk across train tracks. advertisements for cell phones and banks litter the lovely baroque façades. the gorgeous buildings are exactly as a wax-romantic film depicts them: bursting with 19th century gothic artistry but poorly maintained. my hostel window overlooks a deliciously dilapidated inner courtyard with 1940s gleams in the stained-glass windows. rain drips down in fat drops from the sky. the rising sun cascades down it with slow conviction. it feels like a pre-fall-of-berlin-wall city with baby steps taken to bring it into the modern world. a bit of time travel has taken me here, like a WWII ghetto.

already so many people to talk to in my hostel. tourists from finland and norway offer me beer and photos of them in their skivvies. americans teach me affable card games bursting with high-school hilarity. fellow canucks (all torontonians) crack jokes at the american’s expense. we don’t change, even while on vacation.

but i want everything about this city to infect me a like a pathogen. i am part of something wonderful and unknown.

brophy, my editor from chart sent me a couple interview op’s that i’d normally cream myself for, and here i am galavanting around the planet like a lost chicken. i make courageous promises to myself to write and see local theatre in every country i go to in this 5-week journey . . . which will prove easy in places like paris and valencia . . .but good luck chrissy in mothafucking beirut.

salamm alaykuum, little one.

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