Goodbye, Cruel World

If the gods of the Delta Buddypass are kind to me tomorrow (honestly, if anyone out there jinxes this for me, I will find you and hurt you), Eph and I will be on our way back to the States, thereby ending the party in Pangrati. Sniff. Long, drawn out goodbyes make me extremely anxious and sad, so let us simply end as we began, with a long, drawn-out story that basically amounts to nothing:

As Eph and I were sitting at lunch yesterday, Evil (But Not Really) Phil mentioned that he had bought a goat bell down in the Plaka. I kid you not, ten minutes later, Eph and I were on our way down to the store in question, both of us with the single, all-consuming thought, "Oh my God, we definitely need to get goat bells before we leave!" I think it's time for us to go home, don't you? More goatbell, guys. More goatbell.

Anyway, goat bells in hand, we decided to stop by for one last visit to our favorite merchants' shop--this guy, Apostolis, has a little store with all the religious icons and hanging glass lamps you could ever want or need. Going in there, you pretty much know that it's going to be a minimum of half an hour before you emerge back onto the sidewalk, but it's time well spent. Eph, Apostolis and I got to talking about the sorry state of the modern Western world, and Apostolis said that, one time, he had been hit by a guy driving a Mercedes. The driver got out, and before even glancing at Apostolis, he checked to make sure his fender was ok. Only after ensuring that all was well with the car did he ask our friend how he was, and Apostoli said, "Oh, I'm fine. The man with the Mercedes is a good man." Somewhat shamed, the driver asked Apostolis what he did, etc. etc., and he drove away. A week later, the Mercedes guy cameby Apostolis' shop and dropped a serious wad of cash on hand-painted icons, lamps and whatnot. For the pure pleasure of messing with this guy's head, Apostolis was like, "Oh, for every customer who spends over 400 euros, we have a free gift." Which, to the driver's horror, turned out to be a traditional Greek funeral shroud that just happened to be laying around in the back room. The details are a little fuzzy at this point, but I believe Apostolis insisted that the guy try it on, which put a little too fine a point on things for him, and he rushed out, never to be seen again.

Apostolis is also the same person who, during the 2004 Athens Olympics, made up a fake flag for the also-fake nation of Souvlakistan (population: 65,000, major export: souvlaki), which a German guy then purchased for 55 euros (original asking price was 65, but Apostolis cut the German dude a deal). Well done, my friend, well done.

To stem the tide of your tears, please let me reassure you that my blogging days are far from over. I'm going to be heading back to the working world (shut up), so I'll obviously need something to while away the hours at the office. To wit, please go to The Newtonator, my new, less-regionally based blog with musings on life in Toronto and elsewhere. Also, exciting news on Suki's front: she, too, will be continuing her increasingly-edgy narrative on the soon-to-be-famous First We Take Toronto.

Yeia sas!

My Chair-y Amour

I owe the "Party in Pangrati" audience (of like 4 people) an apology. I thought I had long ago posted about the ugliest chairs in the world, but no, I was skimming through my archives and there's nothing. So, as my penultimate blog post from Athens, I present to you the chairs that used--used!--to grace our living room:

Real beauts, aren't they? Too bad they were mercilessly snatched from us in the dark of a Friday night.














I bet you're wondering how we acquired these Art Deco(?) masterpieces to begin with. Well, it all goes back to Mr. Phaidon, the guy who is not our landlord but who brokered the high-stakes deal between Eph and I and our loco landlady, Evgenia. She thought that, since the apartment was, in fact, listed as being "furnished," she would provide somplace for us to sit in the living room. So, after we had signed the lease and all that, Mr. Phaidon came over with these two treasures that Evgenia had apparently paid him for. I don't know how to describe the look on my face when he plunked them down in the middle of the living room, other than to use the words, "abject horror." Seriously, look at the things. They're terrible. Here's a detail shot of the mother-of-pearl inlay that, at this point, is hanging on by a very thin thread:

Awesome. Even better is the fact that, according to Phaidon, these babies cost 400 euros. Money well spent, guys, money well spent.














Scroll ahead nine months. One fine spring day, Eph answers a call from Evgenia. She tells him, "If Mr. Phaidon comes over, do not let him in the apartment. Don't even talk to him. Lock the balcony doors!" Now, was there an explanation of why Mr. Phaidon had suddenly turned evil? No. Just, "Lock the balcony doors," which is absurd in its own right because Phaidon is a little chubby and the mere thought of him hauling himself up and over our first floor balcony railing is a little coo-coo. But, we noted her warning duly and made a solemn vow not to let him in.

A few days later, however, everyone's worse nightmare came true, because as I was making breakfast one morning, I heard, "Hello! Helloooooooo!" coming from out in the street. Sure enough, there stood Mr. Phaidon, trying to look friendly. "Can I come and talk to you?" he asked. "No," I told him. "Evgenia said not to let you in." Immediately, he was pretty miffed, and said, "She is not right in the head! She is crazy! I do not even have a truck to take the chairs!!" I was about to respond, but he shushed me, said, "Wait a minute," and started dialing a number on his cellphone. Clearly, he was speaking to Evgenia, and they argued for a good five minutes while I waited for him. Without a word, he drove away.

Another week passed, and as we were on our Methana trip with Evil Phil, we received several urgent messages from both Phaidon and Evgenia. I called Evgenia, and she said only, "Give to Mr. Phaidon the chairs." Baffled, I then talked to Phaidon, who insisted on coming to get them the very next evening.

So, assisted by a totally random Asian guy, Phaidon came at the convenient hour of 10:00 on a Friday night to get the chairs. "Evgenia," said Phaidon, "She is crazy. I not have problem with her. I fight with her sister. But now we all have perfect relationship." He then leaned in and gave us a conspiritorial smile, saying, "They are both a little crazy." And with that, he left us. Laughing on the outside, crying on the inside, we settled on to the horrifically uncomfortable couch which would be the only place to sit for the next month.

We have subsequently learned two key things: Evgenia is, in fact, crazy, and she and her sister are totally broke. After a little time in the hospital with, her words, "psychological problems," Evgenia is now out and "feeling better." Which is obviously good, since she is a sweet woman. Nuts, but sweet. We went to visit her yesterday at the apartment she now lives in, and clearly she and her sister are living hand to mouth. Her sister finally decided to ask Phaidon for the 400 euros back from the chairs, and he then demanded that the chairs be returned.

In closing, let me remind you of the origin of the controversy:


















I am so ready to go back to the States.

So Dark the Con of Tinsel Town

We saw The Da Vinci Code last night, a film which is most aptly summed up by the Neil Young song, "Piece of Crap" (Piece! Of! Crap!). Granted, any movie would have a hard time overcoming the 45-minute delay in actually rolling the film, but let's just say that I hope Ron Howard doesn't read this blog, because feelings might get hurt.

I know, I know, with lines like, "I need to get to a library...fast!" and my personal favorite, "Godspeed," (whispered with smoldering intensity and absolutely no irony by the fantastically miscast Tom Hanks sporting a really wack jerry curl), you would think this movie is foolproof. But, the producers shockingly turned a bad book into an equally bad film. Oh, and take my review of the book with a grain of salt, because I could only choke my way through the first three chapters before coming to the conclusion that I would rather just eat glass. Thankfully, "prose" like that doesn't come around too often.

Also, I realize that, among other religious groups, the Roman Catholic Church is all in a tizzy, fearing that the fictional revelations of the film will result in a major hit to church membership, but that's only because there weren't any advance screenings. Trust me, Benedict, you got nothing to worry about: once people see this steaming pile of horse manure that is being passed off as movie magic, your troubles will be long gone.

Should you disregard all of the above and go to see the movie anyway, please note that at the end, Tom Hanks is staying at the Ritz in Paris. I can personally vouch for the fact that professors, especially those in the humanities, don't stay at nice hotels. Trade "the Ritz" for "Rooms for Rent George," and you'd be approaching a little something I like to call "reality."

On a side note, why have I not been drawing over pictures in Photoshop more often???

Mulva

I'll just get this out in the open: now that we are leaving Athens in T minus 11 days, I'm pretty much done with Greece. I haven't quite reverted to speaking only in English, preceeding every phrase with "Dude," nor am I walking around pumping one fist and chanting "U-S-A! U-S-A!" but I've mentally checked out of all things Hellenic and am looking forward to heading to the States and then on to Toronto. And no, I don't have a job yet, so lay off.

Anywho, the good news is that we got (subsidized) faculty housing from the University of Toronto. Woo hoo! To you green, green Yankees, that means we will live in a place we would not normally be able to swing or would have to sacrifice our first-born for. Spadina Avenue will be our new locale. And, if you're wondering how to pronouce that, yes, yes it does rhyme with a particular female body part (Mulva?). A Canadian friend of ours said that, when in doubt, most things Canadian rhyme with "vagina." We have a lot to get used to.

Some important links you'll want to familiarize yourself with (particularly you, Suki):

Craig's List for Toronto This has a lot of info, but thankfully we won't be needing the apartment classifieds, for which there are about 7 billion listings.

Now Toronto Indie newspaper, a la The Village Voice, or the Triangle Independent. It has all the requisite dining/entertainment listings for the young and hot. Eph and I are loosely counting ourselves among that peer group. Save your comments, I have deleting power anyway.

Toronto Dogs More info than you'll ever need about operating a canine in Toronto

Toronto subway map This is for the downtown only (yeah, that's right, we'll live "downtown!"). We don't mess with the 'burbs anymore. Yarmouth, Maine, Durham, North Carolina, I scoff at you.

The Big Carrot Natural Food Store Seriously, these things are important. I make my own mueslix, so just go stuff your sorries in a sack if you think that's weird.

Alright, let's not kid ourselves here:

Ikea

Home Depot

Bad news, no Target in Canada (yet!), so we'll have to go with Wal Mart for cheap plastic things from the Far East. As Stephen Colbert so rightly noted, "China, your great nation makes our Happy Meals possible."

I have to go take a shower.

Hoochie Mama, Hoochie Mama!

It has come to our attention that Suki, the once-loyal Poochiferous Chompy-Chomps, has become a bit of a canine hoochie mama. And by that, I mean that she'll hit on anyone with a dinghy. And we mean anyone (kidding, Lulu and Gigi!). Kathy notified us that she goes willingly onto any seaworthy craft with an outboard, all in the hopes of getting more walks on shore. Since I heard the news, one particular song has been coursing through my jealousy-ridden mind, so I think I'll express it in a public forum (complete with photo montage). Also, let this be a lesson to all those in and around Manjack Island: she may look cute, but she will treat your emotions like a plastic Happy Meal toy.

Runaround Suki

Here's my story, its sad but true
It's about a pooch that I once knew
She took my love then ran around
With every single cruiser in town





I should have known it from the very start
This dog will leave me with a broken heart
Now listen up, don’t become a groupie
Keep away from Runaround Suki






I miss her paws and her tongue hanging out
Those long whiskers and her wet black snout
So if you don't want eyes wet and droopy
Keep away from-a Runaround Suki




Ah, she likes to motor around
She'll love you but she'll put you down
She pretends to be so clingy
But Suki goes out in other dinghies





Here's the moral and the story from the girl who knows
I fell in love and my love still grows
Ask any fool, even Lulu and Gigi
Keep away from-a Runaround Suki





She likes to motor around
She'll love you but she'll put you down
She pretends to be so clingy
But Suki goes out in other dinghies





Here's the moral and the story from the girl who knows
I fell in love and my love still grows
Ask any fool, even Lulu and Gigi
Keep away from-a Runaround Suki

That's a wrap, folks. The single will be out June 1.

And Let's Not Forget the Fistpumps...

...for Ephy! Duke's Commencement was also yesterday (which we realized at approximately 1800 hours yesterday, better late than never), so Ephraim is also on the list of graduates for this year. You may begin calling him Herr Doctor Professor Lytle...nnnnow. Well done, babe. I'm proud of you. Your $100 check's in the mail.








Ahh, Duke's finest.

Congratulations, Joe!

Just look at the happy graduate...St. John's Class of 2006. We wish we could have been there, Joe.

You know, they grow up so fast--it seems like only yesterday I was sneaking into his room to lift up his eyelids up while he napped. And wasn't it just a few weeks ago that I was hiding "Joe," his doll? Where does the time go?








Oh, look: here's Bob, who has donned the red sash which symbolizes the fact that he has been putting kids through college since the year 1992. Just one more, Dad, just one more...and, hey, maybe Tom'll go to a state school.