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.

Eph Is the Champion, My Friends, and He'll Keep On Fighting 'Til the End, Eph Is the Champion, Eph Is the Champion...

Last night, Eph and I were walking home from a terrible, terrible dinner of the Hellenic rendition of "Asian food" (note to self: stick to souvlaki from now on), when we noticed that the public payphone near our apartment building was free. This is a rare thing at 9:30 p.m., so Eph decided he'd take the opportunity to call his friend, Chris. Here's how the conversation went (the phone times the duration of calls, so the minute marks are approximate):

00.00.00-08.30.00: Normal phone conversation.

08.30.00-08.45.00: Greek woman arrives and interrupts Eph to ask how long it's going to take him to get the hell off the phone. This sounds outrageous, but is actually standard practice.

08.45.00-08.50.00: Eph tells the woman it's going to be awhile. Heh.

08.50.00-10.00.00: Woman goes on screaming rampage; Eph ignores her.

12.00.00-15.00.00: Woman begins to bang on plastic covering of public telephone in an effort to drive Eph away. He continues to act like she is not there.

15.00.00-18.30.00: Woman's arm is sore, so she takes a breather and maintains a hostile stance behind Eph, hoping that the death-rays from her look of pure hatred will bore holes into his back. No such luck.

18.30.00: Woman walks away.

18.35.00: Phone conversation ends, Eph hangs up.

In closing, I'll point out that there is another payphone two blocks away, and at no point did the woman ever mention that it was any sort of emergency. Also, if you haven't gotten a phone call from me in awhile, now you know why. So, let's all do some fist pumps in honor of Eph's superb handling of the situation. Bravo! or as the Greeks say, Bravo!

Photo note: Yeah, that's a real Greek payphone. All hail Google Images.

I'm On a Posting High, Just Roll With Me

This is a 10-Euro bottle of saline solution for my contact lenses that I bought at the neighborhood pharmacy (the only place to get contact supplies). With the current Euro-USD exchange rate, that comes out to a price tag of $12.73. Now, I don't know about you, but I can find no discernable difference between this bottle and the identical one I got in the States for $3.99. Apparently, the inclusion of Spanish, French and Italian text on the label jacks the price up by nine bucks. Do the Greeks know how much this stuff costs everywhere else in the world?

Cavetastic! or, The Mani Finale

On one particular day of exploring the Southern Argolid, Eph and I saw no fewer than three genuinely awesome caves. The one at left is the "big" Diros Cave, which you can see from the road.

This, however, is the "little" Diros Cave, which is actually just a huge sinkhole in the middle of a citrus orchard, and there is no trace of it at all unless you go down the steps featured below and basically come out inside of it.


In spite of how it looks, Eph was on no illegal substances at any time during the trip. Although, again, he did pee in the cave. Next to a church that had been built into the wall. Straight. To. Hell.












These are the Franchthi Caves, which have been excavated to reveal 20,000 years of human history inside. They are now brilliantly lit at night in order to gratify the rich dude who lives on the private island a few hundred meters away. It's so great that humans recognize what's truly important.

That's a wrap, folks! The Mani posts can be laid to rest. A grateful blogger thanks you; please tip your waitress.

The Dog and Pony Show

OK, now we're on to the fun part of the Mani trip, that special time where I make snarky comments about everything. Yes, yes, some of that has already taken place, but I've got a lot of material here, and you people are going to hear about it. Also, I already took the trouble of uploading all the pictures into draft posts (yeah, that's right, Staci!), so let's all kill some time and indulge me, eh?

Everyone is familiar with the fact that semi-feral dogs basically roam free throughout Greece, but we encountered some of the kinder, gentler pooches in Gerolimenas. The dad of the family is pictured here:

Suki, do you know what he's doing? He's chasing a cat. That's what real dogs do.

I mean, for the love of Pete, is this really how you want to conduct yourself? Sleeping while wearing a hat? And you want to be my latex salesman.

The rest of the Gerolimenas dog family is pictured here, lying in a bag of mulch they obviously tore open. Strangely enough, no one in the town really liked these guys.

This "dog and pony show" (got to credit that line to Eph, unfortunately) was one of the weirdest and yet funniest scenes I think I've ever happened upon: a yellow lab and a miniature Shetland pony chilling in the same pen. We came down from single rock that comprises the ancient site of Assina, and these two were playing and fighting together like old friends. Greece is one crazy joint.

And, in point of fact, here's a goat eating an olive tree.

Lasting Memory of Mycenea

I'll admit it, my lasting impression of Mycenea will always be fondly linked to the man pictured at left. He tried valiantly to use the women's bathroom, despite the cleaning woman who heroically threw herself in his path and physically barred him from entering. She then ranted at him for a few moments, gesturing wildly at the picture on the door of a little girl peeing. I think he got it after that. Best part: I heard him speaking in Greek to his plaid-clad wife, which means he's not an idiot foreign tourist, he's just an idiot.

These Mani Posts Will End Sometime, I Promise

Allrighty, I'm back totally belatedly with more thrilling accounts from our trip down to the wild, wild southwest part of Greece. I know you've been yearning for the scinitillating return...

The final part of our crazy road trip took us to the Argolid, pictured at left. We went all over the place in our little Hyundai Accent, and I think it was my favorite part of the whole trip. Eph suspects that's because there was a lot more access to shopping in this area (as opposed to the total commercial wasteland that is the Mani), but I purchased nothing while we were there. Take that.

This is beautiful Nafplion. We stayed at a hotel called the Kapodistrias, named after probably the most famous Greek Independence fighter, who was then imprisoned for treason during the ensuing civil war. Easy come, easy go, I guess. Nafplion is about 100 million times more civilized than any other place we went on the trip. As you can see, it's, well, a city. I've come to realize I need close access to something approaching a metropolis in order to feel at peace with the world, so I guess it's good that Eph did NOT get a job in, say, Tallahassee. If you live in Tallahassee, my apologies. (You know, for the fact that you have to reside there.)

But I digress. Nafplio is dominated by a Venetian castle that sits above the main town, and there are reportedly 999 steps leading up to the main gate.







The sound effect for this picture goes a little something like this: "Four hundred gasp and ten, four hundred gasp and eleven, four hundred hehhhhhhhhhhhh..."













But, as you can see, the view is worth it.

Can you tell what Eph is doing in this photo? He does this at every site we visit.

This is the ancient theater at Epidaurus, where according to Eph, only tragedies were performed. So, in ye olde ancient times, if you were shlepping out to Epidaurus for the play, you already knew it was going to end badly. Endings perpetually ruined, it's an interesting concept. Josie, you may want to think about this as an option if you're ever producing anything?


This is the Lion's Gate at the ancient acropolis of Mycenea. The ruins have been turned into a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which simply means that about 1,000 tour buses full of obnoxious pre-teens must be clogging up the cramped parking lot at all times. UNESCO's really got things figured out.

After we left Mycenea, we drove back to Athens in a brown haze of sand kicked up by a sand storm that had blown over from Africa. Then we got caught in some horrific afternoon traffic and had to drive all the way across town to return the rental car. I think you had to be there to appreciate it.

Character Assassination: Phil

On this, day 3 of Albanian Cold Virus 2006, the third day of painful congestion, phlegm that you wouldn't believe, and sneezes that post a 6.9 on the Richter scale, I have decided to name the person who has wronged me and mine so badly. Read on:

This is our "friend," Phil. Oh sure, he looks like a nice, normal guy, but right there in that picture he is devising the ultimate plan to make Eph and me ill with the very same virus he and his wife, Alison, caught somewhere in the wilds of Albania. Oh sure, he played it cool, acting like Sanitary Larry, asking if I had hand sanitizer, but don't be fooled by his elaborate ruse. This man is a menace; I think he purposefully sneezed on my car door handle (he aimed it!). Ol' Phil doesn't sound so nice and normal now, does he?


It all started when we rented this horrifically uncomfortable car to go on a day trip to the Southern Argolid. At the rental place, Phil first asked for a SmartCar 4x4, a clear sign that he wanted to kill us all, but settled for the Nissan Micra at left. For the record, this is the most uncomfortable car in the world, and let me assure you that the Newtons have had some clunkers in their day. The 1978 Toyota Celica with rust eating away at the floor? A dream machine compared to this piece of total crap. Let's move on.

Our day consisted mostly of this...












...and this. Eph, still somewhat delusional after the very stressful last few months, was convinced that there were the remains of a tuna fishery somewhere near Mount Methana. Given the fact that the sterling scholarship known as the Blue Guide listed the site oh-so-assuredly as "ancient(?) tuna fisheries" and never gave a precise location for them, I offered repeatedly that, perhaps, we were on yet another Ancient Acropolis of Zarax-like wild goose chase. Phil, supposedly a fellow scholar of Eph's, did nothing to dissuade Eph from the raving-mad notion that these fisheries actually existed but, in fact, took advantage of Eph's weakened mental state and encouraged him to keep looking.

"Eeeeph, Eeeeph, the tuna fisheries are out there. Just one more inlet, one more, man. We're almost out of gas, but don't sweat it. Here, I licked this brownie, but why don't you eat it?" Eph, sensing the diabolical pull of evil, tries to resist, but Phil continues, "Don't listen to Anne-Marie. She sounds perfectly reasonable, and in fact has been right on all previous occasions, but what does she know? She studied English. That's practically like getting a GED." Eph, stunned into silence, shakes his head, but Phil hisses, "Let's climb up that random hill to look at a crappy stone tower. It may have been built in 1950, but who cares, man? Who cares? Here, have a sip of my Albanian virus-laden water, it's so good..."

This is actually just a cool picture of volcanic rock up on Mount Methana. But let's not forget that we're still flaming Phil.
















Just look at how sick I am.

I'm narrowing my eyes at you, Phil.

Narrowing. My. Eyes.