First of all, a shout out to all of my daily blog checkers! To all the Pauls, Dans, Moms and Dads, and various other people who read the crap I put up on here. Thanks! If, after reading the disturbing stuff that I think about on a daily basis scares you and you don't like me anymore, I understand.
Otherwise, things are still rather slow in Munich. It won't pick up again until the day right before Oktoberfest. Hey, no problem. I like it when there aren't any damn tourists around. Tourists. Christ, even the word angers me. Who do they think they are! Going to another country just to pretend that they belong there. The nerve... wait a second....
The Fest is only about a week away, and, no joke, I am shaking in my boots I am so excited. The buzz surrounding this event has reached near mythic proportions in Western Civilization. Everybody has heard of it (even if they can't point to Germany on a map). My guess is that it is going to be exactly like I imagine it in my head: Lots of overweight Bavarians (and Americans, English, and Australians) are going to be joyfully frolicking about with oversized mugs of frothy beer, singing songs in their native tongue and attempting to sing the cooler songs in German. I will be sitting, in lederhosen, at a wooden table packed with friends, food, and farts.
When I tell you that there is truly nothing like a good German beer, I am not lying. Especially a freshly brewed beer... ahh, my toes are curling in glee. No joke, I just giggled like a school girl at the lunch table. For example, a few of us went to (in my opinion) the best and most traditional beer hall in Munich yesterday (it is connected to the brewery). Ordering a half liter of Augustiner beer (that's a "small" beer around here) I took my first sip.
Truly, a troupe of cherubs began to dance a jig betwixt mine ears. Their voices carried to the hills as they sang a chorus of joyous hymns in celebration of that divine brew which at that moment passed betwixt mine accepting lips. The contrast of the pearly white foam head and the golden yellow brew mingled harmoniously atop mine inviting tongue.
Fresh, brewed-on-site beer is unlike any other beverage. It is so flavourful (I like the British spelling. Truly, it is a bit more pleasing to the eye. Let us compare: 1. "What up dude? Yeah, that Big Mac was so flavorful!" 2. "Good morrow my liege! Ah yes, that cup of earl grey [my personal favorite] was truly flavourful indeed!" It is much more elegant. This just got me to thinking: If I could create the perfect culture by mixing what we already have on Earth, what would I pick? For example, the tenacity of Americanism with the wit of the English, the diet of the Japanese, the hardiness of the Russians, and the wine of the French. Done.) that I feel as if I could chew on the beer. Honestly, it must be savoured (again) with each sip.
Well, it is only 11:40 right now and already I am having a craving for a big ol' Schweinebraten mit zwei Knoedels (um, sort of like a pork steak in a dark beer sauce, with two, ahh, kind of potato and bread dumplings whose sole purpose is to sit triumphantly in your stomach like a brick in a bath tub and to absorb every last drop of the beer gravy). I shall restrain myself.
Until we meet again,
ps. That is so my pen-name from now on. Say it out loud. Get it! I need a freakin medal or something.
pps. For those of you who are still going, What the Hell?... it is "mysteried" or... "mister reed". That's me!