After watching a lot of MTV recently, I realized that the majority of their reality shows are based on humiliation in one form or another. How much money will it take to make you eat worms/take off your clothes/do something really stupid in public, etc? How will you respond when you're rejected for a date because the other girl is sexier? What will you say as you and two others watch a stranger of the opposite sex go through your bedroom drawer by drawer, looking for intimate or embarrassing things? The most famous of these shows, JACKASS, is only about wild and crazy guys doing insane stunts (like having someone throw a baseball full speed at your crotch) which invariably end up with them in some kind of physical agony. We're supposed to enjoy the madness of these Dada doings, but isn't half the fun of the show seeing what kind of pain and humiliation these guys suffer as a result?

Had lunch yesterday at the Kleines Cafe, the cafe used in the night scene of the film BEFORE SUNRISE. It's cosy as hell, serves great food, and sits on one of the most picturesque squares in Vienna.

Two old men were sitting nearby having a very animated conversation. I wasn't paying attention, but after a while it was sort of hard not to notice how much they were enjoying their chat. Eventually I heard "Borges" mentioned and then "Julio Cortazar." Hearing the names of two of my favorite writers, I perked up and began to eavesdrop. These men were talking about books and writers they loved. Both of them were very animated, very passionate about their likes and dislikes. When one or the other heard a name or a title they were unfamiliar with, they furiously scribbled it down on one of the wad of napkins supplied by the amused waitress who, by the look on her face, was used to the shenanigans of these two old guys.

I was sure when they left the cafe they'd go right to the nearest bookstore and buy what they had written down.

I left a little sooner than I'd planned because I wanted to go while they were still in the middle of arguing about books that mattered to them.

I was reading an article in a UK paper about the famous /eccentric photographer William Eggleston. Apparently he had a girlfriend for many years who inspired him a lot, blah blah. A friend who knew Eggleston for years had a nice line about their relationship- "She pushed him past his greatness."

And in keeping with yesterday's topic of blogversation, I received a spam in the evening that caught my eye. It was advertising "underground teenage vaginas." Is that anything like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?

PS What is an "underground vagina"?

There's a remarkable program on late night german tv once or twice a week. Itís a talk show about sex. The moderator is an ugly drag queen named Lilo who makes no bones about the fact she is an ugly drag queen. Her guests vary from a to z, as you can imagine. One night her visitors included a lesbian s&m couple whoíd videotaped one of their whipping sessions to show us, explaining in calm and loving detail why they do and enjoy what they do. What astonished me was 1- How pretty the masochist was and how scarred her ass was 2. How hard her partner hit her. The next person on Liloís tired couch was an extraordinarily plain looking woman who does all the voice-over moaning for porno films in Germany and Switzerland (itís apparently a very rare talent to be able to moan differently for every hump, or so she said). Then came the most successful porn star in Germany, who happens to be an American named something sweetly corn fed and midwestern like Sally. Her breasts were so enormous youíd have thought she needed a built-in shelf. Sally was there promoting her newest film, Jurassic Fuck, in which she is chased around and diddled voraciously, indescribably and repeatedly by- you guessed it- a dinosaur, albeit of suspiciously human proportions. i.e. some fool got up in the dumbest looking green rubber suits you can imagine. Sort of like BarneyÇ gone mad, or randy, or something. The only difference being barney is purple and sings, whereas this guy was vomit green and squirts.

I was enthralled. What delighted me most was how calm and cool the guests were, even as Lilo showed clips of their various home movies, porn movies, orifices, dinosaur dicks, etc.

I know the U.S. has its own porno cable stuff, but whatís so delicious in this is how everybody on the show was so matter of fact. You would think they were discussing the virtues of higher education, or the pros and cons of banning smoking in public. While in America, I watched TV constantly both because I love television and itís the worldís greatest baby-sitter. Here I almost never watch except for CNN or a movie in English. But there are times when shows like this come on that make me happy to be living here. What does porno have to do with it? Nothing, other than the calmness, the ìwho cares what you do so long as you donít get in my faceî ness of it. Europe may be square and behind the times compared to America, but in other ways it is very urbane and cool. Cool in the best way. Cool in the way we always thought cool should be when we were growing up.

All over Vienna are restaurants that specialize in Balkan or southern European food-- Bulgarian, Rumanian, Croatian, Turkish... In the windows of these places are frequently posters for singers who are going to be performing there soon. I always assume these singers are well known in their countries. One of the things I've noticed after years of looking at these posters is that the names of the singers-- Temek, Plevar, Bratzka-- often sound like the names of wolves in fairy tales.

"A mujaheddin fighter once told me that fate gives all of us three teachers, three friends, three enemies, and three great loves in our lives. But these twelve are always disguised, and we can never know which is which until we've loved them, left them, or fought fthem."
-from SHANTARAM by Gregory Roberts

Not a Smart Idea Department:
A huge advertisement for a local plastic surgeon plastered all over an old beat up Mercedes taxi. All you need is one look at that wreck of a car and you think "That is definitely not the doctor to fix my nose..."

One of the nice things about summer is at least once a day you see a woman or two dressed all in white. It doesn't matter if she's in a dress or slacks, a t-shirt and shorts. It's the color not the combo that matters. Out of the flurry of lush summer colors there she is, standing out in the middle of all that, singular, separate, usually marvelous.

"I've been re-reading Viktor Frankl's wonderful book MAN'S SEARCH FOR MEANING recently and as with all books that matter, keep a pad and pen nearby to scribble down the many quotes that rise from the pages like word (or idea) angels that you want to keep and remember. A sample:

"What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person's life at a given moment."

Coming to the end of work on a novel is like watching someone pack a bag the day before leaving on a trip. Both of you know they are no longer really "there." In body yes, but their mind and spirit are already at the airport, or on the plane planning what to do when they get arrive...

All you can do is ask "Can I help with anything?" knowing you can't, knowing you are really no longer part of their equation, and that no matter how much they care for you they are already gone. They smile, shake their head and then go back to packing. You stand in the doorway watching.

I have fallen in love with the names of Estonian women. With names like these, how could they not be fabulous? I want an Estonian girlfriend immediately. A sample:

Minni Nool
Kerli Toots
Triin Ploomipuu
Kadri Uus
Tuuli Soomets

There's a street person in the neighborhood I see at least a couple of times a week wandering around. Periodically she shaves her head down to the bone and in winter wears shorts and flip flops. Now and then the look in her eye is clear, most of the time it's either mad or deeply paranoid. She seems harmless but nevertheless makes me nervous and I give her a wide berth.

Today I was walking home and was passing a flower shop when she came through the door, holding two long stemmed flowers. They were beautiful things, the kind of glowing pink flowers that bloom only in the tropics or during high summer. Holding them both in her left hand, she looked radiant. I've never seen her smile like that.

I felt a strange mixture of things, a real mixed salad of emotions. Delight, shame, surprise, wonder. Had she bought them? Were they given to her? Was she delivering them? Seeing that picture really knocked me and my image of her for a loop.