A Blog in Verse Form

"A Tale of Laundry Lament"

(Or: An Ode to My Washer Back Home)

When first I packed to leave for Prague,
I thought I'd brought enough.
But even so, the point was moot,
For my suitcase was stuffed.

Ten pairs of socks, about twelve shirts
Some kahkis and some jeans.
Some underwear to round it out,
That's all I thought I'd need.

"I'll find a laundromat," I said.
"I've used those things before."
But how convenient when I found
A washer in my dorm!

So when the time had fin'ly come
For me to do laundry,
I strolled downstairs, but unaware
I needed to get a key.

Getting the key: a simple task.
Just ask at the front desk.
But for one thing I overlooked:
I still cannot speak Czech.

Though my gesturing and pleading
Were met with no success,
A fellow student's translation
Aided me in my quest.

With key in hand, I made my way
Down to the laundry room.
I threw my clothes to the machine
And thought they'd be done soon.

I took a shower, changed my clothes,
I even shaved my face.
I thought it had been long enough,
But still I had to wait.

I checked again at half past four,
Was it done? Nowhere near!
But rather than just sit around.
I went and had a beer.

An hour later, still it washed,
This machine so foul and vile.
I think somehow I must have pressed:
"Never-ending spin cycle."

But finally, my clothes were clean,
And me, I was tired.
And I could not muster the strength
To bother with the dryer.

So now I'm sitting in my dorm,
Clothes hanging like damp flags.
A part of me can't wait to get
Back home to our Maytag.

Seriously, people: this washing machine must have been powered by a single AA battery.

So, some little things I've noticed along the way:

No, they don't call it a Quarter Pounder. Here it's a McRoyale. (For those of you who don't get the reference: In the movie "Pulp Fiction," there is a long dialogue about how Europeans call a McDonalds' Quarter Pounder with Cheese a "Royale with Cheese" because many European countries use the metric system. Here, "quarter pounder" would be a meaningless phrase. Leave aside the embarrassing fact that I traveled halfway around the world to go to a McDonalds.)

The Internet Dungeon: That's Ashley and my name for Laser Game, the arcade where we check our e-mail on the gaming computers. It's located in a subterrainian labrynith beneath a shopping center, a good four stories below street level. It's this dark room with blacklights that plays techno and serves absinth, among other beverages. It was a little creepy at first, but the employees tolerate our pathetic attempts at speaking Czech before smiling and just speaking English to us, and they don't charge a whole lot, so we like it.

OK, that's all. Again, it's great to hear from all of you, and I'm so glad people are actually reading this. Have fun back home.

S