As I mentioned before, there's not much to blog about from my luxury penthouse suite in the Bloomington Comfort Inn. However, I'll make you all suffer through my views on shaving the old-fashioned way. It's like going through the teenage years all over again, except my voice isn't changing this time.
As I mentioned earlier in the week, one of my bags was delayed, and it had my electric razor in it, so I had to shave the way my father shaved, and his father before him, and so forth. I've decided that all things considered, it's a primitive and barbaric process. I mean, how can it be a good idea to take an extremely sharp blade and scrape it across the skin that covers several major blood vessels? It's a tribute to men down through the ages that they've endured this torment for centuries without uttering a word of complaint. If women had to shave their faces, they would have insisted on significant improvements to the whole procedure, much in the same way that the science of medicine has made pregnancy and labor much easier than it used to be so that it's more of a minor annoyance than anything else.
Anyway, shaving with a blade didn't change my life in the way I was hoping. Yes, it was a closer shave, but women who rode the elevator with me at work failed to express a desire to run their hands across my baby-smooth cheeks like they do in the razor ads on TV, and women who saw me walking down the hall didn't follow me with their eyes any more than they usually do already, and no one at work offered me a promotion in light of my more youthful and appealing appearance. It took much longer than shaving with my electric, and yes, I did get a couple of nicks in light of my lack of experience. The whole thing would be much easier if my face didn't have any protuberances like a chin or lips, but those are kind of unavoidable, and if I didn't have those, I'd have bigger problems than just figuring out how to shave.
I figured it wasn't fair to judge the whole thing based on just one experience, so I tried it again this morning to give it a fair shake. It went better. It didn't take me as long, I did a better job, and there was less blood. I'm off to Target in a little while. We'll see how the ladies like my new approach.
Now maybe it's time for me to do something about that gray that keeps popping up in my hair . . . .
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Adventures in travel
Two ideas related only in that they had to do with my flight to Minneapolis:
1. I love eating food I've never heard of before. I love going to a restaurant and eating something that I never even knew existed. That's one of the really fun things about living in Europe. (The other adult member of our family wants nothing more exotic than a fetuccini alfredo at Olive Garden. I weep for the missed opportunities! I need more of you to come out and visit us so that I can go out to eat!) So you can imagine how excited I was when the snack on my flight from Zurich to Amsterdam consisted of "Duck topped with orange apricot conserves and smoke-dried beef on a cream of sauerkraut." Yum! Unfortunately, the entree on my flight from Amsterdam to Minneapolis didn't taste much better than Chef Boyardee out of a can. I was disappointed.
2. Yes, it finally happened: one of my bags didn't make the flight with me. At least they know where it is, and it should be on its way today. This bag has my electric razor in it, so this morning, I'm going to be forced to do something I've never done in my entire life. That's right, I'm going to shave with a real razor. My whole life, I've taken the easy way out and used an electric even though it doesn't shave as close and leaves me with a five o'clock shadow by about noon. I've just been too lazy to do it the hard way. But this morning, I'll be joining almost every other man in American and staring at myself in the mirror, trying not to nick myself with the blade. We'll see how I do.
Probably not much forthcoming on the blogging front for the next little while. No one wants to read a blog about Minneapolis.
1. I love eating food I've never heard of before. I love going to a restaurant and eating something that I never even knew existed. That's one of the really fun things about living in Europe. (The other adult member of our family wants nothing more exotic than a fetuccini alfredo at Olive Garden. I weep for the missed opportunities! I need more of you to come out and visit us so that I can go out to eat!) So you can imagine how excited I was when the snack on my flight from Zurich to Amsterdam consisted of "Duck topped with orange apricot conserves and smoke-dried beef on a cream of sauerkraut." Yum! Unfortunately, the entree on my flight from Amsterdam to Minneapolis didn't taste much better than Chef Boyardee out of a can. I was disappointed.
2. Yes, it finally happened: one of my bags didn't make the flight with me. At least they know where it is, and it should be on its way today. This bag has my electric razor in it, so this morning, I'm going to be forced to do something I've never done in my entire life. That's right, I'm going to shave with a real razor. My whole life, I've taken the easy way out and used an electric even though it doesn't shave as close and leaves me with a five o'clock shadow by about noon. I've just been too lazy to do it the hard way. But this morning, I'll be joining almost every other man in American and staring at myself in the mirror, trying not to nick myself with the blade. We'll see how I do.
Probably not much forthcoming on the blogging front for the next little while. No one wants to read a blog about Minneapolis.
Monday, March 16, 2009
You say "hospital," I say "Spital"
Well, we've had our first experience with a Swiss hospital. It went pretty well, considering that you're not having the best day of your life if you find yourself at a hospital to begin with.
Stace had a migraine that just wouldn't quit, so I finally told her to go to the hospital. They hooked her up with some sort of super-drug, and she was home four hours later. She's going to sleep now.
Most Swiss doctors speak English, so that wasn't much of a problem. Now, the bill, that might be a problem. I'll let you know when I find out how much four hours in a Swiss ER can run a person.
By the way, the Swiss word for "hospital" is "Spital," pronounced shpi-TAHL, with the emphasis on the second syllable. (In German, if a word starts with an "s" and the "s" is followed by another consonant, the "s" takes an "sh" sound. And now you know.)
Stace had a migraine that just wouldn't quit, so I finally told her to go to the hospital. They hooked her up with some sort of super-drug, and she was home four hours later. She's going to sleep now.
Most Swiss doctors speak English, so that wasn't much of a problem. Now, the bill, that might be a problem. I'll let you know when I find out how much four hours in a Swiss ER can run a person.
By the way, the Swiss word for "hospital" is "Spital," pronounced shpi-TAHL, with the emphasis on the second syllable. (In German, if a word starts with an "s" and the "s" is followed by another consonant, the "s" takes an "sh" sound. And now you know.)
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Rhymes with "smells stinky"
Those of you who've known me for a long time will recall that back in my younger, wilder days, me and my buddies would head down to Daytona Beach every year for spring break. It was a crazy time, and I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything, but I always felt like something was missing. Oh, sure, the beaches were fabulous, the girls were gorgeous, and the partying went on late into the night, but there was always a little part of me that just wasn't satisfied. I could never put my finger on what was missing. Well, now that I've moved beyond those crazy times and grown up a little, I've finally figured out what was lacking: Helsinki.
Yes, you heard me. I'm talking about Helsinki, the capital of Finland. Admit it. You've all had moments where you've thought to yourself that life doesn't get much better than it is at that moment, and that all it would take to make things absolutely perfect would be if the whole experience could take place in Finland. Well, for spring break this year, we've decided to live the dream. We're going to Finland. (At least, we think so. I haven't actually booked the trip yet, but we think that's what we're going to do.)
Why Finland? I don't really know. It just struck me one day that the kids have two weeks off for spring break and that we shouldn't just sit around here in the middle of Europe doing nothing for that whole time. We've already done Paris (although spending two days at Disneyland and one day on a bus in Paris isn't really experiencing Paris), and Stace and I will be hitting Germany and/or Austria in July, so it seemed like we should try to make it to Scandinavia. Flights turned out to be cheap, and we can buy a pass that will get us into just about every attraction and onto every bus and train in Helsinki for three days, so at some point, you just throw up your hands and decide to go to Helsinki.
Here are some fun Finland facts: The official language of Finland is, not surprisingly, Finnish. (At one point last night, Stace asked, "Do they speak Start?" She then proceeded to laugh uncontrollably at herself for ten minutes. Pathetic.) The official currency is the euro. That turns out to be important, because I didn't want to add Swedish krona or Norwegian kroner to the list of currencies I'm trying to juggle in my head. There are about five million people in Finland. It's about 34 degrees there right now, so it's not terribly cold. Helsinki is about a three-hour flight from Zurich. It's one hour ahead of Switzerland.
Anyway, we'll see what happens. We're trying to strike the right balance between seeing as much of Europe as we can and not spending every last cent that finds its way into our bank account. However, since the U.S. economy will only exist for about six more months, we figure we may as well spend those dollars now while they can still be used for something other than lining the kitty litter box.
Yes, you heard me. I'm talking about Helsinki, the capital of Finland. Admit it. You've all had moments where you've thought to yourself that life doesn't get much better than it is at that moment, and that all it would take to make things absolutely perfect would be if the whole experience could take place in Finland. Well, for spring break this year, we've decided to live the dream. We're going to Finland. (At least, we think so. I haven't actually booked the trip yet, but we think that's what we're going to do.)
Why Finland? I don't really know. It just struck me one day that the kids have two weeks off for spring break and that we shouldn't just sit around here in the middle of Europe doing nothing for that whole time. We've already done Paris (although spending two days at Disneyland and one day on a bus in Paris isn't really experiencing Paris), and Stace and I will be hitting Germany and/or Austria in July, so it seemed like we should try to make it to Scandinavia. Flights turned out to be cheap, and we can buy a pass that will get us into just about every attraction and onto every bus and train in Helsinki for three days, so at some point, you just throw up your hands and decide to go to Helsinki.
Here are some fun Finland facts: The official language of Finland is, not surprisingly, Finnish. (At one point last night, Stace asked, "Do they speak Start?" She then proceeded to laugh uncontrollably at herself for ten minutes. Pathetic.) The official currency is the euro. That turns out to be important, because I didn't want to add Swedish krona or Norwegian kroner to the list of currencies I'm trying to juggle in my head. There are about five million people in Finland. It's about 34 degrees there right now, so it's not terribly cold. Helsinki is about a three-hour flight from Zurich. It's one hour ahead of Switzerland.
Anyway, we'll see what happens. We're trying to strike the right balance between seeing as much of Europe as we can and not spending every last cent that finds its way into our bank account. However, since the U.S. economy will only exist for about six more months, we figure we may as well spend those dollars now while they can still be used for something other than lining the kitty litter box.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Time travel
The topic I'm about to cover is boring to everyone but me, but it's my blog, so I'll write about it anyway. How do I know it's so boring? When I talk about it with people in person, their eyes glaze over and they humor me with a polite half-smile. When I talk to people about this topic on the phone, I can hear them snoring. But I find it interesting, so you have no choice but to indulge me (unless you choose to quit reading, but by now you're probably so compelled by the prospect of this near-fatal boredom that there's no way you can quit.)
I don't have to set my clock ahead for Daylight Saving Time this year, ever. How have I managed this amazing feat, you might ask? Since you're curious, I'll explain.
Those of you in the States (except those of you in Arizona and I think Hawaii) moved your clocks ahead by an hour last night. You awoke this morning all grumpy and out of sorts because you were deprived of an hour of sleep. (That's why I haven't called any of you today.) That date is three weeks earlier than it was in previous years. It changed last year in the United States. Europe, however, has stuck with the old date, so Switzerland doesn't move its clocks ahead for three more weeks.
So far, you're wondering what the big deal is. But here's the part that's really cool: in three weeks, when the Swiss are moving their clocks ahead an hour and waking up all grumpy and short-tempered on Sunday morning, where will I be? Yup, Minnesota. By then, I'll be on a business trip to Minnesota, so I won't have to move my clock when the Swiss do.
You're already thinking that this is pretty exciting, but it gets even better. Because I'm flying to Minnesota when Minnesota is on DST and Switzerland is not, I only have to overcome six hours of jet lag on the way out there, rather than seven hours. I'll still have to overcome seven hours when I get back to Switzerland at the beginning of April, but I'm getting used to that.
So, to summarize all of the exciting news: I don't have to move my clock ahead in Minnesota; I don't have to move my clock ahead in Switzerland; I only have to deal with six hours of jet lag on my way to Minnesota; and I got to write a really interesting blog entry about all of this. Life is good, isn't it? (Except for those of you who actually stuck with this post for this long and are now regretting the ten minutes of your life that you can never, ever get back.)
On the subject of cheese, I give up. After two glorious entries, I'm finding a great lack of motivation to blog about cheese. I'm told that Gretchen and I are scheduled to spend two or three full days running around and sampling cheese while she's out here in May. Maybe I'll get my inspiration back, or maybe Gretchen will be inspired to start a cheese blog of her own.
I don't have to set my clock ahead for Daylight Saving Time this year, ever. How have I managed this amazing feat, you might ask? Since you're curious, I'll explain.
Those of you in the States (except those of you in Arizona and I think Hawaii) moved your clocks ahead by an hour last night. You awoke this morning all grumpy and out of sorts because you were deprived of an hour of sleep. (That's why I haven't called any of you today.) That date is three weeks earlier than it was in previous years. It changed last year in the United States. Europe, however, has stuck with the old date, so Switzerland doesn't move its clocks ahead for three more weeks.
So far, you're wondering what the big deal is. But here's the part that's really cool: in three weeks, when the Swiss are moving their clocks ahead an hour and waking up all grumpy and short-tempered on Sunday morning, where will I be? Yup, Minnesota. By then, I'll be on a business trip to Minnesota, so I won't have to move my clock when the Swiss do.
You're already thinking that this is pretty exciting, but it gets even better. Because I'm flying to Minnesota when Minnesota is on DST and Switzerland is not, I only have to overcome six hours of jet lag on the way out there, rather than seven hours. I'll still have to overcome seven hours when I get back to Switzerland at the beginning of April, but I'm getting used to that.
So, to summarize all of the exciting news: I don't have to move my clock ahead in Minnesota; I don't have to move my clock ahead in Switzerland; I only have to deal with six hours of jet lag on my way to Minnesota; and I got to write a really interesting blog entry about all of this. Life is good, isn't it? (Except for those of you who actually stuck with this post for this long and are now regretting the ten minutes of your life that you can never, ever get back.)
On the subject of cheese, I give up. After two glorious entries, I'm finding a great lack of motivation to blog about cheese. I'm told that Gretchen and I are scheduled to spend two or three full days running around and sampling cheese while she's out here in May. Maybe I'll get my inspiration back, or maybe Gretchen will be inspired to start a cheese blog of her own.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Mental gymnastics
One interesting thing about all of this European travel is that we always have to switch mental gears when it comes to currency. The foundation of our finances is still the dollar. I'm paid in U.S. dollars in a U.S. bank, and the 401(k) that I had until the bubble burst is in U.S. dollars, so everything still comes down to dollars for me.
Most of Europe, of course, uses the Euro as its currency. We had to deal with that during our recent trip to France. As I've mentioned before, in Switzerland, where the national motto is "We Aren't At All Like the Rest of Europe and We're Going to Prove It to You at Every Opportunity," they use the Swiss franc. This means that we have one drawer in our house that contains Euros, Swiss francs, and dollars so that we can be prepared for any situation (although I suppose it's unlikely that I'll suddenly find myself in the United States on only an hour's notice).
Here's how they stack up: today, one Euro will get you $1.25 or so. One dollar will get you CHF 1.17. ("CHF," obviously, stands for "Swiss franc.") Do the math, and one Euro will get you CHF 1.48. So, when I'm driving down a freeway in France and I see gas for 1.30 a liter, my mental calculations go something like this: "One Euro thirty a liter is about CHF 1.90 a liter, which is maybe about $1.55 a liter. A liter is roughly equivalent to a quart, so this gas is only costing me about $6.20 per gallon. Woo-hoo!!!"
I've mentioned that life is pretty expensive here. The dollar and the Swiss franc are close enough that you can look at something priced in Swiss francs and see it as dollars, but it is true that it's actually close to a fifth less than the actual price on the label. So a bottle of soda that costs CHF 3.50 from the vending machine at the train station really only costs me $3, quite a bargain. My CHF 38 haircut only really runs me $32.
Most of Europe, of course, uses the Euro as its currency. We had to deal with that during our recent trip to France. As I've mentioned before, in Switzerland, where the national motto is "We Aren't At All Like the Rest of Europe and We're Going to Prove It to You at Every Opportunity," they use the Swiss franc. This means that we have one drawer in our house that contains Euros, Swiss francs, and dollars so that we can be prepared for any situation (although I suppose it's unlikely that I'll suddenly find myself in the United States on only an hour's notice).
Here's how they stack up: today, one Euro will get you $1.25 or so. One dollar will get you CHF 1.17. ("CHF," obviously, stands for "Swiss franc.") Do the math, and one Euro will get you CHF 1.48. So, when I'm driving down a freeway in France and I see gas for 1.30 a liter, my mental calculations go something like this: "One Euro thirty a liter is about CHF 1.90 a liter, which is maybe about $1.55 a liter. A liter is roughly equivalent to a quart, so this gas is only costing me about $6.20 per gallon. Woo-hoo!!!"
I've mentioned that life is pretty expensive here. The dollar and the Swiss franc are close enough that you can look at something priced in Swiss francs and see it as dollars, but it is true that it's actually close to a fifth less than the actual price on the label. So a bottle of soda that costs CHF 3.50 from the vending machine at the train station really only costs me $3, quite a bargain. My CHF 38 haircut only really runs me $32.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Finally!
The Switzerland I came to love last year is back! November, December, and January aren't exactly the brightest months around here. (This is all based on just one year of experience, but I'm told it's fairly typical.) It's foggy in the valleys most mornings, and the fog often sticks around all day. If it's not foggy, it's cloudy. Between December and February, I think I needed my sunglasses three times. I haven't seen the Alps off in the distance for months.
But as I was running up and down the stairs on the hillside for exercise this morning, everything was crystal clear. There's not a cloud in the sky, and I can see the mountains. It's supposed to be 51 degrees today. I'm going to take the kids up to the top of our local mountain, the Zugerberg, to scout out a good restaurant for us to visit with my folks when they come out (and by "us," I mean the adults).
Now, make no mistake: I certainly don't want to trade a Swiss winter in for a Minnesota winter. (Ever.) I think the lowest temperature here at night this winter has been about 15 degrees, and that's above zero. You can get quite a bit of sun in the Twin Cities in the winter, but those clear days are usually accompanied by temperatures of about ten below.
It's my understanding that the Twin Cities had a nasty commute yesterday morning after receiving about seven inches of snow. A commute in the winter in Minnesota can be harrowing at best, life-threatening at worst. On the other hand, my commute in Switzerland has basically three possibilities: if it's snowing, I wear boots; if it's raining, I take an umbrella; and if it's doing neither of those things, I just go. It's a twenty-minute walk regardless. Overall, not a bad way to go.
But as I was running up and down the stairs on the hillside for exercise this morning, everything was crystal clear. There's not a cloud in the sky, and I can see the mountains. It's supposed to be 51 degrees today. I'm going to take the kids up to the top of our local mountain, the Zugerberg, to scout out a good restaurant for us to visit with my folks when they come out (and by "us," I mean the adults).
Now, make no mistake: I certainly don't want to trade a Swiss winter in for a Minnesota winter. (Ever.) I think the lowest temperature here at night this winter has been about 15 degrees, and that's above zero. You can get quite a bit of sun in the Twin Cities in the winter, but those clear days are usually accompanied by temperatures of about ten below.
It's my understanding that the Twin Cities had a nasty commute yesterday morning after receiving about seven inches of snow. A commute in the winter in Minnesota can be harrowing at best, life-threatening at worst. On the other hand, my commute in Switzerland has basically three possibilities: if it's snowing, I wear boots; if it's raining, I take an umbrella; and if it's doing neither of those things, I just go. It's a twenty-minute walk regardless. Overall, not a bad way to go.
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