Extreme Telecommuting -- An Office Odyssey


this week in the odyssey
11.22.99 -- 11.29.99
prague, czech republic




Keeping It Extreme

Time to hit the ole mailbag this week on the Odyssey! Literally every month here on the Odyssey, we receive at least one or two email messages expressing sentiments almost exactly like the following: "Gosh, I admire you, Sid. You are truly an inspiration! How do you manage to create such a tall-walking, kerosene-breathing, flat-out whopper of a web page week in and out? Are you more machine than man? You're certainly one of the great creative minds of the 20th century, I tell you that much. Also, it looks like your hair is starting to grow back. You look great!"

It's always a great feeling to receive these emails. That's why I try to send them to myself as often as possible...every little affirmation helps. Still, all narcissism aside, I think it's important that we finally reveal the secret power source for this web page. It's not the European culture, the exotic food and drink, or even the Deluxe Edition Thesaurus from Roget's. No. Also, despite persistent rumors to the contrary, this feature has not been outsourced to a Taiwanese sweatshop since just after our departure from Rome. Not in this day and age. No, the wellspring of our Office Odyssey effusiveness is actually concentrated entirely within that t-shirt you see me wearing in that picture at right. It's my Extreme T-Shirt. I wear it every time I write the web page.




Kristanne usually just leaves me alone when I write the web page.

The bright yellow (eerily reminiscent of the legendary neon background from the original Odyssey) pumps me up, charges my literary batteries, gets me ready to mix some serious metaphors. Also, the tight fit restricts the flow of blood to my brain -- definitely a plus for putting this bad boy together in its usual haphazard fashion. And then there's the piece d'resistence (French for "please don't beat me up for speaking with a wimpy accent") -- the slogan.


Keeping it real for my boyz in the hood.

"Homeboy Extreme Division." I think that just about says it all, combining my essential B-Boy badness with the Extremeness that is our hallmark. It also gets the real hip-hop flavor that was part of my upbringing back in the 'hood of suburban Washington state. Shouts out to the Duwamish River Posse and 'nuff respect to all the players out there, baybee! I'm still keepin' it real for all y'all!

Can't really pull that one off, can I? What was your first clue, my khaki slacks or the pseudo-intellectual glasses? Still, when you've spent years perfecting your craft, struggling to achieve that delicate balance between insouciant and asinine, it means something to have finally graduated and joined the Homeboy Extreme Division. It's an incredibly select (and somewhat secretive) division, its members committed to excellence, integrity, and an immediate reinstatement of the 39 cent Fiesta Menu down at Taco Bell. Also, we prefer the wooden shafted Q-tips to the cardboard ones. Firm control is important when working with the auditory canal. Unfortunately, membership in the Homeboy Extreme Division has currently stagnated at one, but I'm thinking of expanding recruitment efforts any day now. If you'd like to join up, you'll have to find your own t-shirt, though. I'm keeping mine.


Of course, life in Europe is about much more than just sitting around the kitchen and cracking jokes about my Extreme t-shirt. At least that's what Kristanne keeps telling me. Whatever. So, halfway into my new Homeboy Extreme Division breakdancing routine, Kristanne grabbed me by the ear (refusing to call me 'Sid Doggy Dogg,' all the while) and dragged me out into this "real world" thing she's been talking about, bound for the excitement and splendor that is Prague.

The real world of Prague is definitely a lot different that it was ten years ago. In their race to toss aside the shackles of forty odd years of Soviet style socialism, the Czech Republic has made a headlong sprint to embrace the Western version of capitalism. Nowhere is this more evident than in the advertising you see throughout the country. Where once there were only posters exhorting the citizenry to work harder for a brighter future with their socialist brethren, there are now flashing, braying, neon signs exhorting the citizenry to work harder so they can buy more consumer electronics than their capitalist brethren. This is definitely a marked improvement since it shows the Czechs understand that you are what you own -- an important capitalist concept. Still, a short walk around Prague will show even the most ardent of free market worshippers that perhaps things have come a little too far too fast. For example, take that picture at right. Should museums really need to pump themselves up with clever monikers just to grab a bigger slice of their target market? Under socialism, this particular museum was known as the "National Gallery For The Expression of Socialist Realism and More Heating Oil." Not a particularly wieldy (hehe..the opposite of "unwieldy") moniker, but an accurate one nonetheless. "Mucha Museum," though? No. The mind recoils at what we're in for a little further down this slippery slope. The "Megalo-Maxi Museum, Brought To You By Hefty Bags?" The "Ultra-Uffizi?" The "Giga-Guggenheim?" The "New and Improved Louvre, Now With More Bleaching Action?"

Right next to the Grande Garage

It shouldn't be too surprising that Prague is exhibiting some American tendencies when it comes to their advertising -- the city is packed with a remarkably large contingent of full-time American citizens, the most we've seen in any city we've visited. It's a vibrant community, too, with its own bars, bookstores, and restaurants. This is a good thing -- it would really suck to have to integrate ourselves with the local community or something. There is even a weekly English-language newspaper, the Prague Post. Handily enough, this very newspaper gave us our first clue as to the real size of the American community -- advertisements for no fewer than ten restaurants offering traditional Thanksgiving meals. This came as welcome news to us since we really had no idea how we were going to cook a traditional Thanksgiving meal using only the celery salt, instant cappuccino, and garlic bread we've managed to procure down at the grocery store using our somewhat limited Czech vocabulary. Now that I think about it, though, I suppose that could have possibly made a reasonable version of stuffing. Still, it's probably better we didn't try. No need to tick off the neighbors any more than our late night renditions of Christmas carols already have.


I'm thankful that I didn't spill *all* my gravy.

So, we decided to call in the professionals and see if we couldn't get a reservation. The first two restaurants we called were completely booked a full three days before the holiday, but we eventually managed to squeeze ourselves into the 5:00 seating at a place called Red, Hot, and Blues right near our apartment. This was key, since in the best of the Thanksgiving spirit we fully anticipated gorging ourselves on turkey to the point where we would have no other recourse than to roll ourselves home. Kristanne, in fact, was positively salivating at the thought of "my pie, your pie, and then some more pie," as she put it. After some preparatory light calisthenics and stretching exercises back at the apartment, we headed off to the restaurant to see if they couldn't come through for us with some homecooked goodness.

Boy, did they ever. I think that picture at left says it all. That picture says, "You bet we've got turkey. You bet we've got stuffing. You bet we've got sweet potatoes. You bet you're spilling your gravy all over the table cloth, you numbskull." It's a surprisingly evocative picture, I'm sure you'll agree. This year's Thanksgiving Tip from Sid is to make sure you always form a mashed potato gravy barrier on your plate before tipping it towards the camera for those candid holiday snaps. Let my mistakes spare you from future embarrassments.


Fortunately, I got to share my embarrassment with some total strangers. Since the restaurant was stuffed from knees to knickers (a phrase I just invented which, although slightly nonsensical, is definitely alliterative) with hungry Americans, we were sharing a table with some new friends, Simone and Kristin (pictured there at right wearing expressions that say, "Please don't let your husband spill any more of his food"). In addition to being quite understanding of your average gravy spill, Simone and Kristin also turned out to be dance instructors at the local Conservatory for Modern Dance. This news definitely excited me as it finally provided me with an audience that could appreciate my Homeboy Extreme Division breakdancing routine. Unfortunately, just as I was getting up to bust a move, two sharp kicks to my shins from Kristanne convinced me that perhaps now was not the best time to get buck wild on the restaurant floor. Their loss.

Please don't let your husband breakdance.

Why, yes -- I would like the whole pie, please.

Dinner was excellent. Since they were cooking for an audience of roughly ten billion, the restaurant had wisely opted to go for a fixed menu. Your only choices were "giblets or no giblets" for your gravy and "apple, pumpkin, pecan, or mincemeat" for your pie flavor. This definitely limited interaction with your waiter, a fortunate thing since our particular waiter was a tad longwinded, going into an extended soliloquy complete with visual aids and a laugh track when Simone made the mistake of asking him just what the heck a "giblet" was. Still, the lack of waiter interaction seemed to be making Kristanne nervous. Each and every time he chanced to pass by our table, Kristanne would tug on his elbow and ask him an edgy voice, "So, when do we get the pie? When are you bringing the pie?" This started roughly thirty seconds after we sat down and continued unabated until we left the restaurant. Oh, to be sure, there were some variations in the questions. Sometimes, she'd just whisper under her breath, "You do remember that I want pumpkin, don't you?" Other times, she'd get a little bit anxious and ask for reassurance -- "You're not running out of the pumpkin, are you?" Eventually, though, she just tossed the whole question thing out the window and went for good old physical threats, hissing through clenched teeth, "Listen waiter-boy, just bring me the damn pie if you know what's good for you." Oddly enough, it was just about this time that Simone and Kristin suddenly had to leave for another pressing engagement, leaving Kristanne with no other recourse than to eat their pie, too. "Suckers," I heard her chuckle under her breath as she tucked into her third piece (pictured at left), a small grin peeking out from underneath the whipped cream. Yes, sometimes Thanksgiving is all about intimidation here on the Odyssey.


Of course, after slamming down an entire pie, nothing feels better than unbuttoning that top button on your pants and setting yourself down on the couch to watch a little football. Unfortunately, since we don't have a couch, don't have a TV, and didn't feel like watching soccer (the closest thing to football we figured we could get over here), we had to settle for just unbuttoning the top button on our pants. I suppose I probably should have waited to do that until we left the restaurant but, you know, I was just feeling so darn comfortable with all these friendly Americans around. Who could have predicted that their mood would turn ugly when I started to take off my pants? Certainly not me.

In any case, our longing for American football was soon to be satisfied. Remember that paragraph way back before I spilled my gravy at the Thanksgiving feast? Remember how I kinda cracked wise in a condescending way about how the American community here has their own scene, completely separate from the Czechs? Remember how I sort of implied that we were way above all that? Yeah, well, I take all that crap back. I take it back mainly because otherwise it would make me look pretty darn hypocritical to be counting the hours until our local English-speaking bar would be showing none other than our hometown Seattle Seahawks taking on the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, live and on television. Though it wasn't on Thanksgiving, it was definitely a real treat for this sports addict to feed his jones with a couple hours spent yelling at big men in funny hats trying to hurt one another. Now, if only they could get some Pac-10 basketball over here...

Screw the culture -- I'm watching football.

Czech Republic currently under construction -- mind your step.

Don't get me wrong -- it wasn't all wayward Americana this past week on the Odyssey. We also did a lot of online shopping. And, well, if that isn't enough to keep this web page percolating along in its usual high gear, we also paid a visit to the Tyn Church (pictured at left), right off the Old Town Square. The Tyn church is one of the three buildings that dominate Prague's impressive Old Town Square. It's multi-winged twin spires stand out as different than any other church we've had the pleasure of visiting on this Odyssey (and, trust me, there have been a few churches on this Odyssey). Unfortunately, much like the rest of Formerly Socialist Europe, the Tyn Church is currently under construction -- a very early stage of construction at that. After picking our way through the nails, sawhorses, and scaffolding for some ten minutes, we gingerly managed to make our way up to the front of the church where we could examine its slightly -- umm, what's my adjective here? -- gaudy altar. Yes, that's it. After a few narrow misses with falling debris, we decided to get out while the getting was good and headed off to take in a photo exhibition documenting the process of Prague's reconstruction. It turned out to be much safer than the real thing -- no scaffolding at all!


Here at the Office Odyssey, Jay Leno and David Letterman have been hounding us for months, trying to get us on so we can give them our take on Life In Europe and What It All Means. Since my take on life in Europe usually consists entirely of one of two phrases -- "It's cool" or "That's not quite as cool, but it still rules" are the two phrases, in case you're wondering -- we've demurred so far, opting to keep the ugly truth to ourselves. This was before the Computer Report came calling, though, wanting to know if we wanted to do a radio interview with them to be broadcast live over the Greater Lowell, Massachusetts area! Dave and Jay are one thing, but the Computer Report is an entirely different animal. You bet we wanted to do it!

The only problem with this is that I tend to freeze up when I speak either in public or to a vast radio audience. I get nervous. My shins start to sweat. I speak in a high pitched voice and become mildly nauseous. It's almost exactly the same feeling I get when I hear Mariah Carey on the radio. You know what I'm talking about. To overcome my nascent fear before it turned into something far greater, far more sinister than merely an averse reaction to a Mariah Carey song (something, say, like an averse reaction to a Celine Dion song, a reaction I really don't even want to discuss in these family-rated pages), we decided that we needed to practice. So, for the two nights before the interview, we went out to various bars, drank various beers, and tried out various answers to hypothetical questions. It seemed to be working -- I was definitely getting to the point where I didn't have to clutch my stomach each and every time I gave an answer. Also, I was saying more than "yes" or "no" -- another real plus when doing an interview with someone other than a police officer, the FBI, or an enemy militia. Things were looking good. All I needed to do now was make sure that I didn't drink a beer before the interview. I tend to make a lot of poop jokes once I've had a beer -- probably not the best thing for a radio interview.

Since our apartment doesn't have a telephone, we had to check in to a hotel on that fateful day and wait for the call to come in from Lowell. Fortunately, my worries about drinking a beer before the interview were all for naught. Faster than you can say "my wife is a big meany" three times fast, I found myself strapped to the bed to await the interview. This also put the kibosh on my plan to do the interview in my underwear (since you can't very well envision a radio audience in their undies, I figured I'd do the next best thing). Luckily, Kristanne did let me out just in time to answer the phone and take the call from the guys at the Computer Report (which you can see there at right). It all went pretty well -- they did a great job of making it easy for me for the entire fifteen minutes. As soon as it started, it was over. A voice sounding suspiciously like Andy Warhol's sounded out from the heavens signaling the end -- "Mr. Heaton, your fifteen minutes are up. You are now free to resume your everyday life, already in progress." Want to hear how we did? You can judge the results for yourself in RealAudio over at the Computer Report's website. You'll need to fast forward the clip to about the 1:01 mark to hear us, though -- we were on towards the end!

Cool. Calm. Collected.

So ends another week here on the Odyssey! Time is getting tight here in Prague, though -- only another two weeks -- so be sure to check back next week for an action-packed episode full of cultural treasures and amazing sights. Also, we may clean the apartment. See you next week!



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Last Week's Front Page Picture

'Mala Strana' in Czech means 'bad string.' Apparently, there was once an evil string maker who lived here.

As for that picture over there at left, that's a sunset view of Prague's evocative Mala Strana district, nestled gently between the Vltava River and Hradcany Castle. Unfortunately, this particular sunset view of Mala Strana was snapped right around eleven o'clock in the morning. Have we mentioned that the days are getting shorter over here in Prague? Given our usual exhausting pace of life here on the Office Odyssey, this means that twilight typically arrives right after our morning coffee. The days are just packed, I tell you.

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