Slight correction to yesterday's post. Seems I didn't translate the name of the restaurant correctly. It's "Schinkenpeter", which roughly translates to "Ham Peter." I don't know, I'm pretty sure "schinken" is "stinky" but I'll admit Conny's German seems to be pretty good, or at least a little better than mine, so I'll defer to her on this one.

Last night Conny took me, along with her friends, to Alabama. I was amazed that just a short walk from the subway we could get to Alabama. I thought I had a pretty decent grasp on U.S. geography, but last night shows me I can learn a thing or two. I also thought Alabama was much bigger, but it turns out it's more like a big-ass nightclub than a state. You pay at the door, and inside this warehouse/dance-hall it's all you can drink. Needless to say, Alabama is very popular with the young crowd. It's basically like buying a discount pass on the shitfaced express. I was comforted by the knowledge that an ambulance is always waiting outside to help those who have a bad reaction to the paint thinner they serve at the bar. The music was loud, the hall was packed, and the floor made a fascinating transition from sticky to slippery in the course of the night.

I consumed a respectable amount of the paint thinner mixed with a brown, sweet, darkening agent that may have been Coca Cola. Conny's friend Helmut documented a fair share of debauchery on his digital camera. As soon as we scrape the dried vomit off the camera, I'll share some pictures. In this case, these pictures will definitely be worth thousands of words. They'll also be helpful since I can't remember much of what happened. I have some recollection of a picture being taken of me in an act that's illegal in some southern states, but that could just be a bad hallucination.

Miscellaneous antiquated U.S. sodomy laws notwithstanding, the evening at Alabama was fun. Our group staggered out of the muck at around 4AM. Conny and I had to deliver a very blotto Helmut to his apartment via taxi.Then Conny had to deliver a very blotto Alex to her apartment. Then a very blotto Alex had to deliver the meager contents of his stomach into Conny's toilet. After doing all this delivery work, I was aware that I should drink a lot of water and take a few aspirin before I passed out, or I'd have a really bad hangover. So, I had three big glasses of water, and took the aspirin, feeling quite proud of myself. Then a giant green platypus offered me a cigarette. Now, I don't smoke, and Conny has a pet rabbit, not a pet giant green platypus. I knew something was up. I politely refused the cigarette and I asked the platypus what the deal was.

"You're having a dream, you moron," he said. "You passed out while thinking about getting a lot of water to drink."

And I suddenly woke up, with a headache the size of a giant green platypus. Conny was merciful, and nursed me back to health. It took about 4 hours to get me coherent enough to say anything other than "unnnnngh," but she kept at it. We had people coming over for a fondue dinner, and Conny was smart enough to know that pots of hot oil and open flame around incoherent, hungover men was a bad idea. She got me back into shape, and put me to work cutting up the meat. It wasn't hard to do, and I've learned that I never really did need my left pinkie, or anything after the first knuckle of the middle finger anyway.

Other than the unscheduled minor amputations, the fondue dinner went off without a hitch. We had the same group as we did at Alabama over. Remarkably, no one wanted anything alcoholic. And the bowl of aspirin we put out on the table was also very popular. Peter and Elizabeth had the task of bringing over the "noodle salad." Noodle salad is a basically a German pasta salad. You take elbow macaroni, eggs, ham, bits of pickle and some other stuff, and find the largest bowl you can, and fill it. An odd custom, I think, but I try to keep an open mind. Turns out Elizabeth and Peter have a very big bowl. We could have fed about 30 people from the amount of noodle salad they brought over. It was more like "noodle nation" then noodle salad. At least no one went hungry.

After the fondue, we chatted and played some interesting games that involved the American guest losing in a variety of ways. I swear they were making up rules as we were playing. Every time I questioned it, someone would point to a line in the printed rule book and swear that it required me having to put my pants on backwards and stand on my head. I didn't want to make the situation awkward, so I just went along with it. Though, I did have my limits. I decided it was easier to forfeit the game than to eat a handful of paper clips. I can tell you this much, I now know why German games don't sell well in the states. I especially dislike "Pin the Tail on the American."
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