[SZ Pun Here]

First things first, you can save yourself a few hours and get the general idea of this entry here. Photos and snarkasm abound!:
http://picasaweb.google.com/rs.wtfvq/Szeged02?feat=directlink.

Spring has most definitely sprung; BSMers have come out of hi-bar-nation and can be spotted scampering about Hungary and the surrounding countries like so many somewhat intoxicated bunnies, except bunnies presumably don't take so many photos. This past weekend, several of my leporine compatriots and I took to Szeged (pronounced 'seh-,' as in "How about those Canadians,eh?" -ged, as in "Damb, dis is de worst tibe to ged a cold").

Ostensibly, we were in Szeged for a lecture, much the same way I am ostensibly in Budapest to learn math and not to go dancing two/three times a week and perform cooking experiments (did I mention that chicken is a bitch?). The lecture was on szphere-packing, for example, the optimal way to stack oranges in a crate. I cannot help but feel the lecture was incomplete, as it lacked a discussion of the mathematics of that one customer who INSISTS on searching through the entire crate to take a szpecial orange from the bottom, thus knocking over the entire arrangement plus a few apples on the side before deciding that s/he really doesn't want oranges this time and proceeding to terrorize the pasta. Further reszearch is required.

After the lecture, we hit the town for dinner at Chez OMIGODSOGOOD. Now, for all I know, Chez OMGSG may have been a fast food place, but the velocity of the game seemed to have little effect on that of the waiters. We waited (isn't that the waiter's job? discuss) for over an hour before food appeared, leading some of us to wonder if the food had indeed been fast and the chef had spent the first half hour or so trying to catch it (this is why I never order rabbit). Such a lengthy period of caloric barrenness would have been inexcusable were it not for the fact that, a. there were two huge groups of American tourists there that night and b. did I mention the food was REALLY GOOD? I never thought of paprikas as maritime creatures, but three roasted paprikas swimming in oil and vinegar were possibly the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. Granted, I didn't observe their swimming prowess for too long.

The meal to end all meals was also pretty much the end of my first day in Szeged. Others hit the bars afterward, but once again genetics intervened in my social life and I found myself reading in bed at 10, and asleep by 11. For the record, I just checked my driver's license, and it *says* I'm 20 and not 60, but I'm beginning to doubt it myself. Day Two began for me at 7:30 am, which apparently is considered early for some people? No one else was up, so I took a quick walk around our hostel to snap some photos. Well, "around." It was more of a line segment then a circle. In my defense, when you've spent the past 20 (60?) years incapable of finding your way out of a paper bag (no idea how I ended up in all those bags to begin with), you become wary of possible confusion-inducing actions, like left turns. Much as I like to travel, I didn't really want my morning stroll to end up in Serbia.

After my initial walk, mercifully lacking in accidental encounters with foreign nations, I went out again with Texas Sam, Fellow Tapper Brittany, and Lucas I Want His Hair (But Would Look Really Silly With It). Our first-ish stop was the flea market (we had wanted to go to services, but the synagogue was closed. For the record, that was, surprisingly, NOT my idea). Lucas very nearly succumbed to the siren call of a sword, just so he could walk around Pest with it. Admittedly, that would have been awesome, but we persuaded him that dealing with customs might be more trouble that it's worth. I myself nearly succumbed to the siren call of, well, nearly everything, but was saved by the knowledge that if I tried to buy something, I would have to ask what it cost and we all know my feelings about communication with actual Hungarians. I didn't want to end up paying 50,000 ft. for a gently-used water buffalo. When I need buffalo, I go retail. We next went to the Móra Museum. The Museum is named for Ferenc "Too Much Free Time" Móra, and would have been called "The Szeged Museum of Kind of Random But Still Pretty Interesting Stuff," but it didn't fit on the brochures. Seriously, the museum comprises* a painting exhibit, natural history exhibit (learned to appreciate endangered animals by looking at their stuffed bodies!), photography, pharmaceutical history, history of platypi (just kidding. I wish), etc. Putting aside the snark for a minute, I will say that if you ever have a chance to check out Robert Capa's photos, you should do so. He managed to capture some really powerful and emblematic moments of the 20th century.

Our next stop was supposed to be the Pick Salami and Paprika Museum (did I mention that Hungarians are awesome?). We met up with AndyAndMike (it's really more convenient to list them as one person and you lose no generality), consulted Sam's guidebook, and determined that the museum opened at one. Unfortunately, the museum itself had not consulted Sam's guidebook, and thought that it did not need to open until three. Since we could not convince the building of its error (bricks NEVER listen), we opted for an extended walk across the Tisza instead. We walked down Liszt Ferenc sétány... perhaps my sister can help me out with a clever remark here, as I know absolutely nothing about Liszt (because I ONLY crack jokes about things I understand. Definitely). The walk was not particularly remarkable, but I am remarking on it anyway because I don't want to do my MPS homework. It was very lovely outside, and, after 4 straight days of rain in Pest, it was a relief to be able to go out without fear of drowning and/or melting ("I haven't been the same since that house fell on my sister"). The grounds were covered in flowers, another stark contrast to Pest, which seems to only grow cigarette butts and dog residue.

At 3 pm sharp (why do we say 3 pm sharp, but 3 dollars flat?), we returned to the Pick Museum and, get this, were allowed in (what about natural? or minor? "Meet me at 3 pm harmonic" has a nice ring to it...). At this point, Brittany and Lucas split, apparently having more important things to do than look at salami (I know, right?! I can't imagine it either). Their loss, because the Pick Museum was about as close to heaven as one can get for 400 ft. For starters, with admission, we got a packet of paprika powder, half a salami sandwich, and a postcard with paid postage (no, the paprika was not for the postcard. I made the same mistake). Moreover, it was a museum. About salami and paprika**. Szeged, I love you.

At this point, Sam, AndyAndMike and I were suffering from tourist feet (walkingious ashittonium), so we started back for the hostel (most of the other BSMers had returned to Budapest). However, our lengthy journey (1.5ish miles? whatever, it felt long) was interrupted by a folk dance performance in the square. Me being me **, I somehow forgot the fact that my feet were borderline homicidal and sprinted across the street (I'm from DC! I haven't waited at a crosswalk since I was 10) to get a better view. I am most happy I did so, because catching the last 20 minutes of the performance pretty much made my weekend. It was like step-team crossed with tap crossed contra crossed with funny hats ... essentially, a tensor product (oy) of all of my favorite things. I'm pretty sure I was grinning like an idiot for the next hour. Which was fine, since I've appeared an idiot for far lesser things, though it meant my jaw joined my feet in their murderous conspiracy.

Back at the hostel, I was forced off my Cloud 9 and into the Fog of Confusion as I attempted to, against my better judgment, communicate with an actual Hungarian. Mike and I had originally only signed in for one night, so we had to somehow express our desire to stay for a second, ideally with Sam and Andy. If you recall, my Hungarian is pretty much limited to counting to 8, apologizing, and handwaving. "I would like to stay an extra night in room 106" was not really part of my linguistic arsenal, as I have never encountered a dance step of that name (someone needs to get on that, by the way). The four of us spent about 20 minutes creating essentially random combinations of words like szoba (room), éjszaka (night), száz hat (106), etc. in the hopes that one of those combinations would somehow communicate our desire. In the end, Sam pretty much came to the rescue, being the only one of us able to actually construct a complete sentence (verbs? what are these things?). On the plus side, I can now count up to 8 and say 106! Who could ask for anything more?

Okay, I swear I am sort of almost done (hey, at least it's a promise I can keep). I need one paragraph on drinking, one on an incident Sunday morning, and one reasonably clever conclusion and I can let you go. I wish I could say the following paragraph may not be appropriate for people who happen to be my parents or relatives, but the only reason I would say so would be a desire to prevent my family from knowing how lame I actually am. I cannot drink. I am not prudish, I am not Muslim, I am not (intentionally) a goody-goody, I just can't drink. Believe me, I've tried. After dinner (another wonderful restaurant, what is it about the Szegedian ones?), we defaulted to the common BSM/Shaun of the Dead strategy: "Let's go to the pub!" Actually, we went to a few. At the first, I was content to watch the others drink and see how long I could hold my breath (did I mention smoking indoors is legal? And that everyone and their mother does so?). At the second, however, I was determined to prove that, obnoxious circadian rhythm aside, I am in fact a college student and therefore able to abuse my liver like everyone else. Alas, it was not to be. I ordered the girliest drink ever (AIWATNF), a banana daquiri...and couldn't take more than 2 sips. Seriously. AndyAndMike had to finish it for me. They said it tasted like candy, and they could barely tell it was alcoholic. I was pretty sure I was drinking nail polish remover mixed with vodka. I think I will have to be content with making my stupid decisions sober.

Okay folks, just one more. The next day was for the most part uneventful. We did have one wonderful moment however, when a man came up to us at breakfast asking for 90 ft. He mentioned something about a hospital and Andy, being a decent human being, gave him the 90 ft. Which he then took into the gambling house right across the street. Right in front of us. Andy was displeased, the rest of us were glad of the morning's entertainment. Lesson: Never do nice things. Naturally, having sworn off all future good deeds, we were in the perfect mood to check out the city's main synagogue and church. We kept our mouths shut (okay, not really, but stay with me here), as it didn't seem right to inform the church- and synagogue-goers that the entirety of religion was based off false assumptions about this whole doing good thing. "Torah, work, and acts of random stuff" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Congratulations to those of you who made it so far. As a reward, I will let you make up the last line of this entry. Go forth and sznark!



*I am trying to become grammatically less fascist, but I still insist that the parts compose the whole, the whole comprises the parts. Is that so hard?

**"The first rule of the Tautology Club is the first rule of the Tautology Club."