http://flic.kr/p/cmJWLf
Previously in this series. J.E. Reich’s work for The Toast can be found here.
The concepts of lightness and weight are very important to you. You refuse to buy a scale.
Every time you have sex in a bowler hat — which is often — you are struck with nostalgia concerning your Bohemian grandfather, who was also a mayor before the war. (Which war? THE War, of course.)
You frequently compare your wife to a baby found in a bulrush basket.
You write a ten-page horoscope for your boss. The Communist government immediately becomes very concerned.
If you have an affair with your professor, you are either gaudy or bespectacled.
It is expected that your husband will inevitably send you to a hill called Petrin, where you will encounter a near-suicide by a firing squad.
You compare your adolescent upbringing in the country and your mother’s bawdy demeanor to being raised in a concentration camp, with no sense of self-awareness whatsoever.
Your mother-in-law, who is staying with you, almost walks in on you in a pre-arranged threesome with your wife and your mistress. This inexplicably turns you on.
According to Nietzsche, Stalin’s son will repeatedly electrocute himself. You think this is very kitsch.
If your female dog likes your wife more than you, she is automatically considered a lesbian. (Your dog, not your wife.)
You are a professor who is excellent at judo-chopping.
People talk about concentration camps a lot, but no one ever mentions any Jewish people.
Because what’s a little homoerotic tension between friends that are the wife and the mistress of the same man, you add a bowler hat and some naked modeling in for good measure. Unfortunately, coed pillow fights are not allowed in the Czech Republic.
Ernest Hemingway becomes best friends with Goethe, and this is somehow not fanfiction.
You never need a therapist, because that’s what Greek philosophers and Beethoven are for.
After your first marriage collapses, you refuse to pay child support and voluntarily do not see your son for over twenty years. This is considered very admirable. (At least to you.)
When in doubt, move to Switzerland. When again in doubt, immediately move back to your Soviet-occupied police state.
After you smell the sex organs of various women on your husband’s hair, you have a one-night fling with a nameless engineer; you immediately assume he has taped it and that he is actually a spy for the Russian government.
“Groin” and “sex organ” are your favorite sexy words.
You cannot quite tell the difference between a nudist beach, a communist uprising, or a state fair.
…he probably is a spy for the Russian government.
German is the definitive philosophical language as far as you’re concerned. The snarling speaks to your oppressive regime.
You very much long for Czech cemeteries. When asked why, you answer that the French do not bury their dead deep enough, but they have some impressive rocks.
Your Catholic son is very aggressive with his epitaphs.
Your dog smiles frequently. This probably means she is a lesbian who also has a tumor.
You are constantly reminded that every character you encounter is fictional. You are fictional, as well, and probably the byproduct of very bad indigestion.
Ostriches are very portentous.
No one expects the politburo…until they do.
Moravia is but a distant land of bekerchiefed babitchkas who spend all day farming beets for the State and all night preparing knedlicky by firelight. Theirs is a purer, simpler world that certainly doesn’t worry about starvation or drought.
You cannot quite tell the difference between a nudist beach, a communist uprising, or a state fair.
In my defense, the differences between them can be rather slight in Vermont.
It has been years since I read Kundera. And yet, just last night, I was thinking: what was he doing that his HAIR was getting the scent all over it? And how did these women not say something? Woman: Ummmm, Tomas, I just….. are you sure you’re doing this right? Tomas: Yes. Yes, I am. I am an excellent lover. Ask anyone. Ask them about Tomas. They’ll say, “Oh, Tomas, he’s a great lover.” Woman: It’s just….. well…… shouldn’t your ….. face…. be doing more of the action here? Not the top of your head? I know I’m not as experienced as you are……. Tomas: No, no, you are not as experienced as I am. This is the right way to do things. If you mention this to anyone, they will laugh at you for being so very silly as to not realize that this is the right way. Now, put that bowler hat back over your face. When is your mother coming home?
I sort of assumed he had sort of sweeping bangs in his face, like Justin Beiber, which he didn’t bother to brush out of the way before getting down to business.
Certainly a possibility. I will admit that my personal vision of Tomas has really tight curly hair.
Sabina could also just be a squirter.
It was one woman who liked to grind against his head. Everyone has their kinks.
Awwhh guys, I used to live right next to Petrin Hill. It’s got cool and creepy sculptures
Dream come true.
http://prague-stay.com/lifestyle/review/225-memor…
My favourite part of that area is the Most Legii. I’d misread it on my map as “most legit” and it became an inside joke during our week in Prague, even though we knew “most” means bridge.
“We have to cross the Vltava, do you want to go by the Charles Bridge again?”
“Hmm… the Charles Bridge is nice, but it’s not the most legit bridge.”
Wait are some of these Gabriel García Márquez?
The woman you’re meeting with is having anxiety-related diarrhea and keeps having to interrupt your political discussion to go to the bathroom; you are incredibly and violently aroused.
I only recently read Kundera and I had to choke/force my way through the book by taking it as my only reading material in boring situations. Still had trouble. Still regret it.
I put a bunch of Kundera books on hold at the library after coming back from the Czech Republic in August; I am now reconsidering this.
(I also put a bunch of Kafka on hold, made it through about 30 pages of The Trial, then returned everything and noted “Fuck Kafka” at the end of my diary, where I keep a list of what I’ve been reading.)
I loved Kundera when I read him in the early 90’s, but I was young and fascinated by all things Slavic. I have no idea if I would find him brilliant or insufferably pretentious now. If you are looking for Czech writers, I loved everything by Bohumil Hrabal, and I remember really liking some of Josef Skvorecky’s novels. I think Engineer of Human Souls was my favorite, but it’s been such a long time.