Ronaldo the Clown, My Agent

Now, if you’re in the process of job hunting and you’re searching for that elusive, nearly extinct creature called a career, perhaps you can also relate to some of these experiences that we performing artists go through on a regular basis in our search for work. Even when you’re fortunate enough to be in a show or you’re gigging regularly due to your own tenacity, you must always keep your eye out for the next opportunity to audition. This isn’t only important for maintaining your talent or keeping your face/name relevant to the public; it’s also important for you to earn money so that you can eat. It can be stressful. You wake up after a great but exhausting performance the night before, travel to an audition in another town or city that day, and then return to perform another show that night. Actually, that’s an ideal description of how it goes when you’re actually willing and able to support yourself as a performing artist.

If you’ve never done it, auditioning for any kind of role or gig can be extremely nerve-wracking. It’s exhilarating, nauseating and slightly embarrassing all at the same time. You’re putting yourself out there in front of a complete stranger (no matter how famous he or she may be, you still don’t know them personally) or a group of them. Within the span of a few uttered lines or a maximum of circa 7 minutes for a power aria to be sung, you’d better have impressed the pants off of the people you’re auditioning for. Well, I meant that figuratively, but these days, I’m starting to wonder. I’ve heard stories.

In any case, after a while, you may start thinking that a talent agent could do you some good. That way, you can save time searching for audition opportunities and just be notified by your agent when something possibly good comes up. Best-case scenario, you get the gig or the role, your agent gets a cut, and both of you are happily doing what you do best.

That’s what I was hoping for the first time I looked for a talent agent. I sent a professional head shot with a sample recording asking for the opportunity for a live audition. Fortunately, there were a few bites, and so I scheduled the audition dates. To save money, I chose the closest one first. I called the number and told the agent that I was looking for representation as a classical vocalist with a penchant for Broadway. He sounded completely excited and ready to add me to his client list. When I got there, I was expecting to see a professional dressed up in at least a jacket and nice pants. Instead, it was a clown.

Seriously, if you’ve ever seen the movie “IT” (“ES” in German), just imagine you’re already going to some stranger’s office, you’re nervous about auditioning so that you can get work, and on top of that, you’ve got Steven King’s love-baby staring expecting at you, patiently waiting to hear you flawlessly sing an aria by Saint-Saëns.

Ironically, I have never liked, enjoyed or trusted people in costumes off-stage. Moreover, I abhor clowns. My own mother has told me repeatedly that the reason why there are no pictures of me with Santa, Spiderman or any other character is because each time the opportunity came up, I was literally fighting for my life trying to get away from them. According to her, the first time this happened was when I was two and a half. And while I would run from the majority of them (there are a lot of them in the numerous amusement parks we have in Florida), for some reason, when a clown came along, I was ready to fight. Don’t ask me why. I couldn’t tell you. What I can tell you is that to this day, when I see anyone dressed as a clown – and I mean anyone – I must still repress the innate urge to punch that freak in the face.

So, I was at my professional best and worst when I auditioned for a clown. On the one hand, it’s pretty amazing to stand your ground, face one of your phobias and simultaneously sing a romantic aria; on the other hand, you might want to reconsider your career options when you find yourself auditioning for a clown, even in happenstance.

After I finished, he sat there with a goofy grin on his face (well, it was there the whole time), and he applauded and said, “Great. Just amazing. I’ll take you on. We even have a couple of shows lined up throughout next month. Uh, can you also sing Mariah Carey and Madonna?”

This was supposed to be a legitimate talent agency, I promise. As much as I respect and enjoy the work of both of these women, no, clown agent, I didn’t spend countless hours studying music theory and history in order to expand my repertoire to include Touch My Body and Papa Don’t Preach.

I gently reminded him that while I could sing those songs, I was looking for an agent to represent me for classical music and standards. And why was he dressed like a clown? Was it to try to throw potential talents off in order to test their resolve? I asked, naïvely optimistic and readily open to denial.

“Oh, ha ha, no, but that’s a good idea. I have a troupe of many performing talents and we travel throughout the country. I’m the MC and dress like this. We’re looking to legitimize the troupe some more, and that’s why we’d love to have you join us!”

This “talent agency” was a small-time circus. In the words of George Takei, oh my. Once Ronaldo saw the expression on my face, that goofy grin of his quickly waned. “Um, well, of course, you may want to take a couple of days to think about it. These are for you. If you’re interested, just call me back. We’d love to have you…”

He handed me a stack of karaoke CDs with German Schlager, Mariah Carey, Madonna, TINA TURNER, Whitney Houston and the Bee Gees. I still have those CDs in a shoebox in our basement.

This serves as a reminder as to why I will never like clowns.

Not long after, I made two very important decisions in my life: I would manage myself and I would go back to school in a non-music related field. I regret neither. So, if you find yourself in a situation that’s not ideal, just remember that it could always be worse and more absurd than you could ever imagine.

Happy career hunting!

xoxo CountryEuroCityMouse

©2012 CountryEuroCityMouse™. All rights reserved.

Woman-Speak versus Man-Comprehension

As you ought to know by now, I work a lot with communication. Not only do I explore communication between cultures and perceived language and ethnic “barriers”, I also like to focus on communication between genders. This brings me to this week’s blog entry, which will help every single person in the world. As a matter of fact, I will not be surprised if I get a Nobel Peace Prize for today’s contribution.

At this point, I’m going to assume that everyone has heard of John Gray’s book “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.” It is on our bookshelf. I have never read it. If this book gave my then boyfriend the divine insight on how to be the amazing husband that he is today, then kudos to the author and lucky me. It must be a pretty awesome book – even Jay-Z created a song with the title “Venus versus Mars.” Alrighty then. But without having even turned a page in the book, I’m pretty sure that there must be a vital missing chapter. It’s called Woman-Speak versus Man-Comprehension.

This is a blog, so I’m not going to dump a whole chapter’s worth of knowledge on you. Instead, I’ll just give you one tip that should lead you to blissful communication with the opposite sex for the rest of your life.

More often than not, when a woman presents a man with a particularly harmless question that sounds like a spontaneous suggestion, it’s most likely a statement (okay, a gently swaddled imperative) that men must unravel in order to maintain peace in the valley. Here are a few examples:

“Do you really want to do that?” MEANS: “You don’t want to do that.”

“Didn’t you say that you wanted to cut down on the greasy foods when we travel?”

MEANS: “I have to sit beside you for the next three hours during this road trip. You’d better think long and hard about what you’re stuffing down your gullet, because ‘Excuse me’ just won’t cut it.”

“Are you sure you want to wear your socks with sandals while you walk around with me today?”

MEANS : “There’s no way on God’s green earth that you are going to embarrass me in public by wearing such an atrocity.”

See, the thing is, we all want democracy, also at home. However, when we see loved ones making the wrong poor choices, we just want to diplomatically guide them to the path that we see most fit for them (see, you’ve also gotten some political insight here as well). The problem is that the men often mistakenly view these questions as being, well, questions. Which is why the conversation usually ends up like this:

Woman: (Thinking to herself, “Oh dear. There he goes looking like Grandpa Georg wearing those horrible sandals with socks up to his ankles and shorts.* This has got to stop.”) Are you sure you want to wear your socks with sandals while you walk around with me today?

Man: (Innocently thinking that this is the beginning of a nice conversation) Yeah! They sure are comfortable, and these above-the-ankle-high socks don’t make my toes get all sweaty and itchy and stinky.

Woman: (Thinking to herself, Okay, too much information.) Um, do you really want to do that?

Man: (Still a little slow to catch on.) Of course! What’s wrong with it?

Now the man has unwittingly placed himself in the death box of gender-dialogue. He is the one who blatantly stated the previously insinuated notion that there is something wrong with his sandals and socks. Since he has provided the woman with an opportunity to fully express her opinion (which will likely be followed by a request to remove the offending shoes and/or socks), this conversation can go in a multitude of directions.

And it all began with an innocent question.

Don’t get me wrong. We women don’t necessarily do this on purpose. It’s truly in our nature to read between the lines, which in turn, often leads us to unintentionally speak between them as well. It’s also quite clear that both men and women use this method of expressing requests. Sometimes, this approach works well, or it can lead to two people being exasperated and thinking that the other is ninny. Instead of presenting a request for action in question form, make it a statement. Any counterpart can figure it out from there. (*By the way, thankfully, my husband is not one of those guys who would wear such a thing. Yes, this had to be clarified.)

Wouldn’t it be funny if all of this were actually in that book? Then this week’s entry would have been this: “I suggest you read page 121 from that book.” And everyone would have understood exactly what I meant.

xoxo CountryEuroCityMouse

©2012 CountryEuroCityMouse™. All rights reserved.

30 Seconds of Medical School

Ranting time.

Now, I’m not being judgmental here (wink, wink), but there are some moments in life where I simply have to resort to using one of Mugatu’s most awesome lines in Zoolander: “I feel like I’m taking crazy pills!” Well, if I am to follow the advice given by the flood of commercials for various medications, I suppose I should. This also drives me nuts. Just take a moment to think about it: You watch one commercial for, say, 30 seconds, and all of sudden you’re a freaking expert on the solution to your health problem. Forget any extra (or actual) research or finding out about alternatives. When those commercials say “Ask your doctor about _____.”, we all know what that really means. No American asks for something. We tell people what we want. Go back to the last time you went and ordered something from the drive thru. Your conversation probably went like this:

“May I take your order?”

“Yeah, I’ll have the number three with no ketchup, cheese, onions or mayonnaise. But I want extra pickles. And I mean extra pickles.”

So you drive up and the first thing you do is aggressively interrogate the server before you’ve even seen the sandwich. “Did you get my extra pickles?”

(By the way, what ever happened to using “please” and “thank you”? It’s as though the use of basic manners is comparable to the fragile existence of an endangered species.)

Now, taking this natural tendency that most of us have and then couple it with the diabolical genius of the pharmaceutical and marketing industries, and well, we’re basically done for. That’s how it’s become the multi-billion dollar industry that it is. Just show images of happy people with perfect teeth playing in front of a perfectly manicured lawn, a painted house, sunshine and a frolicking, non-mangy dog. Throw a puffy-cheeked kid in the scene and/or a car and you’ve basically covered every pharmaceutical commercial except for Viagra. Or maybe some anti-depressant commercials.

All of a sudden, you want this. You’re starting to associate yourself with that images that you’ve seen and turn a deaf ear to the last spoken portion of the commercial. “Side effects may include: loss of appetite, sleep depravation, increase in appetite, weight gain, weight loss, depression, losing an ear, growing a third ear, hallucinating to the point of wanting to have as much plastic surgery as Joan Rivers, sleepwalking, an enlarged heart, shortness of breath, sudden death and thoughts of suicide.”

Really, with the exception of the ears gained/lost and a direct comparison to Joan Rivers, I’ve actually heard all of these comments on real commercials! And this is super-scary to me because I know that people have truly been going to their doctors, “asking” to receive Product X without truly having looked into it. (Otherwise, the frequency of such commercials would have decreased – not the opposite.) And by asking, we all know that means “strongly suggesting”. Forget the fact that their doctor most likely has nearly a decade’s worth of specialized schooling and training under his or her belt; that commercial has made the patient, no, the consumer, the expert. 

And now, during their 5minute consultation (don’t get me started on that), the doctor is likely in the precarious position of having to explain why one shouldn’t take a certain drug just because it was advertised so beautifully on TV. And let’s be honest here: Whether these people walk away with or without that prescription, they feel kinda smug because they’re convinced that they know just as much as their doctor. Then they go and brag about this misconceived perception to others. “Can you believe my doctor didn’t even mention Product X? The nerve!"

Then, months later when scores of people are sleep eating, operating vehicles and heavy machinery while asleep, or worse, lose their lives or endanger the lives of others, a world collectively questions why such things can happen.

xoxo  CountryEuroCityMouse

© 2012 CountryEuroCityMouse™. All rights reserved.

Grow Up and Buy a Pair

I bought my first pair of TOMS today! The concept is simple, positive, profitable and has a GREAT story -- four things we definitely need more of in our 21st century business models. I'm looking forward to seeing and supporting more businesses such as these -- perhaps even my own some day.

Just to Clarify...

No Laughing Matter

As the weeks progress and I continue to make weekly contributions to my blog, I get the feeling that there is a growing expectation that I should only blog about things that are funny. Sorry to disappoint you, but this won't be the case. There are many terrible things in the world that are nothing to laugh about:

The Effects of Global Warming

People Who Abandon Pets

Fifty Shades of Grey

As long as there are horrible things such as these, I cannot guarantee you a chuckle in each one of my entries. Another sad fact is that when living abroad for an extended period of time, you'll have more than your share of low points. It's not just about the adventure of acquiring a new language and observing a differing culture. If you want to participate as fully as possible, you must assimilate.

You know the Borg from Star Trek? It's kind of like that. In order to become one with the foreign you must allow parts of yourself to be permanently altered. This is primarily a mental process, and the emotional sacrifices that you're bound to make will be unknown to you as you go through assimilation. Sometimes, you won't even be aware of how you've changed until you find yourself in front of a reflection of your monocultural past. For me, this often occurs with American tourists abroad. That's why I have a few quick tips...

1. When talking to Europeans, don't say to them that you're German or Italian or French etc. unless you really are the direct child of someone of that nationality. Say you are of German descent. Otherwise, you're highly likely to confuse and offend someone (seriously, this has been confided to me over the years from many folks, so don't shoot the messenger!).

2. Don't wear a Canadian patch on your backpack or luggage. You're fooling no one and you're doubly insulting real Canadians and everyone else for assuming that we're just as stupid as you are.

3. Don't expect everyone to speak English to you. You're free to hope that, and you'll often be rewarded, but don't walk around personally affronted because someone doesn't speak your language well or at all when you're abroad. Believe it or not, the entire world is not a little America. At least try to learn the phrase "Do you speak English?" in the language of the country you're visiting. It's a nice gesture of respect and it usually encourages a more hospitable nature from strangers.

On the flip side, one of the tricks for survival that I find useful while living abroad is to take the time to see things like a tourist. In so many ways, this is exactly like viewing the world through the eyes of a child. Everything is a new, strange, sweet discovery and you'll notice so many more details about your surroundings than you would while normally going about your daily tasks. Actually, this is something you can do anywhere, regardless of where you live.

I've noticed one distinctive factor all of the tourists in New York have in common; no matter how casual, cool, calm and collected a demeanor they maintain - they always look up. If you're unfamiliar with the skyscrapers and bridges surrounding you, it's impossible to ignore their magnificence. Over time, you start to grow immune to it, which is a bit of a shame.

In Europe, I'm so used to the architecture and the statues everywhere, I often get so irritated when some tourists block the pathway to take yet another picture of a building where Goethe once spent the night. All I see is the clothing store there with a reasonable sale inside.

But as I push past them and walk inside the store, I have to smile a little. It is pretty cool to live in a place where some of the most amazing poets, artists, playwrights and composers in the history of the world created their masterpieces for all of humanity. I’m pretty darn sure that many New Yawkers must feel exactly the same.

And by the way - who would have thought that Karl Lagerfeld would have a compilation of sketches as one piece in the Met Museum of Art?!

xoxo CountryEuroCityMouse

© 2012 CountryEuroCityMouse™. All rights reserved.

The Tiffany's Where You Don't Want to Eat Breakfast.

An Epiphany Concerning International Public Transportation

It has occurred to me that in the city of New York, public transportation takes precedence over other ways to travel. It doesn’t matter what your occupation or income is, at one point or another, you’re most likely going to be plopping into a taxi, hopping on subway or maybe even be adventurous enough to take a bus. Using public transportation is a great and entertaining convenience, and it is extremely easy to catch onto the subway lines and their directions. At times, it’s also extremely easy to impulsively rush into the wrong train – even when you’re already thinking it might be the wrong one. It must be some kind of compulsion; I know I’ve done it before, and I’ve seen a good handful of homegrown New Yawkers who’ve done it, too. Bwahahaaa.

If you have a further distance to travel, you even have the opportunity to spontaneously jump into a train at Grand Central Station or at Penn Station. (Please don’t try to literally jump into a train. You’ll end up profoundly embarrassing yourself without real cause.)

It’s quite the adventure! 

For the most part, the people commuting here in NYC are nice regular people trying to get to wherever it is that they want to go. Many will offer their seats to those who appear to need it more, and when asked for directions to a particular destination, they’ll go out of their way to give you the information you need. Here’s a tip: When you get free advice from regulars, use discretion of course, – but you may also very well want to take heed. This is also the case should you ever find yourself using public transportation in Germany.

There, when you travel relatively long distances, you may choose to use a train operated by the Deutsche Bahn.  Aside from the (in)famous high-speed Inter-City-Express ICE trains, you can also ride the regional trains (RegioBahn). Once, when I was riding this train, it was jam-packed and I had the misfortune of having to sit in the compartment that offered a full view of the train’s restroom. As you may know, Germany is known for its love of technology, and the automatic door to the train’s toilet demonstrates this. In order to open the door, you are required to push a small illuminated yellow button and patiently wait for the door to slowly slide back until it finally reveals the throne you long for. Apparently, the creators neglected to think of the sense of urgency a user might have, so it’s rather unfortunate that in order to close the door, you have to wait for the door to open completely before you can push that exact same button so that the door will slide back at a snail’s pace before you can go about your business.

Most of time, a passenger or two will remind you of this before you walk in.

During my trip, there were about 20 people or so sitting in this prime location within the train. As our journey progressed, naturally, more people from other sections felt the urge to visit ours. At one point, a woman decided to skip a couple of others waiting in the rather short line. When the others protested, she waved her hand at them triumphantly behind her as the door opened. But I will tell you as we say in the south, laughing is catching. While she was being rude, she ignored the one woman who took it upon herself to dutifully warn people about that door of the future. You can guess what happened next…

When the door slid back to lock, it didn’t latch. This resulted in the automatic door resetting so that it slowly, inevitably and unstoppably rotated open, revealing the rude woman literally caught with her pants down. Now, at the time, this wasn’t funny. This was horrifying for everyone involved. There she was, pants down and lurching towards a door that will not close in less than 15 seconds – no matter what – and passengers trapped in train who couldn’t escape the humiliating scene. Basically, we had the choice between staring in shock and repulsion or clawing at our eyes to relieve us of the image that was being permanently etched into our collective visual memory.

I can still see that door slowly revolving open to this day.

Which is why:

1.     This has reinforced my preexisting phobia of public toilets

2.     It always pays to be polite to people, especially in confined spaces

3.     You’d better listen to well-intending people, even if you end up choosing not to follow their advice

4.     No matter where you are, especially if you’ve usurped other successors to the throne, check to make sure the door is actually locked before you go about your business.

You’ll not only be doing yourself a favor, but quite possibly the rest of the world as well.

xoxo CountryEuroCityMouse

©2012 CountryEuroCityMouse™. All rights reserved.

Keepin' It Classy with Third Class Flying

There used to be a time when travelling was something glamorous. It was an experience to remember, because for a few hours, you were allowed to feel luxurious, rub elbows with the Hobnobs and be treated like royalty by service men and women. You were traveling – and in many instances, the destination didn’t always matter quite so much… the journey was the destination.

Well, this is what I’ve been told (or what I’ve seen portrayed on TV and film). Personally, I’ve never lived in an era when I wasn’t asked to strip down in one way or another, and no matter what I wear, there’s a 45.63% chance that I am going to set off the system’s alarm. I just consider it as a free massage and a chance to remember why staying relatively fit is essential not only for the health benefits, but also to protect me from perfect strangers taking free pokes on my fat rolls. Most of the time, though everyone is relatively cordial and the sense of violation that I feel is reduced when someone makes a lame joke about security measures. I wonder if this is what first class flyers have to go through. I mean, there’s First class, Business class and the Economy class, which is what I fly – and I have to agree with my Oma (German Grandmother) that it could possibly mean that I’m flying “third class”.

Once I’ve made it through the security check after inevitably having to wait behind the person who’s only seen an airport on television and doesn’t know what a “jacket” is when asked to remove it before walking through the scanner (seriously, why is there always a person who turns around in a circle looking confused as they look for the blasted jacket in their pockets? This drives me nuts. Every. Single. Time.), I make a mad dash to buy an over-priced bottle of water and juice for the duration of the 8-9 hour flight. I know that they will offer tiny sips of water or some other beverage on the plane, but it’s not enough to keep me properly hydrated for that duration of time. Besides that, I don’t like having to raise my hand and ask for something to drink. It makes me feel like I did when I was in elementary school and wanted to get water or go to the restroom. Then there’s always the genius that thinks that by hitting the TV screen harder is going to make it work more efficiently. Why do those people always sit behind me?! (You already know how I feel about the person who came up with that idea of installing a touchscreen TV in the back of someone else’s headrest.)

Despite all of the frustration I experience when travelling, I’m always grateful to be getting safely to where I intend to go – and I’ll be the first to admit that I take the ability to do this for granted far too often. But then, during the flight, I’ll glance around and my eyes will focus on that one person who’s sitting cramped in the economy class like the rest of us, but with bright eyes, large with wonderment and joy, camera in hand. To that person, we are flying first class, we areluxurious and the routine trip for me is this person’s journey of a lifetime. Sometimes I wonder if they’ve used all of their life savings to make that trip, the same trip that often grumble about having to take.

Training my eye on that one person always helps me to put things in perspective. It all depends on us to decide what we want to see and how we want to experience any given moment.

Which is exactly why I choose to keep this entry short and enjoy this one.

xoxo © 2012 CountryEuroCityMouse™. All rights reserved.

Some Friendly Advice (Request at the Pharmacy)

This week’s blog is not going to be nearly as long, especially since I have to prepare for a month-long stint in NYC beginning next week. Preparing for such a long trip takes time, and when it’s a combination of work and play, there are so many things to think of packing. Sometimes, it’s very easy to overlook the basic necessities. That’s why I have some quick advice for you should you ever find yourself in need of some over-the-counter medicine while traveling abroad.

If you are in Germany and you have a splitting headache, go to the pharmacy (Apotheke). Tell them that you have a headache. (Ich habe Kopfschmerzen / Kopfweh.)

If you’re on a budget and don’t care whether or not you use generic or name brand OTC’s, many people recommend that you ask for the products offered by Ratiopharm, Europe’s leading pharmaceutical company that offers generic versions of many medicines. Well, I went to the friendly pharmacist and politely (and admittedly, rather demurely) requested a pack of that company’s aspirin.

This is what the package looks like:

http://www.ratiopharm.de/index.php?id=114&tx_kfiexensioproductsdb_productsviewing%5Buid%5D=82&tx_kfiexensioproductsdb_productsviewing%5BcurrentLetter%5D=A&tx_kfiexensioproductsdb_productsviewing%5BbackPid%5D=114&tx_kfiexensioproductsdb_productsviewing%5Baction%5D=viewDetail&tx_kfiexensioproductsdb_productsviewing%5Bcontroller%5D=Products&cHash=b16db016a1cc7811fdea82815f7194fe (Accessed on 23.07.12 @ 13:38)

Pop quiz: When asking the pharmacist for this particular brand of aspirin, how would you ask for it?

This is how the conversation went for me…

Me: Good day. (Guten Tag.)

Pharmacist: Good day. What can I do for you? (Guten Tag. Was kann ich für Sie tun?)

Me: I have a headache. I need ASS. (Ich habe Kopfschmerzen. Ich brauche ASS.)

Pharmacist: Excuse me, what? (Wie, bitte?)

Me: I have a headache. Please give me ASS. (Ich habe Kopfweh. Geben Sie mir ASS, bitte.)

(*Embarrassed silence on both sides of the counter.*)

Again, please look at the image of the package. I was clearly stating the name as printed. The pharmacist looked confused with a slight hint of amusement; I was growing agitated, and my headache wasn’t getting any better on its own.

Me: Can you please help me? I need aspirin! (Können Sie mir bitte helfen? Ich brauche Aspirin!)

Pharmacist: Of course! Would you like a certain brand? (Natürlich! Wollen Sie eine bestimmten Marke?)

Me: ASS-Aspirin! (ASS-Aspirin!)

Now, if you are a native speaker of English, you know it’s a low day when you have to repeatedly ask for something that clearly makes you uncomfortable. There are some things you just shouldn’t have to ask for. Ever.

Finally, I just spelled it out for her: “A-S-S Aspirin.”

All of a sudden, the light bulb went on.

“Oh, A-S-S!! Of course. Here. (Selbstverständlich. Hier.)”

By that time, I could have given the woman a headache myself. Apparently, you have to spell it. Well, with my upbringing, that would have suited me just fine. I just left wondering why they named it ASS-Aspirin in the first place. Only much later did I find out why.

There is a wonderful man who is well known and highly respected in his field. As mature as I have to be in professional situations, I still can’t help but quietly snicker when I hear or read his name.

It’s Mr. Assmann.

FYI, “Ass” in German means “ace” in English. Of course, in both languages, ace means #1. I don’t play cards, so knowing the names of the faces meant little to me. It just goes to show you that everything is a matter of perspective: The #1 man for some is just your average ass-man to someone else.

If you have the opportunity to travel in the coming weeks, have a safe and enjoyable time. Life’s too short not to.

And be sure to take a pack of aspirin with you.

xoxo CountryEuroCityMouse 

©2012 CountryEuroCityMouse™. All rights reserved.