Szombat

Last night I learned how to light a gas oven for the first time in my life. The whole process took a book of matches, a lighter, a piece of two-sided tape, a headlamp, a pussywillow branch and approximately 15 minutes, exclusive of wine breaks when I got frustrated. As you can imagine, I seriously considered simply leaving the oven on for the duration of my stay in Hungary.

But the fish sticks were great. (Of course, here by "fish sticks" we mean that gross German concoction where they grind up as many undesirable parts of fish as they can find, glue it all together somehow and bread the outside.) It was a wonderful Friday night fish fry, just like back home. I substituted potato chips for french fries, but didn't feel bad about it.

It was, overall, a fairly lonely night, even with a Hungarian-dubbed episode of Home Improvement on in the background. I had to call several friends to reassure myself I wasn't drinking by myself. Turns out that I was, but it was nice to talk to them.

This morning, I've allowed myself to become aggravated when I forgot the pin number for my debit card and the blatant absurdity of this internet connection at the library. Blogger works perfectly, every time. JSOnline doesn't work. Yahoo works after repeated clicking, but only sparingly. I think I've been able to send two e-mails. NYTimes is a no-go. USBank doesn't let me in.

Only Blogger.com works perfectly. It's as if the Internet is getting my dander up on purpose and offering only an outlet to express frustration.

I did, though, get to see an old woman carrying two dead chickens in her hands as she left the market this morning. That was one of those uh-that's-not-how-we-do-it-back-home moments.