Nic's Wild European Adventure: Visiting the Motherland

The next weekend I decided to quit the whole sight-seeing deal, and get down to brass-tacks. Time to update the agenda and readjust priorities so we can concentrate on what's really important: relaxing. And what better place to do that than the beautiful beaches of Greece?


For this weekend I took a plane with some co-workers down to our beachhouse in Halkidiki, where we relaxed and had ourselves a loooong weekend (Thank you, vacation days!). We met up with my mom, who proceeded to play the role of the entertaining host, charming my fellow travelers the whole time. We spent our days relaxing at the beach or traveling up and down the coasts and taking in the beautiful scenery, and then went out at night to indulge in fresh fish and other fine Greek cuisine. You just can't beat a weekend like that.


It was during this weekend I began to ruminate some serious philosophical shit, as the kids say, and compare American versus Greek attitudes toward work. Which is better--working like a dog to achieve modest productivity gains and maybe getting a bigger tv, or working enough during the week and then piling into a car and driving to the beach to enjoy the weekend? I'm beginning to lean toward the latter. It was then that I realized that I already had what people spend their life working for (Thanks Dad!). Makes the rat race seem all the more pointless, and my decision to not engage in Early Interview Week shenanigans all the wiser.

Now sit back and enjoy the pictures.

Happy Birthday, Mama Ouzo!

Though she really has no idea how to operate these computing devices, and therefore has no chance of actually seeing this, I would still like to take the time out to wish my mom a happy birthday. My co-workers here at WDR would join me in making a toast, but are currently incapacitated: Mr. Zhuang has been lost in the woods for the past few days (though he assures us that the bears have been extremely kind to him), and well, Joe Reefer is drunk off his ass with his pants around his ankles as he does a pile of blow with the counterlady from Orange Julius, and you just don't want to disturb him during his Thursday routine (it really gets him psyched for "The Office").

Plus, this is the first time that my mom has been referred to as "Mama Ouzo", and frankly it's a little disturbing. I really don't want to imply that she's some kind of lush, because that's not the truth at all. Nope, she's a model parent who should be commended in her ability to make me not-awful; one can only imagine what the result would have been without her.



Yes, I often confuse my Mom's birthday with Bastille Day--the French Revolution is never far from my mind--but I got the date correct this time. I have nothing to offer really for a gift, though if someone relays the message that she would love a kitschy souvenir of the Washington Monument or something, I'll send that right along. Instead, I recommend we do the stereotypical Greek thing and break a plate and dance in a circle, as we always do in our celebrations. So with this act, I honor my mother, and wish her good health and even better days ahead.



Interesting Fact: For as long as there were records, it had never rained on my Mom's Birthday in Salem, OR. That is, until last year. Last year was a bastard like that.