Matthew and Jennifer arrived early sunday. They stayed up all day battling jetlag. For those of you who don't know what that's like, wash and Ambien down with half a bottle of Nyquill and go explore a new city.

Matthew insists we call him Juanjamin. Jen and I insist that Juanjamin find us churros. Juanjamin has failed us repeatedly.

Last night we ate at Cafe Mama, a swanky little spanish joint where Christmas lights adorn the yellow, red and green walls. Afterwords we went to Belchica, a Belgian beer bar, and drank our weight in Belgian beer while playing a makeshift version of "Go Fish." (None of us could remember the real rules)
Will someone please clarify the official rules for us?

This weekend we're traveling to Sardinia, in island off the coast of Italy. Google it, drool all over your Banana Replublic luxury blend sweater, and get back to me.

Taste the funny,
DML

Brazillian night @ Mojito Club.

Amsterdam this past weekend. Whereas I used to be a young Gene Wilder, I am now a present day Ozzie Osbourne.

I spent most of my time in the Savoy Bar, the retirement home for prostitutes. I talked to a woman, L'Chelle, for 50 minutes. She looked old, maybe 65. She said she was 24 and I don't know why, but I believed her. I don't think they make dentistry a high priority in Amsterdam, because she, and many others looked like they were wearing the snaggle-teeth dentures you buy come Halloween time. Her smile would make homeless man lose his appetite...on Thanksgiving. I told her I lived in Alabama but was originally from Outer Space. I told her I was a magician and a singer, both professionally. I requested Michael Jackson's "Another Part Of Me" at the DJ booth. When it blared from the grimy speakers I sang in my worst voice. I think I offended the other retirees and their clientèle. I ordered a double whiskey on the rocks and L'Chelle asked me if I'd be her buy her one. I told her I had no money as the bartender broke my 50 Euro bill.

On Friday we went to Ecuador, to the Van Gogh Museum, and back to the Savoy. I had a laughing fit at the Van Gogh museum and was asked to leave. I left, but not before I tested the durability and quality of several of the paintings by jabbing them with my right foot, then my left foot. Yes, People stared. It's hard being a celebrity.

Talked to a couple folks from Dublin, one of whom said that America had shown its hand in the war. I thought that was a clever and fitting way to put it. I showed him my hand, it was full of my own doody.

Had the weather not been Les Miserables, I would have stayed in Ecuador and at the Savoy for the entirety of my trip.

Arriv Superbowl. The plan? A 3 hour prayer service at my apartment, at which a lamb, a baby sea otter, and Bash will be sacrificed. I know what you are all thinking, but its called "being a part of something bigger than yourself." Look it up!

I am preparing potato sacks filled with doorknobs for a loss. Oddly enough, I am preparing the same for a victory. I guess I could use the loss sacks as victory sacks. But what will I do with all these doorknobs? I can't just go around and put them back on all those doors...

Anyone need doorknobs?
DML