Hello my dear, dear friends... hehehe I have plans for you... ve haf vays of meking you tulk...
all right that's my dangerous Austrian imitation for today.

Do you realize there are shops here that sell those short jackets, leather knee-length pants, and feathered caps you can find in "The Sound of Music"?
Red felt skirts with green piping and little puffy white girls' blouses... but only tourists buy them. Apparently in the smaller towns, in the mountains and such, it's actually quite common for people to dress this way. It's a little alarming, to me, to see someone dressed in what my head thinks is a movie costume, picking his nose on the bus.

At first when I arrived here I couldn't get used to hearing German all the time. Every time I heard it I would think of that fellow I quoted up above, a mean Nazi with a military cap, monocle and black leather gloves, cracking his knuckles. Everywhere German was spoken, Nazis bloomed. A quarreling couple became Nazi co-conspirators with dark glasses and trenchcoats. The lady selling me gummy frogs went from sweet to diabolical in the slip of a lip. Slowly, though, as I've grown accustomed to hearing German from people buying umbrellas, talking to their dogs, eating pizza in the train station and discussing scandalous gossip, the association has dissolved.
Phew.
It's nice to see people instead of perpetrators of evil everywhere.

The only time it still strikes me is on the streetcar. There is a monotone, stiff male voice that announces the name of every stop after a 'Bim!' noise - I still can't bring myself to doubt that he's a Nazi. His voice is authoritarian, harsh and uncaring, and somewhere, he is wearing dark sunglasses and a trenchcoat and black leather gloves and carrying a Luger, my mind tells me. There have been many things to be disabused of while I'm here.

Basically, everything you have heard about Germany or Austria, is not exactly wrong, but some kind of play on the truth. I've decided as information crosses the Atlantic Ocean, it undergoes a mutation so that what we get over in America is a kind of wierd monster version of the original.
For example: Let's talk about Wieners. Auf Deutsch (in German), Vienna = Wien. (veen) Therefore, anything from Wien = Wiener. (veener) They have Wienerbus. Wienerlinien. Wienerbüro. Wiener, the magazine for men. and Wienerin, the magazine for fashionable young women. But what, oh what of WIENERSCHNITZEL???? You may ask. YOU HAVE BEEN LIED TO. It is not a hotdog. It is not a sausage. It is not even round. IT--is a breaded, fried pork chop, pounded flat. That was a big surprise at the dinner table. Maybe it is a complicated international scheme to ensure that Wiener restaurant owners can tell the savvy from the freshly imported tourists, so they can overcharge them.

I will tell you some advice. If you come to Vienna, DO NOT let any of this stuff crack you up. German is sort of an inherently funny language, but Austrians take it seriously. They don't want you giggling at their national heritage. You have been warned.

That said, it's extremely hard not to laugh when you find out, say, that the word for drive is 'fahrt.' Everywhere you see signs about fahrt-ing, how and where to do it, and occasionally wishing you a good one. (Gute Fahrt!)
Be steely in your minds, my friends, and you may make it through. But if one slips out, just blame it on the Wieners.

I'm starting art school tomorrow, with professor Hubert Schmalix. The exam to get in was gnarly, not because we had to do anything in particular, but because we had to paint, sitting on the floor, three days in a row for six hours a day, while all the professors and their assistants strolled around looking over your shoulder (AHHHHHHHHH!)
Everyone is sweating and hucking paint and lacquer fumes all over and half the people are out in the hall creating a nicotine cloud thick enough to drink from.

Then we had to come back a few days later and stand in the hall as, one by one, they called us in for an interview.

Ever been in a car accident? This is the same sort of memory I have of the interview. When my number was up after three hours of waiting, time seemed to slow as the sweat condensed. I heard my breathing with each foot step as I was ushered through the ten-foot tall door. Suddenly I was alone on a platform with a ring of people surrounding me, and my work was rolled out on the floor before me.
'Explain who you are and what your painting is about,' said a deep voice and I began to speak - 'IamfromCaliforniaandIhavenevertake
nartschoolandthisismypaintingitisabout
monstersandthemonstersare...' another voice said, 'That's enough. We will see. Return at 5 o'clock.'
I then gathered myself and moved soupily toward the exit, over the threshold and collapsed in a puddle.

'Wow, you were in there for almost a whole minute!' my friend said. Most people only got ten seconds. I began to regain my form and slowly molded myself back into a conscious human. I heard the murmurs of the people on the stairs - 'Feuer? Feuer?' ('Got a light?') When I reached the final list of those who made it, it was surrounded by the anxiety of people crying or laughing. I saw- like a jubilant butterfly miracle- my name, and the name of my comrade-in-ars Birgid, together in the same class of only six people.
My other friend Emilia didn't make it. The Nigerian guys who were so funny even though you couldn't understand a word they said didn't make it. I hope they find a way to get their visas. They want me to hook them up with American wives. I told them I'll think about it. If anyone needs a husband, be sure to let me know.

I will leave you with the instructions for what to do in case of a fire on the back of the door of the hotel I first stayed in here in Wien: '

If you you discover a fire, you immediately close the Türe to the fire-area and immediately report you this.
At the best through presses in the 'RED' of marked manual Brandmelder in the stair-case house.'
'The escape route should be obstructed by smoke: Close the door Remain in the room
At the window noticeable fire brigade waits for.'
'Thanks for the observation of the hints.'

Many affectionate returns,

R e n e e.