The Alphabet of Little Misses

Now I ain’t saying I’m homesick. Naw. The funny thing about moving to a Western city in Eastern Europe is that you get used to things so fast—having to carry everything in your front pockets, not using credit cards, not being able to read menus, Mohawks and dogs everywhere—that you don’t think twice about what routines they replaced. Still, there are certain items and activities that will pop into your head once a day or so, like a synapse cracking and releasing some indulgent memory into your mind, that stay with you. So, after a couple of months, here’s what I’ve been missing:

A—acting. I wish I had more creative outlets here (though it’s helping me be quite productive on my novel). Especially jealous of friends back home who are in The Storm. Austin is a very close second.
B—banjo. A casualty of the Traveling Light Doctrine.
C—coffee, like, real coffee. You can get all kinds of espressos, cappuccinos, Turkish/Algerian/Irish/iced concoctions, but there’s only a couple of places that offer the real deal. And they jack up the price. Same story if you want to buy it for your home.
D—driers. They just make sense.
E—electronics. In certain ways I’m glad I didn’t bring all the widgets I’ve accrued, that I can’t access all of the Internet every second of my life. On the other hand, I wish I could still turn the volume up on my speakers and rock out to Styx while I’m showering.
F—free water—ahh, the bane of Europe. Want some water? Sure, just give me a couple bucks.
G—graphic novels. Joe used to buy at least once a week, and I would devour them after he did. What on earth is happening to Y the Last Man?
H—heat. A Texas boy likes Texas weather, I guess.
I—intellectual conversation. I’m sure tons of this exists in Prague, but I’ve yet to sniff out much of it. The closest I got was 5 Caledonian teachers agreeing that Love in the Time of the Cholera was “the shit.” That’s not bad.
J—Joey. Sometimes a best friend and a roommate are hard to replace. Actually, they are always hard to replace. I miss you and the Coco LaFleur Suite, dawg.
K—Kinky and cowboy politics.
L—Longhorns, both burnt orange and of the animal variety.
M—Mom’s cooking. Oh, she’s good with the Indian stuff and the baking. What, I can’t have one sentimental one? Sheesh.
N—Nissan Sentra. I miss my old junker of a car, Keane-O, and being able to get exactly where I wanted. Public transportation in Prague is amazing, but the inability to get exactly from point A to point B gets to you after a while.
O—Outreach, the Winedale spinoff. I miss working with those kids.
P—peanut butter. Again, good ole PB qualifies in the you-can-get-it-if-you-pay-an-arm-and-a-leg category.
Q—Q-tips: when I found a jar of my new roommate’s, I actually whispered to myself, “This is going to be the greatest experience in my life.” And it was up there too.
R— running. If you go jogging on the streets here you’re stared at like you’re some kind of pariah. Running? On the streets? Must be an expat or a gypsy.
S—Shiner. Oh my sweet, sweet love, where are you now? Also, an obligatory shout-out to the Sunday Shakespeare Reading Group.
T—Texas, Texas, yeehaw!
U—undergarments, or the lack thereof. There’s nothing like an unfurnished basin to feel completely free, but it’s chilly here, especially come Winter, and you gotsta gotsta wear underwear. Heavy Sigh.
V—Verizon. Everything over here is text messaging because it’s much cheaper. Can’t I just make an irrational call to my friend for five minutes discussing former baseball player Delino DeShields or why John Hartford is my personal Jesus? Can’t I just drunk dial some chick without have to worry about getting reamed financially? Text Messaging is so 2003.
W—Winedale. Easiest one on the list.
X—as in bans, as in no smoking. Prague is a smoker’s town—pubs and bars have no ventilation, and after a while you’re just stewing in it.
Y—Y’all. Double meaning here: (1) the people who I’ve given this blog address to, and (2) the Texas twang, the actual word. Even the kids from the Midwest smirk at me for using this one, and it’s beyond a lost cause to the Czechs. But no other words makes sense to me.
Z—Zappa and all the other music I didn’t bring. Why didn’t I bring any jazz? Prague is a city for jazz.


Like I said, not homesick. Just yesterday it hit me that I’m living in Europe. Europe! Somehow this had escaped me. My writing’s going very well and my new flat is very, very comfy. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get hankering for downing a PB&J with a Shiner while watching a show at Winedale. Far from it. Y’all take it easy now.