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I found a video demonstrating the Hungarian way to avoid traffic jams. Enjoy!

back in the USA

My two favorite "“Welcome back to the USA" moments (so far):

Going through US customs I go to the passport window and step up to the yellow line to wait. I'm the only one waiting when a bunch of Europeans start crowding behind me. I think I've mentioned it before that, while I love them dearly, Hungarians are simply not skilled in the art of line formation. These particular ones start playing the "I need to get my shoulder ahead of your shoulder"” game when suddenly I hear a broad New York accent exclaiming, "“Excuse me! Can we form a line here?" Whoever that sassy customs official is, she's now my hero.

Then, as I was buying myself one of my two "welcome back to the USA" gifts (see photo) I had to laugh at an older European couple in front of me in line. They bought two ridiculously overpriced sandwiches and a bottle of water to share, and then started to look around for a place to eat them (this particular incarnation of a certain Seattle-based national coffee chain had no tables). They finally settled on the bar where baristas deliver finished drinks to their expectant customers. The European couple unwrapped their sandwiches and started eating them with forks and knives while standing at the bar, just like an Italian espresso bar. The bewildered look on the face of the young woman making drinks was priceless.

phew

The craziest week I've had in a while is finished. I write to you from Budapest Ferihegy 2B where I'm waiting for my direct flight to New York JFK. In a mere 23 and a half hours my family will be meeting me at Seatac. I'm looking forward to bonket, watching college football with my Dad, giving them their Hungarian Christmas presents, cooking with my mom and sisters, the Christmas Eve church service, seeing Kent (and hearing him preach!), and so much more. For now, though, it still hasn't sunk in. The other two big events of the week (taking the GREs and performing in Grease) are still in my mind (both went quite well, by the way), so I haven't given much thought to Christmas yet. Going home is easily the most important of the three events, but it still gets third billing for me mentally. Maybe someday I'll understand myself.

"you better shape up"

I can really be a sucker sometimes. Mostly because I can't say no to my students I'll be making my Hungarian stage debut in a mere six days as Rydell High's own Coach Calhoun. The good news is I only have about 8 lines to learn. The bad news is they're in Hungarian. I have visions of delivering them and being met with the confused blank stare I know so well from class, but this time multiplied by 600. Though I'm dreading the performance, the rehearsals have been fun. I like getting to spend so much time with my students, and my expertise in matters of American culture has been valuable to the production. ("No, Peter, Kenickie can't greet Danny with a few cheek kisses.") It's surreal to see my Hungarian students trying their best to live in the world of my mother. In particular their costumes are a bit strange. I can't seem to convince them that guys in the 50s didn't wear wide checked flannel shirts, and the girls look more Cyndi Lauper than Sandra Dee (not a poodle skirt in sight). Then again, I'm not going to give myself a crew cut for authenticity. I'll just try not to fall doing my dance steps in the finale or get my tongue tangled with the Hungarian and it'll be fine.

[Ed. note: My mom forcefully objected to my description of the 50s as "the world of my mother." She's right and I apologize. She was far more "Incense and Peppermints" than "Rock Around the Clock," though in a family discussion the other night it was made clear that she wasn't a real hippie because she didn't smoke pot.]

happy new year

Yesterday, as I'm sure you all noted, was the first Sunday in advent and thus the start of a new liturgical year. I was going to leap into my annual early-December diatribe about the commercialism of Christmas, the death of advent, and the widespread ignorance of the liturgical calendar (and that's just in within the church body!), but I don't think I will this year. Maybe I'm giving up the fight. Instead I think I'll go read some of those wonderful Isaiah prophecies and reflect on the hope we celebrate this season. In my favorite movie, The Shawshank Redemption, Andy makes the claim that "Hope is a good thing - maybe the best of things." If we follow the allegory through and imagine ourselves as prisoners trying to make the best of the world we live in, we can find comfort in the hope of its restoration and encouragement to struggle against conforming to the sin of this world. In the movie they call it "becoming institutionalized," and hope is what keeps it from getting the best of Andy, and especially Red. So, we hope. Maranatha, Lord Jesus!