Meeting the Million Question Challenge

On Tuesday, I returned home from yet another AP Statistics Reading.  Hard to believe that I've been doing this for nine years and at four different venues.  After previous stops in Lincoln, NE, Louisville, and Daytona Beach, the AP Stats caravan moved to Kansas City last year, but I was unable to attend.  This year was a different story.

I've never written much about my AP experiences on this blog, or anywhere else for that matter, so I've decided to write a little bit regarding what this operation is all about.  The AP Stats exam was first offered in 1997, and 57 good folk and true (true Stats junkies, that is) from high schools, prep schools, and colleges across the land graded about 8000 test booklets that first year.  To give you an idea of how the enterprise has grown, there were many more first-time AP Readers ("Acorns," as we call them, based on the College Board logo) in K.C. this June than there were readers at that first go-round.  For the first time, we were faced with the Million Question Challenge: with 640 Readers and about 170,000 students taking the exam this past May, our task was quite literally to grade over 1,000,000 questions.  No, I didn't have to grade each and every one of the six free-response questions.  A Reader typically is assigned two questions, cycling back to finish grading the first once the second is done.  The Reading day runs from 8 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. with two breaks for... well, a break, and one hour for lunch.

Gone are the days when Readings could be held on college campuses such as the University of Nebraska (actually, we stayed in NU dorms and graded on the neighboring former site of the Nebraska State Fair).   Not even Daytona is big enough to hold us now.  Instead, it's large cities, chain hotels, and large convention centers all the way.  We worked at the Kansas City Convention Center (at right in above picture) along with the Readers for AP Calculus, AP Biology, and AP Government and Politics.  Did I mention that the KCCC was large?  Actually, we Stats folks stayed pretty much to ourselves, even when we joined the huddled masses in the dining hall (aka the Grand Ballroom) at lunchtime.  The food service at past Readings has ranged from delectable (Lincoln) to dubious (Louisville and Daytona), and I'd rate the KC experience somewhere between those two poles.  We definitely got mass-catered food, but it was good mass-catered food, and I made it a point to tell one of the caterers as much on the last day.  The logistics were definitely better than they were in either Louisville or Daytona, with 10 serving lines and plenty of seating space.

At lunchtime, I typically found it the better part of valor to head outside and eat on a patio adjacent to the Grand Ballroom.  Not because I'm claustrophobic, but because I needed the chance to thaw out.  The Reading rooms (actually, open spaces separated by curtain partitions) are COLD, especially late in the day when they crank down the thermostat to help keep us awake (at least, such is my entirely reasonable theory).  I was obliged to wear long pants and my "Kit Cloudkicker Collection" green sweatshirt most of the time.

Cold temps aside, the KCCC was fairly comfortable apart from one somewhat scary moment on Saturday the 15th.  An afternoon thunderstorm blew through town and knocked out the lights.  Luckily, the auxiliary lights quickly came on, so we could continue grading.  The rain got heavy enough that a literal cataract of water could be seen leaking down one of the walls of the hall.  Kansas City is known as a "City of Fountains," but it didn't have to arrange an extra display for my benefit.  No real damage done, thank goodness.

We didn't have many opportunities to see the local sights (and, yes, KC does have sights) so I contented myself with the next best thing: visiting local restaurants.  I was already planning to get breakfast outside the convention center and was lucky enough to hit upon a branch of a local supermarket chain, Cosentino's, that appears to be the KC-area version of the East Coast's Wegmans and the Richmond area's late, lamented Ukrop's.  This self-billed "Unique Food Experience" (not strictly true, but I'm not complaining) offered a wide variety of prepared foods in addition to the standard supermarket items.  The chain was founded by an Italian immigrant, and the wall behind the customer service desk featured a picture of him next to a (gasp!) crucifix.  What would Al Khan of 4Kids make of that, Greg? 

Of course, I simply had to try some of that legendary KC barbecue while in town.  Unfortunately, most of the really legendary places were too far away to be easily accessible without taking a long and expensive cab ride.  I "settled" for the somewhat less famous Jack Stack BBQ, which was within walking distance.  I had been given a tip that this was a good place to go, and the food was good, but eating there wasn't... well, momentous.  To be perfectly honest, Extra Billy's, my favorite BBQ place in the Richmond area, was just as good.  Perhaps I failed to appreciate the piquancy and finish of the sauce, or something.

I had a better dining experience at Grunauer, a German-Austrian place next to Jack Stack in what is called the Freight House District.  I suppose that I was swayed by memories of all that great eating in Vienna and Budapest during our trip to Europe several years ago.  If so, then I should let such memories be my guide more often, for the food was excellent.  I had Hungarian beef goulash mit spaetzle und kraut, and, though the portions didn't seem all that large, they filled me up right quick.  I had a good table at the bar to watch Phil Mickelson let it get away in the final round of the US Open.  And, yes, beer was present, as well.  In fact, I had more beer during this KC sojourn than I've probably had in any such concentrated time period in my life.  Only after Reading hours, naturally...

As long as they'll have me, I intend to continue active participation in the AP Readings.  It's a tiring but fun experience.

"From Szeged to Innsbruck"

This weekend, Nicky and I visited my Mom in Wilmington and took home a hardback copy of a very special Barat family document -- my Dad's journal describing his escape from Hungary to Austria in 1949. We had had it translated from Hungarian some years ago, but we wanted to put it into some sort of permanent form. This hardback edition includes lots of pictures of my Dad and his family dating back to his childhood and his time in the Jesuit order, plus a foreword and afterword by Mom.

All of the grandkids are getting copies as well. They will never get to meet Dad, but now they'll know his remarkable story.

European Trip Diary, Part 7: Airship of Fools? (July 14)

No pictures to illustrate this final installment, I'm sorry to say... though, in hindsight, I wish that we had snapped some. Our straight-shot, 8 1/2-hour flight from Vienna to JFK on Austrian Airlines turned out to be a lot more interesting -- in the dubious Chinese sense -- than the lay-back-and-snoozefest that we had been expecting. Due to the late arrival of the plane from New York, our flight was delayed for over an hour and a half, allowing us ample opportunity to carefully survey our fellow passengers. The effect was not unlike that of being chucked headfirst into the steerage scenes in Titanic, if not the cantina scene in Star Wars. Among other things, we encountered:


(1) A young woman from Belarus, dressed in vaguely gypsy-ish garb, who cornered us at the security checkpoint (which was right at the gate itself) and asked us to tell her "the name of a street in New York City." Nicky's critical antennae, honed in NYC and further sharpened by her military intelligence background, went up, and she pointed the girl out to the security people. The woman must have been "clean," for they let her into the waiting area, but I couldn't help but wonder the fate that was in store for her on the "other side."

(2) Numerous Orthodox Jewish and Hasidic families with extremely loud kids.

(3) A woman who was reading a newspaper in which "k" was used as a vowel.

(4) Several smelly guys of indeterminate origin who surreptitiously swiped stuff from the first-class section when we boarded the plane.

(5) A crate containing a bomb-sniffing dog.


The "foreign-bazaar" mood was heightened by the large number of "standees" after the seating area had already been filled to capacity. The gate personnel finally relented and opened up the "restricted" seating area, as well as commandeering the empty seating area in the neighboring gate. Apparently, Vienna has become the major transfer point for travelers from Eastern Europe and the Balkans on their way to America. It's as if the Hapsburg Empire never went away...

The interior of our plane was like something out of a bad 70's dream: Flight attendants dressed all in shocking red! Seat upholstery in "pea/Astroturf green"! At least we got two decent meals and a "snackypoo" or two... though some individuals in our economy section were apparently more "equal" than we were. These youngish folks were the recipients of a steady stream of goodies -- cheese, alcohol, and other first-class amenities -- from a complaisant stewardess. Nicky and I finally deduced from their general appearance and luggage that these were other Austrian Airlines personnel getting a lift to their next assignment. If that's the case, then I understand the special treatment, but did they have to advertise their good fortune with all that raucous laughter? At least they didn't make with the Gladstone-style bragging.

We finally landed at JFK about an hour and 45 minutes late after seemingly being over Canada's Maritime Provinces for about 19 days. I gather that the pilot was trying to dodge some bad weather; the cloud cover never lifted once for the whole of our journey. At the "Border Control" inside JFK, we gasped at the immense crowd of visitors who were already there waiting to enter the U.S. (The line for U.S. citizens was considerably shorter, thank goodness.) The monitors at the baggage-claim area streamed an endless sequence of pictures of multi-hued, preternaturally cheerful folks "welcoming" newcomers. The immigrants who came through Ellis Island didn't receive such treatment, but didn't they integrate more eagerly into American society, for the most part? What's the "lesson" here?

The 19 1/2-hour travel day to remember (no matter how hard we try to forget) comes to a close when we reach Mom's condo in Wilmington around 7:30 pm. Nicky and I are already discussing a possible return trip... but, for the time being, we're glad to be home.

European Trip Diary, Part 6: Salzburg (July 13)

Part 6 of our Central European odyssey nearly turns into a scene from Leonard, Part 6 before normalcy is restored. After arising at 5 a.m., securing a "to-go" breakfast, and drinking some coffee in the humid, mosquito-infested Hilton lobby -- thank some standing water in a nearby fountain for the latter annoyance -- we wait past the appointed hour for the bus to Salzburg to pick us up. Since other participants are supposed to board at the nearby Hotel de France, Mom goes there to see what the problem is and learns that the bus driver did indeed admit the HDF guests but forgot to stop at the Hilton. The phone number provided by the tour agency handling the trip turns out to be for a cell phone and isn't answered. Luckily, the bus has a couple more scheduled pickup stops to make -- one at the Opera House -- and the Hilton desk clerk calls a taxi for us. We get to Opernring with time to spare, thank goodness. (We also get a thoughtful letter of apology from the agency later in the day.)

Our group includes American, Italian, and Japanese tourists, providing our on-board guide -- a native Austrian named Hans -- with something of a challenge. The Japanese do speak English, so Hans gives his spiels in both English and Italian and does a pretty efficient job of it. (His lauding of the "green," animal-friendly aspects of his country is spread on just a bit thick, IMHO, but its sincerity certainly can't be questioned.) After crawling through a dozen or so suburban Vienna streets, we finally pick up speed as we hit the A1 Autobahn and head into the Vienna Woods on a westerly course for Salzburg. We have a 3 1/2-hour drive ahead of us all told, including a 30-minute rest stop at a Landzeit, one link in a national chain of rest stations and motels. To our surprise and amazement, the Landzeit looks more like a Whole Foods than any roadside nosh-pit we could name. All manner of food and drink is available for our delectation, including self-service wine (!), and there's even a gift shop with yet another rack stuffed to the gills with Disney comics. To top it all off, the view of the Alpine foothills from the back of the establishment is beautiful. The New Jersey Turnpike rest stops that we passed on the way up to JFK simply can't compete.

Nicky and I at Landzeit

Notable sights on the way to Salzburg include several massive wind farms and the 900-plus-year-old Benedictine monastery at Melk. Once we get off the A1 at Mondzee, we also get a leisurely glimpse of various small towns in the Salzkammergut lakes region. Nicky and I immediately start thinking about a return visit to this lovely area, to which a whirlwind drive-by can't really do justice. We finally pull into Salzburg at about noon and are dropped off at the Mirabell Gardens, prominently featured in The Sound of Music... as the available tourist propaganda is quick to remind us. And therein lies one of the major problems with the much-loved "Home of Mozart": a decided uptick in the "tackiness index" that was noteworthy by its absence in both Budapest and Vienna.

At the Mirabell: a familiar setting for "Sound of Music" fans

Due to the large number of people in our party, we join a different guide for our walk through the Mirabell and into the "Old Town" district, nestled beneath the looming Hohensalzburg Castle. The guide has to pull triple duty, giving information in English, French, and Spanish. The resulting awkwardness (combined with the guide's noticeable b.o.) finally convince us to break off and do our own exploring. The charming narrow streets of "Old Town" are filled with the expected high-end stores, each with its own unique descriptive street sign. Even the local McDonald's has its own "personalized" marker (though, apparently, it took some arm-twisting by the city to convince Mickey D's to cooperate). A water fountain consisting of a stream of water from one of the oldest surviving Roman aqueducts serves as a trickling token of the immense age of the city. Unfortunately, side by side with these historical delights are such sobering sights as an ice-cream parlor (complete with giant plastic cone) on the ground floor of Mozart's birth house, cardboard cutouts (but, thank God, no bobbleheads) of "Moze" being used to sell a certain brand of candy, and a kiosk with refrigerator magnets meant to represent... oh, the pain... big hunks of Wiener Schnitzel. The effect of the latter is not unlike that of those rubber pools of fake vomit that used to be sold in novelty stores and comic-book ads. For a city regarded as a cultural touchstone, these features are disconcerting, to say the least. I wonder how much of the "tourist-ification" of Salzburg post-dates The Sound of Music, which must have motivated a much wider assortment of visitors to come to the city. We'd certainly like to visit more historically congenial sights, such as the Hohensalzburg and some of the local churches, but we simply don't have the time to do so.

The weather, though a bit cooler, remains warm, so we spend a lengthy lunch period at the Sternhaus, an open-air, but blessedly shaded, beer garden that dates back to the 16th century. (One of the charms of "Old Town" is that virtually all of the buildings, no matter how mundane their present use, date back anywhere from 200 to 600 years.) Here, we finally "do our wurst" and get some authentic sausage (no offense intended to the good-in-a-pinch stuff we had during the Railjet trip), potatoes, and sauerkraut. For dessert, Nicky finally gets to enjoy her much-prized apple strudel. I take a slightly more practical approach and have some ice cream in an attempt to cool down.

Into the shadow of "tack" rode... er, walked... the six hundred... er, three...

All too soon, following one final stroll through the Mirabell (and not a single singing or dancing nun in sight), we're back on the road and headed for Vienna. On the way, we make another rest stop, this one at a branch of Rosenberger, yet another travel-trade chain (this one, a combination of a buffet and a sit-down place, rather like a Shoney's) that turns out to have much more going for it than expected. My dish of goulash has far more kick to it than the Dinty Moore-esque "edible and no more" stuff to which I had been resigned. As for the service, imagine a Friendly's where the waitstaff really is friendly!

Back at the hotel by 8:45 pm, Nicky and I have just enough time for a relaxing dip in the hotel whirlpool before retiring. Now the question before the house is: Will the bus snafu be repeated tomorrow, our day of departure?

Up next: We have our own "Titanic" experience aboard Austrian Airlines... and no, that doesn't mean our plane hits an iceberg.

European Trip Diary, Part 5: A Day in Vienna (July 12)

Since tomorrow will be taken up by our excursion to Salzburg, it's time to switch to "A Duck's Eye View of Europe" mode and try to pick off as many Viennese landmarks as we can before the heat gets to us. We decide to make our lives a little easier by joining one of the voluntary "introductory excursions" that Monogram Travel, the sponsor of our trip, offers for its customers. A chartered bus takes us around the Ringstrasse, the fabled chain of streets that encircle the heart of the city, and then across the Danube to what might be considered the "international" portion of town, with its numerous U.N. installations. It's easy to see that Vienna never has incorporated the river into its cityscape as successfully as has Budapest, though the city fathers have tried, even spreading sand at various locations along the bank to create pseudo-beaches. Then we enter the "old city," centered on massive St. Stephen's Cathedral. Extensive renovation and cleaning work is being done on the exterior of the structure -- with whole sections being covered over by canvas with replicas of the "true" exterior superimposed on them -- while the interior puts me in mind of the constantly chaotic interior of St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York, with even more secular activity, if that's possible. "Stephansdom" is still a fully functioning church, for all of that.

The spire of St. Stephen's, mid-morning

Stretching in all directions away from "Stephansdom" are cobblestoned shopping streets lined by the types of stores one patronizes if one doesn't have to worry about money. One such street leads us to Michaelsplatz and the entrance to the Hofburg Palace, the nerve-center of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire. One small portion of the Hofburg is still used by the Federal President of Austria (you can gauge how important this position is by the fact that the office is watched over by a single guard!), other portions by the Vienna Boys' Choir and the Spanish Riding School, while the rest has been given over to hoi-polloi prying. Splitting off from the Monogram group at Josefsplatz, we prepare to join the pryers. But first, a drink -- several, in fact! -- at a nearby cafe.  The sky remains stubbornly cloudless, the sun merciless.

Nicky and I in front of a fountain at Michaelsplatz

The wing of the Hofburg facing Michaelsplatz is partially disfigured by a huge advertising banner featuring the smug mug of George Clooney. The real aristocrats -- or their leavings, anyway -- lurk inside in a series of museums and displays. Most heavily represented, not surprisingly, are artifacts from the era of Emperor Franz Josef I (reigned 1848-1916) and his ill-fated wife Elisabeth or "Sisi." "Sisi" was sort of the Princess Diana of her day, and, if a full-scale, all-stops-out "Diana Museum" ever gets built, it will probably bear a heavy resemblance to the interesting, but rather over-the-top, "Sisi" Museum. Dramatic lighting highlights "Sisi"'s personal artifacts, both significant and trivial, while snatches of the Empress' bad introspective poetry appear on just about every wall. When I see a case holding the VERY SAME sharpened nail file that was used to assassinate "Sisi" in 1898, I can't help but think of "The Bullet!" in that old "Got Milk?" commercial. A little more to my liking are the Imperial Apartments, where Franz Josef and "Sisi" worked and lived. Recent reading gave me a new-found respect for the old Emperor, who worked 15- to 18-hour days until the end of his life but endured more than his share of unhappiness, culminating with the disaster of World War I. He wasn't a particularly likable person, but one must admire the dogged dedication with which he approached the thankless task of holding together that messy, multi-lingual melange of an Empire. The Imperial Silver Collection -- room after room after room of knives, forks, spoons, plates, bowls, table decorations, candelabras, egg scrapers, asparagus bleeders, artichoke raspers, and all and sundry "sillyware" -- leaves me wondering: (1) How did all of these valuables survive the fall of the Hapsburgs in such good condition? (2) If you've seen one pickle fork, have you really seen them all? (3) I wonder what sort of a life "The Master of the Bread" (yes, there really was such a person in the Hapsburgs' household) had?

All three Hofburg exhibits have one unpleasant thing in common -- no air conditioning or ventilation! A crowd of hygienically questionable tourists who funk up part of our route at the "Sisi" Museum make matters even worse. We emerge in serious need of refreshment of various kinds. We find them at Augustinerkeller, a basement snuggery (it was formerly a monastery cellar) attached to the nearby Augustinian church where Franz Josef and "Sisi" were married. A hearty meal and a draught of Franziskaner wheat beer later, we're back in fine fettle.

Following a 1 1/2-hour rest back at the Hilton, we venture forth at around 5 pm in search of the Sachertorte. This most famous of all Viennese desserts -- no small feat, given Vienna's world-wide reputation for gooey goodies -- is available in only three cities in the world; two of them are Vienna and Salzburg. We hone in on the Ur-source: the cafe at the original Hotel Sacher itself, across the street from the Vienna Opera House. Three pieces of Torte, drinks, and iced chocolate total a whopping $40 -- and, to be perfectly honest, I've had better chocolate cake in my life (though, to be fair, the method of preparation of the Sachertorte is a bit different than what most Americans are used to).

The "Look what I found!" moments of the day come when we go into the Unterbahn's subterranean Opernring station for the journey back to our hotel. Granted, the environs of the Opera House are a classy part of town, but the public pay toilet in the station goes above and beyond "nature's call" of duty:


They're not kidding about the "mit Musik" part, either: all guests are greeted with The Blue Danube when they "drop" that fateful 0.60-euro piece. A more anticipated, but nonetheless welcome, "culture shock" comes when I spot this rack in the window of a newspaper, magazine, and tobacco shop:



Right up there where all the commuters, young and old, can see it. Now there's a store with "all its Ducks in a row."

Up next: Sights of Salzburg and the Lakes Region; tacky magnets taken to a new level/depth; and rest stops that an American motorist would kill for!

European Trip Diary, Part 4: From Budapest to Vienna (July 11)

It's time to leave Budapest, and, in truth, we've already "hit" most of the things we really wanted to see in the Hungarian capital. We did miss out on a visit to one of Budapest's famous thermal baths, but the peculiar hotel pool that Nicky and I used yesterday made up for that, in a way. By 8 a.m., following one final circuit 'round the groaning breakfast buffet table, we're on our way to Budapest's Keleti (East) railroad station. There, we take our first-class seats aboard Austrian Railways' "Railjet" and are soon heading for Wien (Vienna) Westbanhof station.

First-class isn't the highest class of train travel available on the "Railjet," but you could have fooled us: we get seat-side snack service (trying some wurst on for size) and have plenty of leg room. It is definitely a strange feeling traveling in such comfort over approximately the same route that my Dad took when he escaped the country in 1949. We don't have to show our passports at the final Hungarian station; indeed, were it not for the electronic map in the train car, we wouldn't have known when we crossed the border. We travel through farmland that becomes noticeably tidier and more organized once we're in Austria. Austria's commitment to alternative sources of energy is also very evident as we zoom by several sizable wind farms, all with turbines pin-wheeling away.

We arrive at our hotel -- the Hilton Vienna Plaza -- just in time to witness the concluding stages of a bike race on the famed Ringstrasse. Granted, these fellows can't be among the best bikers in Europe, since the latter are presently struggling up hill and coasting down dale in the Tour de France. But our bus driver tells us that the competitors have pretty much crossed Austria, and the temperature remains in the 90s, so who are we to flyspeck their game efforts?

(Sorry, but we snapped only the peloton, not the lead group, which I believe consisted of only three or four racers.)

The Plaza tries hard not to seem like a chain hotel -- adding such little touches as a child-sized set of stairs at the front desk to allow its "little guests" to sign in alongside the big'uns -- but Nicky's and my room definitely looks more like what we're used to in America. The water from the tap is clear and ice-cold, no surprise given that Vienna gets its water directly from the Alps. The air conditioning, however, is certainly not up to U.S. standards. (I just saw on the news where over 500 Belgians have died during the recent heat wave; maybe we should have made a health-based argument to the hotel staff to turn up the A/C.)

After a brief rest, we strike out for the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna's (somewhat louder) answer to Budapest's Fine Arts Museum. The KHM is closed on Mondays and we won't be in town on Tuesday due to our planned trip to Salzburg, so this is our one chance to sample one of the world's better museums (though it will only be open for another hour or two). It's boiling hot, so we make use of Vienna's extensive Unterbahn system to get to Museumsquartier -- learning along the way that one must always push the button to open the car doors. (Don't worry, we only went one stop too far and were quickly able to double back.) Unfortunately, we find the KHM to be only slightly less warm than the outside. At least the lighting is more appropriate than it was in the Budapest museum.

Mom and I eyeball Rembrandt's self-portraits

Fortified by a brief drink-and-snack break at the KHM's ornate public dining area, we manage to make it through the museum's immense and world-famous collection of "Dutch Masters" before the heat and the close atmosphere take most of the "virtue" out of us and compel a retreat. Most of Pieter Bruegel the Elder's most famous canvases are here, including three of his "Seasons" cycle. Paul Johnson's fine art history text had given me a heads-up that Bruegel was well represented here, and I am glad to see the artist's remarkably detailed and intricate originals. Think Where's Waldo?, only quainter and with greater cultural import. Also on hand are some of Rembrandt's best-known self-portraits, several massive religious works by Rubens (which are so huge that I defy The Beagle Boys, nay, even Negaduck, to steal them!), and various portraits by Van Dyck. No sooner have we started on the Spanish, Italian, and French section, however, when the three of us run out of steam all at once. Before leaving, I buy a couple of Bruegel prints at the gift shop, including the celebrated Hunters in the Snow.

Curling, 16th-century style! (Detail from "Hunters in the Snow")

We have Frommer's guide to thank for our choice of dinner destination -- but the trick is to get there before we wilt completely. On the map, "Alt-Wiener Beisl zu den 2 Lieserln" is only a short walk away from Museumsquartier, but we encounter a few anxious moments before finally tracking it down. The place is described by Frommer's as a "well-kept secret" that serves some of the biggest and best Schnitzel in town. They aren't kidding about that "biggest" part. We all order the "small" Schnitzel-and-potato-salad plate, and the slabs of breaded pork with which we are gifted are roughly the size of Frisbees. When I ask how big the "large" portion is, the friendly manager (who also seems to be the only waiter on duty) points to his belly and makes a large circle. We also get an excellent bread basket that includes a soft pretzel. To wash all this down, some potent potables are needed. Mom and I each sink a half-liter of Ottakringer beer, and I must admit that beer has rarely tasted so good to me in my life. We decide to "cab it" back to the hotel, and the manager caps off a near-perfect gastronomic experience by calling the cab for us.

If the streets of normally night-life-oriented Vienna seem a bit quiet, there's a good reason -- the World Cup final between Spain and the Netherlands is tonight. The rest of our evening is spent switching between Austrian and German TV and wincing at Holland's manifestly crude attempts to keep the technically superior Spaniards from playing their game. The result is a steady stream of yellow cards and very few chances (though Spain clearly takes the initiative in the second half). After a Dutch player is sent off in extra time, the question becomes, Can Holland somehow get the thing to penalty kicks? They fall four minutes shy as Spain finally scores the decisive goal to win its first World Cup. The better team clearly won, though I feel badly for the Dutch fans watching their team lose in the final for the third time in three tries. Winning the Cup has got to mean more to a small country like that than to a large one.

Up next: We finally join Monogram in motion; the crib of the Hapsburgs; entirely too much kitchenware; in search of the Sachertorte; plus, a major-league Duck-comics sighting!

Back in the States Again!

This blog has been on "standby" for 10 days for a very good reason -- Nicky and I have been out of the country! We got back today from a trip to Budapest, Vienna, and Salzburg. My mother accompanied us.

Once I get my feet back under me here at home, I'll be posting a detailed day-by-day account of the journey, complete with pictures, etc. Here's a Cliffs Notes version of what to expect...

(1) We managed to make contact with and meet most of my dad's surviving relatives in Budapest. Despite the language problem, we had a great time and plan to keep in touch via e-mail and the magic of instant (written) translation.

(2) We literally did not have a single bad meal -- and we ate in pretty reasonable places, no five-star restaurants.

(3) The heat and lack of easy access to (free) drinking water were the only serious travel issues that we encountered.

(4) There will be a few Disney comics-related observations thrown in, I promise!