Storming The Castle

Last weekend, believe it or not, wasn’t Saturday and Sunday – it was Monday and Tuesday. And while my cohorts in the production office explain this as being the result of a strange shooting week, I prefer to believe that it’s the result of a complex conspiracy regarding the international date line (meaning the imaginary line dividing the Pacific between one day and the next, not the phone line that’s advertised late at night on public access.) At any rate, the time off presented me with my first chance to explore Prague. While that wasn’t a Herculean task given that my apartment is located, as one crew member put it, “at the center of the center,” I was still faced with a daunting amount to see and do. So, owning my status as an invading tourist, I headed out the door with a Prague guidebook in hand – just as the locals do – and set off to storm the castle.

En route, I encountered the Town Hall Clock – an ornate device that simultaneously keeps track of three different types of time, and is outfitted with moving statuettes to boot. Legend has it that the city’s founders blinded its maker so that he could never replicate his masterpiece elsewhere, teaching us two very important lessons: one – the Czechs take time very seriously, and two – never, ever build a clock. Ever.

I stopped in a marionette shop along the way, looking to build upon the small collection of unblinking puppets that keeps vigilant watch over my writing desk in Culver City. To my surprise, I found…me. In puppet form. And since I can only assume that my encounter with this wooden doppleganger is the result of some gypsy curse, I lie in wait every night for this thing to try and strangle me with its strings.

Arriving at Prague Castle, I explored everything from Saint George’s cathedral – sin timore aut favore to Old Boys out there – and the stained glass of St. Vitus’ Cathedral (pictured at top) to the terrible panini offerings of the food court. While seeing the residence of Franz Kakfa was definitely a highlight, I’ll admit I’m mostly going to remember lining up the shot you see at left with an incoming aircraft.

Finding myself with a few hours left before sunset, I went ahead and took the long route home. This took me past Prague’s Old Jewish Cemetery, which is an area the size of my backyard that’s home to over 100,000 burial plots. And given that my backyard is basically thirty-seven square feet, it has the makings of a Tim Burton nightmare. Or wet dream. Sometimes it’s really hard to tell with that guy.

Sunday – a.k.a. Tuesday – saw fellow G.I. JOE crew members Jenny and Todd bit by the same tourism bug as me. After a genuinely charming brunch on a traffic median, we toured the St. Charles bridge. It was there that I purchased an incredible set of fanged Russian nesting dolls, which will – I promised Chels – occupy the same small corner of our house as my pygmy bat cocoon and M3 crossbow.

Ice cream came next, complete with a photo session centered around the adorable/frightening restaurant spokeszombie you see to your right. This snapshot leaves it open to interpretation as to whether he craves the ice cream for its nutrients…or for the off chance that it may contain fragments of a human brain. I know – why not just make it clear? Answer: because I’m mysterious.

Rounding out the weekend was an hour-long motorboat rental that resulted in the postcard-worthy shot you see to the left. And while I admit a hint of regret at the fact that our trio was unable to rent the enormous paddleboat in the shape of a swan, I’m glad that the real deal – two of them, no less – made a guest appearance to help bring the weekend to a close.

This coming Monday and Tuesday are fast approaching, bringing with them the promise of a church crafted out of human bones. Color commentary to be provided by full time roommate, part time travel buddy Billiam R. Stevens. Stay tuned.