Dinner time means unbridled glee and cuteness that could stop a hurricane. Little man is sporting some fawcett hair and three teeth (one up, two down).

My wife is a physician. In doctor-speak she is in "medicine", which means she isn't a specialist. She works in a practice, caring for adults.
As is typical for physicians, her earnings are proportionate to the number of clinical hours -- hours spent with patients. An arrangement that seems totally reasonable.

But she spends (in my completely unscientific estimation) about 1-1.5x her patient time filing paperwork, much of which is for insurance purposes.

Medical treatment depends on thorough records, so the time investment is understandable and necessary for the patient's care. But, no one pays for the hours of paperwork (besides the doctor of course). Insurance forms are extensive, but bear no cost for the insurance companies - they are only billed for clinical time.

Paperwork is the most infamous time drain in medicine. But there is no incentive to reduce the time spent on paperwork because there is no cost - doctor's don't bill for it.

It's just a hunch, but I suspect that if doctors billed insurance companies for hours spent on paperwork and other vital, but non-clinical time, we should quickly have a far more efficient medical system.

My brother Todd graduated from Harvard last week. In addition, he also won the class speaker award. If you have 6 minutes, you can watch Todd C. Fawcett regaling the crowd with his musings on "Personal Transformations":

Introducing William Cornelius (and JackJack in a party HatHat):

More pictures of Jack. New outfits, old friends...

hiccoughs...

My mom ferreted out a picture of me when I was just a few hours old (yes the hair is real), so we wanted to compare. Kudos to mom for figuring out her scanner. Nothing motivates grandmas to use technology like grand kids -- both sets of grandparents have installed, configured, and repeatedly used AIM w/ video to call Jackie boy.

JF version 2.0	JF version 3.0

Meet Jack.

These are some pictures from when Jack was younger than most pastries:

And this is a video of Jack at about 1 hour:

If you are in software, and you are considering reading this book, heed my warning.

Just as Yoda tells Luke in Star Wars: to enter the dark tunnel that is the history of OSAF's Chandler, you have to be ready to face your fears. Not scared? You Will Be.

In 2002 the Open Source Application Foundation formed, and kicked off their first project: Chandler.

Chandler was meant to completely revolutionize the way we organize and use our personal information. Notes, Tasks, Calendar Events, were all supposed to seamlessly blend together into a "siloless" world. Instead, all the competing ideas and creative forces at OSAF combined into a spiral of escalating delays and ever slower development.

I also started a software company in 2002. That company also focuses on revolutionizing the way information is organized and used. The name of that company (Tamale Software) is similarly difficult to explain to others. In those and many other ways, this book was like staring into a mirror.

There are some significant differences. We found (and fixed) more bugs (north of 6000 as of now). We released to our initial 5 customers on a nearly daily basis for over 6 months in the early stages. We started our company in the downturn because we were all either out of work or about to be out of work. The air was filled not just with "urgency", but a desperate drive to survive. We worked as though our livelihoods depended on success, because, well, our livelihoods depended on success.

I managed to read this book in a single day, and I am grateful. Rosenberg has created a detailed and realistic account of my worst nightmare. For me, the joy of making software is seeing it run, of meeting people, real actual people that use what I made. At one point the Chandler project is described as a "train wreck". Reading this book is like rubber-necking -- but for too long. It goes past the point of sating your curiosity. This book actually makes you feel like your project is late, and as though you haven't made a clear decision in years.

A friend of mine and I were discussing books we read in high school. This buddy had just started re-reading "The Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger, and he couldn't believe how different the experience was. Ten or fifteen years passed between his readings. In between, he married, had kids of his own, and traveled the world. He promised to mail me the book when he was finished. Last Monday, his paperback copy arrived. I remembered days and days of reading Catcher the first time, but it only took two sittings this time. I also found myself laughing out loud more often.

I read "The Catcher in the Rye" for the first time when I was fourteen or fifteen. The narrating character, Holden Caulfield, is sixteen. Now I am twenty-nine. Sixteen has transformed from older and worldly when I first read Catcher, to innocent and naive this time around.

Since my first reading, I've acquainted myself with a major character in the book: New York City. As safe as the city is now, the idea of Holden roaming clubs, hotels, bars, streets and parks alone gave me the most peculiar feeling. Rather than identifying with Holden himself, I found myself seeing the whole novel from the eyes of the adults that he encounters. The idea of a distraught young man wandering aimlessly -- half hoping to bump into some consolation, some explanation -- it all made me want to try helping poor old Holden.

Mr. Antolini's half-sober speech -- his earnest but pathetic attempt to save Holden -- left me completely confused and befuddled when I first read it. In fact, the awkward scene that follows dominated my memory of Mr. Antolini's character. I only remembered that Antolini frightened Holden by patting him on the head. I had forgotten that a paragraph earlier Antolini had tried saving Holden from the impending nervous breakdown.

The book evoked sympathy in me; my first reading was mainly confusion, but I did empathize with Holden. The extra years helped me understand Holden's experience and emotional exhaustion. The claustrophobic sense of a narrow path in life (like being stuck in an elevator going up and down) was a mystery to me then. At fourteen, the world seemed infinite. NYC was a concept, an ideal. Now it is a place I go for work; it is a train ride away. Amazingly, what I gained in understanding, I lost in empathy. Just as the city is no longer just an idea to me, a wealthy but discontent intellectual young man has become familiar too. Holden has become merely an archetype, rather than a blurred reflection.

Memory and witness of illness, suicide, abuse, and psychological breakdowns have filled the gaps in my understanding. Holden's experience, then, has become more external. I know better the kind of demons to whom he is succumbing, but knowledge makes my view of his character third person, rather than first.

Re-reading Catcher provoked intense introspection, but also a few new insights and questions about Holden. What I wonder about most almost makes me feel guilty. I feel terrific sympathy for Holden, but I can't help but wonder: how honest is Holden's account? He explains several times his compulsive lying. So, even though the narrative has the feel of a long confession, I wonder if Holden is being completely honest and forthcoming.

The simultaneous sympathy and distrust for Holden is what I appreciate most this time around. Salinger's telling evokes the very sensation Holden explains in his description of his perfect job as "The Catcher in the Rye". Holden is the child you want to save. Holden is the one oblivious to the cliff. The reader feels the compulsion for, and frustration from, trying to save him.

Histories are rarely graced with literary invention. Excellent prose, yes. Intriguing insights, sure. But plot? Character development? Tensions? Deceits? Doris Kearns Goodwin does it all in this hefty tome that compares the life and politicking of Lincoln to his contemporaries. To quote the grandfather in the Princess Bride -- "Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles... "

Goodwin immediately draws you into the Civil War era. The tension and danger are so palpable in her writing, you feel as though you are reading newspaper dispatches instead of a biography. The portrait of the coming war is so vivid, you can practically hear the guns roar at Bull Run.

While the pace and excitement of the writing make the book a pleasure to read, what I admire most is the careful, but not tedious, comparison of Lincoln to his chief rivals for the Presidency. The very men he fought to become President graced his cabinet, and it wasn't all gentility. Lincoln found a way to assert his will, while still accepting counsel from men whose ambitions drove them to attack, badger, undermine, antagonize, deride the man himself.

Goodwin writes with a compelling grace, extolling the Lincoln as a political genius. Her case is well proven; Lincoln must be considered a political genius just for attaining the Presidency from within the ranks of the newly minted Republican party. What I saw in her story, and admired even more, was Lincoln as a management genius.

Lincoln not only survived his political adversaries; he was able to recognize their individual strengths and harness their relentless ambitions to accomplish his own agenda. Goodwin makes a clear, strong case for two personal qualities that defined Lincoln's management style: endless magnanimity; and iron resolve.

Throughout his life, Lincoln avoided two mistakes without exception -- he never held a grudge, and he never reversed public positions. From Goodwin's telling, I would say Lincoln's magnanimity was an innate talent of historic proportions. His consistency in public positions, however, goes far beyond mere talents. Based on this biography, I would argue that Lincoln's remarkably steady public record was the direct result of his cabinet structure. By surrounding himself with powerful, ambitious men that matched his own intellect, Lincoln created a private gauntlet for his own ideas. Often he yielded to the arguments of his "Team of Rivals"¹ -- modifying his position or reversing his thinking altogether.

Goodwin details the story of one reversal -- Lincoln had wanted to provide tremendous leniency to the South in Reconstruction. He even initially planned to allow the Confederate legislatures to reconvene and repeal their own articles of secession and rejoin the Union. With his entire cabinet against the idea, he recanted. Yet, many of the players involved expressed the notion that if Lincoln had won over even one of them, he would have held original position.

His was a careful calculus, weighing the opinion of many gifted peers against his own thoughts. Lincoln's careful judgment about when to be swayed and when to be firm shine through as his singular gift.

Goodwin also saves her best work for the end of the book. She unfolds the night of Lincoln's assassination, while maintaining her steady comparison between him and his rivals. The result is a truly literary concoction of tensions, entwined lives, multiple perspectives, and ultimately, tragedy.

Notes
1. Quoting the title is something I hate reading, but somehow find irresistible when writing. I apologize also.
2. Princess Bride quote verified at the imdb.

I don't have time to regail you with the stories, but here are the pictures from del and robert's wedding. The whole weekend was stupendous.

See just pictures of our hike to Oberberghorn.

After our long ride to the Jungfraujoch, we were ready to get around by foot for a few days. Near Interlaken and Untersee is an ancient cave called Beatus-Hohle. The natural cave is named for the Irish Saint Beatus, a missionary who came to Interlaken to convert the medieval Swiss to Christianity. Among his many adventures, Beatus slew the dragon that was living in the cave. According to the local myth, which they tell you once you reach the 1km turn-around mark, Beatus cast the dragon from the cave to the lakes below with his glowing staff. Unfortunately, photography is not permitted anywhere inside the caves, so there isn’t much to show. We do have one nifty tip though – because the walk into the cave is largely uphill (you hike up 80m to find yourself 400m below the surface), you can’t really see all the streams, stalagmites, and stalactites on your way into the cave. Most people seemed to nearly run on their way out. If you take your time, the downhill trajectory of the exit path with reveal much more of the streams and waterfalls that continue to carve out the cave.

There is bus service from the center of Interlaken to the caves, but we opted to walk the 5 or so miles through the Interlaken nature preserve. The walk runs along the canals that connect Thunersee and Brienzersee, and since the land is flat, every bit is used for grazing cattle . There was also an impressive medieval castle, which was once on an island before the gifted swiss engineers diverted the rivers to open more dry land. We took pitifully few pictures of the castle in fact, only one out of the first floor window . The hike up to the Beatushohle’s entrance is very steep and provides some great lookouts to the lakes below . Despite being a few hundred meters up from the road, the Swiss have managed to pave the path and build a lovely spelunkology museum . I wondered how they kept the three restaurants, the museum, and the facilities stocked – I guess this zip-line/dumbwaiter is the answer: .

Beatushohle, and the walk to it, were invigorating. So much so, that they inspired us to take a real hike in the Alps. Armed with water, camera, almond-filled croissant, completely inappropriate footwear, and train tickets to Schynige Platte (a small plateau that the Swiss immediately filled with a train depot, playground, and restaurant) we trekked up the hills to the mountains (by train of course). On the way to the train station, we stopped to snap some photos of our destination (the green mountain to the left) and took a quick video of the paragliders that were landing in front of our hotel all week .

The hike we chose was regarded as beginner level – mild ascents and descents that net to very little altitude changes. We were meant to walk from Schynige Platt to Oberberghorn (a small rocky peak) and from there on to Laucherhorn (a slightly bigger, rockier peak). The Schynige Platte hosts not only a train station, but also a high-altitude dairy farm . We took the Wandernweg (hiking path) on the way out, which wound mostly through grassy highland plains. We finally reached the Laucherhorn, where we tried to take some fake stunt pictures of me “climbing” the Alps . We also ran into an American family that were wrapping up a day long hike down from the town of First (about 5 hours). We nick-named them the Howells for their lock-jaw accents, casual yachtsman flair for hiking, and consistently absurd pronunciations of the names for the mountains that they appeared to know so well. The eldest Howell was celebrating his 50^th birthday by leading his whole brood through the mountains of Switzerland, taking hundreds of photos of his brood in said vicinity (clearly in black and white, and certain to be developed by hand in his basement, by Elder Howell, himself), and ultimately climbing a few peaks (possibly even Jungfrau herself).

On the way home, we decided to take the Panaramenweg (sp? scenic route), which was a LOT more exciting , and included some sincerely panoramic lookouts . Alpine beauty was in abundance for flowers , big skies , jagged peaks , rolling valleys , and combinations of all the above . The whole way is marked off with tidy, swiss-made yellow signs that include the destinations and the estimated walking times . The paths are dirt trails that have been rutted into the landscape , so your feet are always a few inches below the grass, as demonstrated by Caitie: . The Swiss manage to make even the thin air of high altitude comfortable, and the trails are dotted with little family vacation homes . On the way home, we walked well above the trail we took on the way out, and were able to peak over the vertical edge of the Platte to see both lakes and the town of Interlaken as well as Moench and Jungfrau (fogged in for our trip) . The terrain continues to steepen the whole way back, which I tried in vain to capture on film . To come as close to the climbing experience as possible, short of going on belay, you can take the short but extremely steep trip to the top of Oberberghorn (that rocky peak for which the trail is named) . The hike around the base of the Oberberghorn is a tight switchback, with the turnaround corners apparently levitating over the mountain valleys. The final ascent is assisted by a ladder and then a gangway that ultimately provides a view from a small cave out onto the rest of the Alps . The small peak pokes through an altitude layer and you could feel a significant difference in the air -- which only adds to excitement and perception that you are really climbing a mountain.

For slightly less excitement (and probably equal safety), the end of the hike features a nifty slide (sorry, I took the video with a rotated camera) and a map (shouldn’t that be at the beginning of the hike, maybe we went around the loop backwards) .

After all that hiking, we took walked back to the hotel from the train station, and snapped a few last pictures of the gates on the canal , and the border between Interlaken and Untersee .

Check out the pictures from our Jungfraujoch Trip (The Top of Europe) or read all about it:

Interlaken sits in the valley of the Jungfrau region, between the Thunersee and Brienzersee from which it takes its name (between the lakes). The view from our hotel room window faces west, to some minor hills in the valley .

The defining tourist trap for the Jungfrau region is a trip up to the Jungfraujoch, aka the "Top of Europe". We noticed that most of the locals chortle when the ubiquitous automaton voice of the Swiss Rail System (a disembodied floating voice that reminds me of the central computer in I, Robot...). Perhaps they laugh because, no matter which language the train voice is using (german, english, french, italian, japanese) the highest train station in the world is always subtitled "The Top of Europe".

You take three separate trains from Interlaken, to Lauterbrunnen, and finally to the saddle between Jungfrau and Moench that is home to the T.O.E. The second and third trains are cog trains, meaning they use gears to propel them up the steep terrain. The final leg, on the Jungfraubahn, runs through a four mile tunnel. Along the way, there are two stations with windows carved into the north face of the Moench .

At Jungfraujoch, the ever-engineering Swiss have built a remarkable structure that includes a museum of mountain transportation (most interesting exihibit was of the two-seater open-air carriage that was the original Jungfrau train), several restaraunts (including a quite fancy one) and a long tunnel into the permanant ice of the glacier that remains on Jungfrau all year. The tunnel is filled with eternal ice sculptures .

There is also an "Platte" that allows dramatic views of the Jungfrau glacier, which forms an ice river that feeds the lakes below and gives the Brienz and Thun lakes their azure color. Caitie and I managed a self-portrait on the first try: . Despite the overcast weather (Jungfraujoch was actually between two cloud layers), we got some decent pictures of the peak: and, of course, a quick panoramic video . Caitie noted that the ground on the platte looked like a Boston sidewalk in January . Despite warnings, caitie decided to hop the fence... (right). In an incredible waste of space on my camera, I took a picture of the avalanche zone warning sign .

Another 300m up from the Platte is the "Top of Europe", which has an outdoor, grated rotunda that provides ample opportunity for vertigo .

On the way home, we rode through Grindelwald, one of the major towns in the area, slightly up-mountain from Interlaken. The ride reinforced our impression that Switzerland is actually a life size toy train set, complete with dainty dairy cows , and scenery that goes beyond idyllic to actually just being cute . Caitie really enjoyed the scenery on the way down: . A good travel tip we stumbled upon -- pony up for the first class ticket. No one else pays th 10% surcharge, so you actually have room to stand up and store your bags .

(Simple pictures of Day 3 in Vienna)

Today, Caitie and I got adventurous. First we walked from the hotel to SchoenBruen Schloess. If you find yourself in Vienna, you need to make the trip. You also need to NOT walk there from downtown. It was hot as ----, and the footpath that runs along another Viennese canal from KarlPlatz to SchoenBruen is devoid of anything interesting at which to look. The best sight on the way there was a Burger King (which was plastered with posters of the European Football (not soccer, but american football) league. weird, eh?).

As terrible (not that terrible, it was just a bit long and boring) as the walk to SchoenBruen Schloess was, it was well worth it. The palace and its grounds are absolutely ginormous. I mean huge. There is no way that the pictures will convey the sheer size of the place . Of course, this affords the perfect opportunity for a short panoramic film:. The landscaping (it should be referred to as landscape architecture or something as grandiose as its appearance) is also maintained in the most beautiful and intricate gardens. As expansive as Schoen Bruen's grounds are, the gardens are still tended with the finest details. The flower beds you see in these pictures are lined with miniature hedges that stand 4 or 5 inches tall. I'd estimate that there are 500 yards of these hedge rows, and they must be trimmed with scissors, because they are too tiny for clippers. The amount of labor to maintain the place is mind-boggling, and somehow, adds to the perceived beauty of the place. Lending further mystique are the "new" landscape elements, which I think have been growing since the end of WWII. These include the impressive tree arches that run in almost all directions from the palace .

In the distance, atop a massive hill, sits the Glorietta -- a monument built by the Empress to celebrate ... herself and her reign. The Glorietta serves no functional purpose whatsoever. It is, as I have said before, purely decorative. It is the architectural equivalent of kitsch, except it cost a fortune and probably a few lives to construct. Despite the complete lack of purpose, the Glorietta is still a beaut and provides a commanding view of the palace and the surrounding city .

Of course, Emperors are notoriously difficult to entertain. So, besides the jaw-dropping beauty of the formal gardens and the Glorietta, replete with miles of horse-trotting paths, you need to have diversions to really have proper a palace. I'm talking shrubberies formed into mazes
. But not even a collection of lawn mazes would suffice. What you really need is a full-blown zoo, an Imperial Zoo actually.

The Imperial Zoo at ScheonBruen Schluss deserves a day to itself. They have everything from rodents of unusual size to reindeer to a rhinoceros . They have both kinds of buffalo: american and water . There is a selection of "BigCats" and freaking huge bugs. There's a family of hedge hogs , a jack-ass , other large rodents , two camels , a still wider array of large rodents , barking seals that dive for fish snacks , black bears , brown bears , polar bears , small penguins, emperor penguins , and a free-range peacock .

As amazing as the variety of animals is, nothing, and I mean nothing prepares you for the walk-in "Rain Forest". A giant three-story greenhouse filled with flora, fauna, and hot steam. As we walked into the display, Caitie and I remarked how wonderful it was to be able to get close to the animals. We marveled at how well designed and engineered the entire facility was, how ingeniously the architects of this wonderland had crafted displays that managed to protect the animals, the visitors, and still bring the two as close together as possible. Brand new, we immediately appreciated the same aesthetic and design in the Rain Forest exhibit. We saw tadpoles ("look they are on a branch by your head!"), we saw turtles ("I could practically touch his shell!"), and then we saw this sign: .

"It says be very quiet," I offered to Caitie, who began to detect that something had gone amiss with the Rain Forest exhibit. Seems like a pretty typical warning in a zoo right? Sort of along the same lines as: please don't tap on the glass, or don't feed the gorillas. They post these sort of things to avoid liability suits, and to provide an excuse for ejecting unruly and obnoxious park-guests. To the right of the sign was a double layer door made from strips of hanging plastic, which resembled a car wash exit.

The entrance looked harmless enough. Maybe there was more mist inside, that they were trying to hold back? Maybe there are cooler temperatures? Still, the sign was in very large red letters, and my German is far from fluent. So, Caitie and I decided to wait for a group of native speakers to go first. A gaggle of Austrians, stepped into the gap and took a long hard look at the sign. Said the mother Austrian: "BrillenBlattNasen?" "Sie sind sehr kleiner" replied the Father Austrian. In went the whole family. No noise, no problems. So Caitie and I decided to go ahead. As we pulled back the door covers, I heard a familiar sound -- a kind of flapping, swooshing sound. Then, right in our faces, that god awful black fluttering, flittering, f-ing horrible shape of leathery wings. Then, in an impressive stage whisper, Caitie alerted the entire zoo:

THERE ARE BATS IN HERE!!!!!!

And we dove backward out of the "Fledermausehohle" or in english "Bat Cave".

At this point we took a nearby elevator, which allegedly lead to the nearest exit. The elevator doors opened on the open air level, where you can enjoy close views of the animals that live in the "canopy" of the rainforest. Guess what lives in jungle canopies?
GIANT BATS . The elevator plants you eye to eye with the biggest flying rodents in creation. Caitie ran in every direction at once, and disappeared out the door. At this point I returned to photograph the sign, and took the time to look up some key words in the german-english dictionary.

The sign reads in full (and you have to say this in your head with the voice of the kid in Sixth Sense saying "I see dead people"):

ATTENTION
NEW ANIMALS!

PLEASE BE EXTREMELY QUIET!

Here live Seba's Short-tail (flying mouse, or bat) and you are the guest not the host.

I hung around for a few minutes, to see what other "guests" thought of these "hosts". The patrons of the Imperial Zoo hail from all over the world, and speak many, many different languages. However, all humans (except apparently Austrians, all of whom did not flinch in the face of a Fledermausenhole) run in place waving their arms, and make precisely the same sound when the first realize that they are in a confined space with bats: wahooohahahahahaeeee!

So, with that adrenaline rush, we headed for the Zoo exits and home. Of course, we got one more picture of a very large (non-winged) rodent .

(If you want, skip all the chit-chat and see all the Vienna Day 2 pictures).

Caitie and I decided to just walk around Wien today, and see what we could see. We walked around the RingeStrasse, and then through the StadtPark. It was a pretty quiet way to spend the afternoon. We took pictures of a neat staircase that runs, fairly treacherously, down to the StadtPark's Canal . We also continue to be amused by the apparent absurdity of all public notices in German . The Viennese also have a deep love for their cars. Nearly all the taxis are Mercedes, and I have never seen so many Bentleys and Porsches. Our hands down favorite, though, was a vintage Jaguar parked on the street by the hotel . After the StadtPark, we decided to hoof it up the hill to Belvedere, which is behind SchwarzenbergPlatz. The SchwarzenbergPlatz has quite a bit of nice architecture and a slick fountain. The fountain stands in front of a massive stone monument to the Russian liberation of Vienna. The monument is a unique curiosity in Vienna, since the entire tribute is written in Russian.

The walk to Belvedere is a bit long (though it makes for a terrific run), but the view of the palace over the reflecting pool is well worth it . Caitie and I thought about checking into the Belvedere hotel, but had some trouble with our key... just kidding . The front of Belvedere is magnificent, and the rear stretches out in long formal gardens, which are still beautiful, despite their state of reconstruction .
On the way home, we walked passed KarlPlatz, home to a gorgeous church and associated museum .

Finally, the Germans may have Hasselhoff, but the Austrians will always have ... ... Toto.

Just see the pictures, or read some drollery too:

Touring through Vienna is like traveling through time. But, you aren't sent backward; you are hurtled forward. Everything you have ever heard or seen of Vienna is from long ago: Mozart, Strauss, the Austrian Empire, assassination, invasion, occupation, liberation. But the overwhelming feeling of the city is modernity mixed seamlessly with the antique, even quaint surroundings. Vienna exudes the same quality that defines the view to mid-town Manhattan, looking south from Central Park. Your eye can't avoid the contrast: in the foreground trees and grass; in the distance the heights of mid-town. Here in Vienna, you literally feel the passage of time. Standing at the gates of Belvedere-Garten, you're likely to see an ultra-modern Viennese trolley swish quietly over the streets. The architecture in StephanPlatz ranges from Medieval to Bauhaus. The continuity between old and new is so seamless, yet so vivid, you practically feel the centuries rushing past. It is as though you can see all 8 centuries of Viennese history simultaneously.

As usual, Caitie did an extraordinary amount of planning and booked us into the finest hotel in Austria -- the Hotel Imperial. Our rooms were well-appointed to the point of absurdity. I don't think we really needed the curtains for the already extraneous lighting over the bed . The hotel had a similarly luxuriant lobby, in full baroque style. The best part of the lobby are the private sitting booths , and the wait-service, who will bring you anything from the Cafe Imperial. The Cafe is located in the ground floor (Austrians, Germans, and Swiss insist on calling the lowest level ground, and the next story the first floor).

The orginal center of Vienna (Wien in German) had walls. Sometime in the 1800s, the denizens of Wien decided that the walls, while decorative, served no purpose (much like the tasseled pillows provided by the Imperial Hotel). So, the walls were razed and replaced with the wide avenues of the RingeStrasse. The RingeStrasse provides a remarkably convenient and intuitive means of navigating the central district of the city. It also makes for a nice walk . Near to the Hotel Imperial is the Kartner Ringe, which is the section of the RingeStrasse that intersects with Kartner Strasse. Kartner Strasse is sort of the 5th Avenue of Vienna, loaded with shops and cafes, ultimately leading to the most famous square in Vienna -- StephanPlatz. StephanPlatz is home to St. Stephen's Church, which began construction in the middle ages and has pretty much remained under construction since. The most drammatic work happened in the 1950's following the devastating fires that decimated St. Stephan's during WWII.

The collision and new and old is particularly vivid in StephanPlatz, where you can see the reflection of St. Stephan's in the ultra-modern office building recently added to the square . The top floor of the new building is home to the quintessential Euro bar, Do&Co.

The roof of the church is supposedly modeled after a persian rug, and is rendered in colorful ceramic tiles . The real treasures are inside. For a few Euro, you can take the extended audio tour, and hear some preety elaborate tales of the church's construction . My personal favorites are the self-portraits of the master builders that originally created the cathedral. Hidden like Easter eggs in the baroque details, the portraits of now anonymous craftsman appear to carry the weight of St. Stephen's on their shoulders or peak out from behind false windows . You could say it is baroque graphitti.

St. Stephen's has two towers, a north (has the bell) and a south (taller). The south tower is currently under construction, but you can take an elevator to the top of the north tower, which affords a view of the whole city . Caitie dubbed the North Tower trip the "tour of all spatial phobias". You must first squeeze into a ludicrously small and hot elevator. For some unknown reason, this tiny device was upolstered with leather on the interior. I suppose the idea was to make it comfortable, a sort of vertical couch (yup, that is a double Freudian pun, and yes I have been planning it for a few days), but it just reminded us of a coffin. Claustrophobia? check. You also make this lovely trip up with at least 10 other passengers, who are, of course, sweaty close-talkers. Agoraphobia? Check.

Next, the tiny elevator opens abruptly to a grated platform, providing a perfect view straight down to the plaza. Acrophobia? Done. Finally, you climb steel stairs (lightening crossed my mind, and at this point my feet and hands were sweating so profusely I was sure my sandals would fly off and through the open staircase) to a open platform. Vertigo, thanks. Finally, as if to remind you that gravity will send you crashing down, there is an elaborate display of the St. Stephen's bell, and a recounting of how it fell through the church during the WWII fire . More amazing, the original bell was cast from the melted-down remnants of Turkish Canon's from the failed Turkish siege of Vienna.

Safely descended and decompressed, Caitie and I had a few libations at Do&Co before venturing further. Our next stop was the StadtPark (City Park), where Johann Strauss debuted his now famous compositions. J. Strauss is immortalized in sculpture and his musical genre of choice is immortalized in kitschy signage and sophmoric jokes .

It being the 200th anniversary of Mozart's birth, and J. Strauss being Vienna's favorite son, it was easy to (temporarily) forget Herr Beethoven, but he too has dedicated statuary .

On our way to the Imperial Palace, we ran across this literal collision of architectural movements: .

On the plus side, the Austrian Imperial Family enjoyed the world's finest homes . On the downside, they were pretty much all assassinated. In 1914, Franz Ferdinand, the then Crown Prince of the Empire, was assassinated, providing the flashpoint for WWI. The actual car and blood-soaked cape of the prince are on display in a Viennese museum. Unfortunately, Caitie found a trip to see those artifacts too unsavory.

Instead we toured the Imperial Palace itself. We strolled around the palace, starting with the greenhouse and visiting the Imperial apartments where Franz Ferdinand's father and mother lived. The apartments are chock-a-bock full of antiquities, which are not to be photographed. My personal favorite were the giant (14-20ft tall) fireplaces, which were enamled and were fed from hidden hallways that ran between the walls of the Imperial apartments. This way, wood chips, soot, and dirty laborers were kept out of the Emporer's presence.