Paydirt.

This one will be brief, but informative. Unless you have business in Bratislava, (like hockey,) I don't necessarily recommend spending more than three days here. Maybe it's just the hostel. I've shifted rooms three times in six days, and last night was by far the funniest. Again, the traveler's ability to laugh at inconvenience is invaluable. I stayed up late looking for sandwiches after some loudmouths of questionable quality stole the rest of my pasta. I guess since it was on plates, they assumed the hostel refrigerator was a restaurant and just helped themselves. Their timing was poor, though, because I returned from my day's journey just in time to see them rinsing what was very clearly spaghetti residue from two plates that looked suspiciously like mine. They'd just been to Tesco, also. They could've easily eaten their own food, but instead they gave me a handy conduit for revenge. After a fruitless 3AM search for a sandwich in the streets of Bratislava, I went back to the hostel and made myself a lovely meal of a sandwich and two beers--at the Brits' expense. Left a note on the fridge: "thanks for the sandwich and beer, lads! Hope the pasta was lovely!"
But it gets better. I'm fed, watered, and finally ready for bed, and I walk into my room and notice something. It's a Goldilocks moment: "someone's sleeping in my bed!" I'm pretty sure I'd never had a Ludacris song stuck in my head before, but there's a first time for everything. "WHO LET THESE HOES IN MY ROOM?!?!?!?" I blinked, guffawed, and headed down to inform the reception. So I've been moved from a six-bed dorm to an eight-bed dorm to a ten-bed dorm. Woohoo!
My lodging, however, may be much cheaper in the future. I met a guy in the hostel the other day, George, who turned me on to this thing called couch surfing. Young people volunteer space in their apartments to visiting foreigners, and expenses are minimal; just help pay for food. But moreover, it will perhaps be especially helpful to have a few contacts in countries like Belarus before I go in--they're likely to have a much more nuanced knowledge of the visa regime than an outsider would, and hell, they might know some hockey players.
And speaking of hockey players, I watched a men's league game and finally got the intestinal fortitude to go to the locker room and ask if anyone spoke English. I talked to the youngest guy in there (about 18-19), and he seemed very eager to practice his English skills. I get on the ice tomorrow for a tryout, but I can skate with these guys. Hence, though Bratislava may be a tourist trap, I'll be here a while. Assuming I don't just totally suck at my tryout, my first game will be on Sunday morning, and then I'll have a pickup game Sunday night. Gonna be a long day, that one. Gotta make sure to eat all the pasta I can...before another batch of Brits get to it.

Wish me luck, and I'll be sure to update by Monday with all the gory details.

But seriously...who let those hoes in my room?

J. Brandon Harris, the man who would be king