Friday, April 27, 2007
It's coming...
Koninginnedag (Queen's Day) is coming up; as is Queen's Night, King's Night, and the night before that. The parties started last night and will continue every night until Sunday, whereupon they will just continue straight through the day until the early morning hours of Tuesday. I'm not partying all of those days - I know, where's my spirit? - but I have my orange to wear in honor of the Queen, and will be out and about with about a million other people Sunday/Monday. Will update better soon, but until then:
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
We interupt your regularly scheduled blogcast...
...for some not so important info. Yes, I will be blogging about my family's visit, but first, a side story.
Today began as any other day in Amsterdam: woke up, ate some nutella, dragged the bike out of the basement, and I was off to whatever adventures/mishaps the land of the Dutch had to offer.
Molly needed her tattoo touched up and I was going along as moral support and spectator. On the way there though, I decided a little sojourn in uncharted territory was fitting - this is only an extension of last night's venture into the Westerly unknown, during my late night run (weird I know, don't ask.) I head into the Jordaan and am quickly swept into a steady stream of traffic heading West. Before I realize that I have left the cocoon that is the Centrum, I am distracted by an Aldi's. Now, an Aldi's is not an impressive thing - not here, not in Bennington, VT. BUT, if you're a Segala, you possess a certain albeit forced, connection to Aldi's.
My Grandparents lived through the Great Depression and apparently never got over it. They probably have 2.5 - 3 times the amount of food in storage in their house for the 2 of them then we have for 4 active people, including a growing boy ("Hey Alex, what'd ya have for breakfast?" "Donuts." "Oh, what kind did you have?" "Um, one of each, except those lemon ones.") They also never had a lot of money, so they are always on the prowl for a good deal. I support that goal, there's no need to spend more money than necessary (this is why I drink alcohol that Laura pays for, duh) but, like everything else, you can go too far. Example: my Grandfather will drive to the Aldi's in Bennington, Vermont to buy vast amounts of sub par bananas, because, hey they are only 45 cents a pound, compared to Big Y, where they are 89 cents a pound. There is no use in pointing out the fact that Big Y is a 4 minute car drive, while Bennington is an half hour and in a totally different state on top of that; it doesn't matter. Grandpa is convinced; Aldi's is the place to go. So, when I realized that Aldi's were a German company and thus had stores in the Netherlands, I was amused - surprisingly enough I still had no desire to go to these Aldi's anymore than I do Vermont's. But back to this morning.
So, I see the Aldi's and I am nostalgic for home and Grandpa calling me just to tell me the price of bananas (and absolutely nothing else) and decide that when I have more time, I'm gonna go. Oh yay, Maria, you are a badass; the ideas your twisted mind brings forth!
Outside of the joy of finding an Aldi's in Amsterdam, I realize I have stumbled upon a residential area of lesser means. "Lesser means" here is not really an insult when you consider the canal houses I live near cost over 2.5 million Euro, the aforementioned apartment buildings are probably not cheap, but well kept, if uninspired. I also begin to notice an increase in Arabic store signs...and the fact that I just may be a minority. In comparison to the school children I pass, I give off that nice ghostly glow of uber whiteness, and I'm wearing white, just in case anyone mistakenly thought I had pigment. Anyways, I find myself in the Oud (Old) West. Oh cool! I've gotten out of the Centrum, I'm so integrated! Shortly there after, I'm in Bos en Lommer. All I know is that it translates as "Forest and..." who knows; there hasn't been a forest in this area in probably 400 years, and what good would it do me anyways? Noting the time, I head back in what I believe is an Easterly direction; all of a sudden, I'm in Westerpark? Now, without someone waiting on me, I wouldn't have been concerned at all, but that is not the current case. I eventually spy a tower that possibly resembles Westerkerk/Niewe Markt/Muntplein but I recognize it, so I basically head toward it, eventually coming out on my own canal. Score, Maria wins.
After the tattooing and a sorry attempt at school work, the 70 plus weather is calling me away. Abandoning the gym - only for today - for a longer bike ride, I decide to head back to the Aldi's.
Inside I feel as if all of us patrons are wandering a bit lost in this horribly set up, unappealing, and questionable warehouse. Browsing their extensive freeze case (AH, you kinda are slacking in this dept), I hear a loud ambulance siren cut short. In a city where cars pull U-turns at red lights or drive over the medians/tram tracks on a whim, I laugh at the fact that they would really pull such a low move as using their "authoritative power" to move traffic along. You don't deal with cops and such as much here as you do in America, but I still don't like authority figures; unless I am one, then it's ok.
Now, like many of supermarkets in Europe, they set them up so you go in through a gate and can only get out by going through the check out - after purchasing something. Well, no one is going to tell me I have to buy something, so I head back to the entrance to jump the turnstile (I've done it in AH) and see cops. I stop abruptly, because I tend to react to cops as if I was packing several unregistered weapons and at least a kilo of coke. Rest assured, outside of a traffic violation (on a bike) I have no reason to avoid the cops as much as I do. Though, 2 recent run-ins with the cops -both which were not essentially my fault - have increased my awareness. It takes but a moment to comprehend their presence, and oh yeah, that ambulance? It's here.
An old man, looking way too unhealthy to be out grocery shopping, appears to be having so chest issues, though he is sitting up and alert. My sympathies to the man of course, but I decide jumping/forcing my way through an entrance turnstile in front of 4 cops is a poorly conceived idea. Fine, Aldi's, you f'ing win, I'll buy something.
6 Euro later, I am the unwilling owner of Zuid Afrika vin and a box of liqueur chocolates. I'm sure the Aldi's people think I have a problem, but I'm cool with that. I clear out as the EMTS are rolling in the stretcher.
Armed with my alcohol, I manage to get back to Prinsengracht without a problem. I've visited an Aldi's, not got in any legal trouble, and I have wine and chocolates!
Now, truly my absolutely recounting of this near-adventure really ends here, but I decided to add a lovely little detail.
Many liqueur chocolates I've seen are very clearly marked: "Contains no alcohol." The inside of the truffle is often a gooey flavoring, as if they took the said liquor and boiled the ethanol out of it. For a moment, I guess I forgot I was in Europe.
I bite into a Raspberry brandy truffle only to be bombarded by a very real alcohol taste and a liquid center that assaults my chin and drips on my legs (thank God I'm not wearing pants!) (Many of you are giggling; yes I recognize the double entendre, why else would I include such an episode?) It's not enough liquor to burn, but its there. With about 15 more truffles and a borrel tonight, there may be no need for that bottle of wine.
Today began as any other day in Amsterdam: woke up, ate some nutella, dragged the bike out of the basement, and I was off to whatever adventures/mishaps the land of the Dutch had to offer.
Molly needed her tattoo touched up and I was going along as moral support and spectator. On the way there though, I decided a little sojourn in uncharted territory was fitting - this is only an extension of last night's venture into the Westerly unknown, during my late night run (weird I know, don't ask.) I head into the Jordaan and am quickly swept into a steady stream of traffic heading West. Before I realize that I have left the cocoon that is the Centrum, I am distracted by an Aldi's. Now, an Aldi's is not an impressive thing - not here, not in Bennington, VT. BUT, if you're a Segala, you possess a certain albeit forced, connection to Aldi's.
My Grandparents lived through the Great Depression and apparently never got over it. They probably have 2.5 - 3 times the amount of food in storage in their house for the 2 of them then we have for 4 active people, including a growing boy ("Hey Alex, what'd ya have for breakfast?" "Donuts." "Oh, what kind did you have?" "Um, one of each, except those lemon ones.") They also never had a lot of money, so they are always on the prowl for a good deal. I support that goal, there's no need to spend more money than necessary (this is why I drink alcohol that Laura pays for, duh) but, like everything else, you can go too far. Example: my Grandfather will drive to the Aldi's in Bennington, Vermont to buy vast amounts of sub par bananas, because, hey they are only 45 cents a pound, compared to Big Y, where they are 89 cents a pound. There is no use in pointing out the fact that Big Y is a 4 minute car drive, while Bennington is an half hour and in a totally different state on top of that; it doesn't matter. Grandpa is convinced; Aldi's is the place to go. So, when I realized that Aldi's were a German company and thus had stores in the Netherlands, I was amused - surprisingly enough I still had no desire to go to these Aldi's anymore than I do Vermont's. But back to this morning.
So, I see the Aldi's and I am nostalgic for home and Grandpa calling me just to tell me the price of bananas (and absolutely nothing else) and decide that when I have more time, I'm gonna go. Oh yay, Maria, you are a badass; the ideas your twisted mind brings forth!
Outside of the joy of finding an Aldi's in Amsterdam, I realize I have stumbled upon a residential area of lesser means. "Lesser means" here is not really an insult when you consider the canal houses I live near cost over 2.5 million Euro, the aforementioned apartment buildings are probably not cheap, but well kept, if uninspired. I also begin to notice an increase in Arabic store signs...and the fact that I just may be a minority. In comparison to the school children I pass, I give off that nice ghostly glow of uber whiteness, and I'm wearing white, just in case anyone mistakenly thought I had pigment. Anyways, I find myself in the Oud (Old) West. Oh cool! I've gotten out of the Centrum, I'm so integrated! Shortly there after, I'm in Bos en Lommer. All I know is that it translates as "Forest and..." who knows; there hasn't been a forest in this area in probably 400 years, and what good would it do me anyways? Noting the time, I head back in what I believe is an Easterly direction; all of a sudden, I'm in Westerpark? Now, without someone waiting on me, I wouldn't have been concerned at all, but that is not the current case. I eventually spy a tower that possibly resembles Westerkerk/Niewe Markt/Muntplein but I recognize it, so I basically head toward it, eventually coming out on my own canal. Score, Maria wins.
After the tattooing and a sorry attempt at school work, the 70 plus weather is calling me away. Abandoning the gym - only for today - for a longer bike ride, I decide to head back to the Aldi's.
Inside I feel as if all of us patrons are wandering a bit lost in this horribly set up, unappealing, and questionable warehouse. Browsing their extensive freeze case (AH, you kinda are slacking in this dept), I hear a loud ambulance siren cut short. In a city where cars pull U-turns at red lights or drive over the medians/tram tracks on a whim, I laugh at the fact that they would really pull such a low move as using their "authoritative power" to move traffic along. You don't deal with cops and such as much here as you do in America, but I still don't like authority figures; unless I am one, then it's ok.
Now, like many of supermarkets in Europe, they set them up so you go in through a gate and can only get out by going through the check out - after purchasing something. Well, no one is going to tell me I have to buy something, so I head back to the entrance to jump the turnstile (I've done it in AH) and see cops. I stop abruptly, because I tend to react to cops as if I was packing several unregistered weapons and at least a kilo of coke. Rest assured, outside of a traffic violation (on a bike) I have no reason to avoid the cops as much as I do. Though, 2 recent run-ins with the cops -both which were not essentially my fault - have increased my awareness. It takes but a moment to comprehend their presence, and oh yeah, that ambulance? It's here.
An old man, looking way too unhealthy to be out grocery shopping, appears to be having so chest issues, though he is sitting up and alert. My sympathies to the man of course, but I decide jumping/forcing my way through an entrance turnstile in front of 4 cops is a poorly conceived idea. Fine, Aldi's, you f'ing win, I'll buy something.
6 Euro later, I am the unwilling owner of Zuid Afrika vin and a box of liqueur chocolates. I'm sure the Aldi's people think I have a problem, but I'm cool with that. I clear out as the EMTS are rolling in the stretcher.
Armed with my alcohol, I manage to get back to Prinsengracht without a problem. I've visited an Aldi's, not got in any legal trouble, and I have wine and chocolates!
Now, truly my absolutely recounting of this near-adventure really ends here, but I decided to add a lovely little detail.
Many liqueur chocolates I've seen are very clearly marked: "Contains no alcohol." The inside of the truffle is often a gooey flavoring, as if they took the said liquor and boiled the ethanol out of it. For a moment, I guess I forgot I was in Europe.
I bite into a Raspberry brandy truffle only to be bombarded by a very real alcohol taste and a liquid center that assaults my chin and drips on my legs (thank God I'm not wearing pants!) (Many of you are giggling; yes I recognize the double entendre, why else would I include such an episode?) It's not enough liquor to burn, but its there. With about 15 more truffles and a borrel tonight, there may be no need for that bottle of wine.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Male interpretions of the fashion industry
Me: "It doesn't really matter what I do, I still have the body of a 14 year old boy."
My bro: "Well that means you can be a model!"
My bro: "Well that means you can be a model!"
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Times Change, Traditions Change
In a surprising move, the people of the Netherlands voted to override the traditional Christian holiday of Easter in favor of a new celebration: Couples Appreciation Day.
In a country with a vast number of atheists – some urban areas boasting over 50 percent self proclaimed – this move made sense to many. As one Amsterdam man put it:
“Christ’s resurrection? Impressive. But getting my girlfriend to watch a whole football game without complaint, now that’s a miracle!”
Couples Appreciation Day, which was celebrated both days previously reserved for the Easter Holiday, appeared to be a huge success in central Amsterdam. Sunday found hundreds of couples strolling arm in arm, couples gazing at the canals, couples lounging in boats; Amsterdam was just overflowing with feelings of companionship. Occasionally, there was the sight of a couple in conflict, but in true spirit of the holiday, they bickered in public, making their couple status – be it harmonious or not – known.
This change is just a continuation of the common European practice of sharing your love for another with the world. This is most often accomplished by affectionate displays in conspicuous locales, such as the middle of public squares, sidewalk benches, and centrally located café tables.
Throughout the city, it was apparent that couples unanimously enjoyed the holiday, but what about that forgotten minority, single persons?
“I didn’t get the memo; if you’re single, please stay inside today,” one solo female quipped.
Social researchers are curious to see if this trend will continue to spread throughout Europe. In respects to population growth and flower sales, scientists expect the movement to swell to other regions.
In a country with a vast number of atheists – some urban areas boasting over 50 percent self proclaimed – this move made sense to many. As one Amsterdam man put it:
“Christ’s resurrection? Impressive. But getting my girlfriend to watch a whole football game without complaint, now that’s a miracle!”
Couples Appreciation Day, which was celebrated both days previously reserved for the Easter Holiday, appeared to be a huge success in central Amsterdam. Sunday found hundreds of couples strolling arm in arm, couples gazing at the canals, couples lounging in boats; Amsterdam was just overflowing with feelings of companionship. Occasionally, there was the sight of a couple in conflict, but in true spirit of the holiday, they bickered in public, making their couple status – be it harmonious or not – known.
This change is just a continuation of the common European practice of sharing your love for another with the world. This is most often accomplished by affectionate displays in conspicuous locales, such as the middle of public squares, sidewalk benches, and centrally located café tables.
Throughout the city, it was apparent that couples unanimously enjoyed the holiday, but what about that forgotten minority, single persons?
“I didn’t get the memo; if you’re single, please stay inside today,” one solo female quipped.
Social researchers are curious to see if this trend will continue to spread throughout Europe. In respects to population growth and flower sales, scientists expect the movement to swell to other regions.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
For your viewing pleasure...
The Main Square in Delft. I post rather than doing homework; bad trend.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Easter in Amsterdam
While you were all off to your family estates, I was celebrating this holy week in a largely atheist city. Of course, that’s perfectly fine for me – still to this day, no one knows how I ended up at Catholic School. Nevertheless, I still celebrate Easter and Good Friday (yeah, I know, supposed to be a solemn day. Day off from school, I say, so praise Christ) and this would be the first – and probably the only – year without a family gathering.
I started the weekend doing the best to occupy myself – doing homework, spring cleaning, absinthe, but still, as Easter Sunday approached, I was slightly grumpy lunch. In an attempt to pacify myself, I slept in, then made pancakes before getting all dressed up (read: actually getting dressed for the first time in almost three days) and heading over to plantage.
There were not many CIEE individuals left in the city of Red Lights, as many were traveling and/or with family over the long weekend. Several of us orphans left here decided it was only fair to throw ourselves an Amsterdam style Easter dinner.
Megan was in charge of the menu; I showed up to carry supplies and help cook. Tory and Ned sliced bread and made salad, while Megan, Sully, and I did most of the cooking. Megan’s very zealous and a-mazing menu included:
Spinach dip
Bruschetta
Chicken, with mysterious peppercorn sauce (it was all in Dutch)
Green beans
Bread
Salad
Mashed potatoes
Gravy
And dessert:
Pound cake with Caramelized bananas and ice cream
Now, of course, with so many cooks – and so many college cooks – practically everything was done at different times. The mashed potatoes were a successful, first time attempt by Sully; I don’t think he realized how long it would take to boil them to a satisfactory mashing point. The chicken was chopped up as it cooked. The spinach dip, bruschetta, and most of two loaves of French bread were all gone by the time we actually sat down for dinner. An hour and a half later, dinner was served. The meal was a resounding success all around.
It wasn’t the traditional Easter dinner per se, but pretty similar to many I’ve been privy to. Violent placing of food on plates,some yelling, inappropriate conversation topics…sounds like home to me.
After dinner – and a marvelous dessert – I headed home to skype the family celebration going on at Mem’s. I got to talk to almost every person present, which was awesome. Just an example of the glory that is my family:
Jon (my cousin): “Hey Cupcake”
Me: “Helllllllllllllloooo, what’s up?”
Jon: “Oh, you know, just being a silly goose.”
Then we talked about how I’m making him and Uncle Jay proud in my time here and also how we both despise all liquors that are licorice flavored (we are not meant to drink jager in my family).
In continuation of the holiday celebrations, I spent an hour at the gym this morning and then went to FOAM, a photography museum late this afternoon (yes I find both of those activities entertaining). I’ve also done no homework – this post is clear evidence of that.
And now, the productiveness begins as my parents arrive on Friday!
I started the weekend doing the best to occupy myself – doing homework, spring cleaning, absinthe, but still, as Easter Sunday approached, I was slightly grumpy lunch. In an attempt to pacify myself, I slept in, then made pancakes before getting all dressed up (read: actually getting dressed for the first time in almost three days) and heading over to plantage.
There were not many CIEE individuals left in the city of Red Lights, as many were traveling and/or with family over the long weekend. Several of us orphans left here decided it was only fair to throw ourselves an Amsterdam style Easter dinner.
Megan was in charge of the menu; I showed up to carry supplies and help cook. Tory and Ned sliced bread and made salad, while Megan, Sully, and I did most of the cooking. Megan’s very zealous and a-mazing menu included:
Spinach dip
Bruschetta
Chicken, with mysterious peppercorn sauce (it was all in Dutch)
Green beans
Bread
Salad
Mashed potatoes
Gravy
And dessert:
Pound cake with Caramelized bananas and ice cream
Now, of course, with so many cooks – and so many college cooks – practically everything was done at different times. The mashed potatoes were a successful, first time attempt by Sully; I don’t think he realized how long it would take to boil them to a satisfactory mashing point. The chicken was chopped up as it cooked. The spinach dip, bruschetta, and most of two loaves of French bread were all gone by the time we actually sat down for dinner. An hour and a half later, dinner was served. The meal was a resounding success all around.
It wasn’t the traditional Easter dinner per se, but pretty similar to many I’ve been privy to. Violent placing of food on plates,some yelling, inappropriate conversation topics…sounds like home to me.
After dinner – and a marvelous dessert – I headed home to skype the family celebration going on at Mem’s. I got to talk to almost every person present, which was awesome. Just an example of the glory that is my family:
Jon (my cousin): “Hey Cupcake”
Me: “Helllllllllllllloooo, what’s up?”
Jon: “Oh, you know, just being a silly goose.”
Then we talked about how I’m making him and Uncle Jay proud in my time here and also how we both despise all liquors that are licorice flavored (we are not meant to drink jager in my family).
In continuation of the holiday celebrations, I spent an hour at the gym this morning and then went to FOAM, a photography museum late this afternoon (yes I find both of those activities entertaining). I’ve also done no homework – this post is clear evidence of that.
And now, the productiveness begins as my parents arrive on Friday!
Sunday, April 8, 2007
When Egos Collide
…now, enough of that thought-provoking, semi-intelligent rambling; let’s talk adventures. By now you probably have all safely and accurately assumed that Boswell and I managed to not kill each other during his visit last week. We represented Americans well; we did not end up as a headline.
After almost a three month period of not seeing each other, it takes less than 15 minutes for Boz to launch the first fat chick joke.
“What? I couldn’t let that one go.”
“Please, let’s just try to survive 24 hours.”
Was there any hope? We decided to encourage good will by breaking out a Siena standard – drinking together. Making sangria was the only thing actually on the itinerary for the weekend, and we wasted no time in accomplishing our goal.
Now, as you all know, I love sangria, it is truly a celebratory drink, except when f’ing Siena Security raids your room and takes its all. But this was a mildly celebratory evening and the Dutch are as laid back as Siena is uptight, so it was a fail proof plan. As we are preparing this heavenly beverage, I forget that irony rules my life, and make a truly poor thought statement:
“You know, red wine makes my head hurt sometimes, but if it’s in sangria form, it never makes me sick.”
Some of you already know where this is going, but I think all of you can see where it’s going. Anyways, several glasses of sangria later, we headed out to meet up with Molly for a bit. …the night’s festivities are cut just ever so slightly short when it is determined that sleep would be most beneficial for Maria.
The next morning commences with “Maria still loses” and “how did you even manage that?” Word to the wise: don’t mix antibiotics and wine.
I rallied though, of course, and we spent a good amount of time wandering the city and shopping before more sangria – I don’t learn – and booze and pancakes at Lenore’s, which was amusing. I had given a precursory warning to my friends here – “he’s my friend, but sometimes – read: often – he’s offensive” but everyone managed to play nice. We recounted my failings of the night before and discussed other similar college-style adventures of Siena, because our parties at Siena are comparable to other, much larger schools. We really do pre-game harder than most people party, though I’m not sure if we should wave that banner around.
The gallivanting continued: photography museum, shopping, apple pie and beer, watching soccer (yeah, a first), wandering. Shortly after Boz’s arrival, there was more alcohol in my flat than had ever been yet this semester and by Friday it was gone. Being it was Friday night though, we headed to the Red Light District. The weekend nights are when the best of the best are on display – “first class,” if you will. That is, in comparison to “economy.” The Red Light District is such a fun place to bring visitors – we all do it shortly after a new person arrives. The RLD was even better than normal this weekend for several reasons:
1)Tons (more than regular) drunken British; applauding each other as they emerged from the girls’ locales, taking over whole sports bars, waving their asses out of bar windows, advertising “50 Euro, 50 Euro.” Oh the Brits, they really might be more hated than us on the continent.
2)Red Light District Open House on the 31st – got into the (in)famous Casa Rosso, where a much tamer show than advertised was going on, got to see in one of the girls’ apartments (though, that’s an overstatement; it’s a bed, sink, and chair really), and the unveiling of the first monument to Sex Workers in the world. The monument's content/form had been an object of debate for days; it turned out to be a mildly unimpressive woman standing in a doorway.
3) As a feminist, I hate to admit this out loud, but walking around this city with a male makes life easier – no strangers blowing kisses or smacking their lips, no comments, and no harassment at the hands of the sex show bouncers. It was a nice respite from the daily sexual harassment that Europe regularly gifts me.
As usual though, the RLD proved entertaining every time we went – and we just seemed to keep on wandering back into it.
As if life in Europe isn’t interesting enough, as I was getting in touch with people about going out Saturday night and received the following email from Molly:
“Can’t [go to a bar] I’m going out with Kristen to smoke her Mom up.”
It was quickly decided that this was a must see. It was one of those kinda amusing, kinda awkward experiences – though Molly is so chill, I love her – watching a mother, her son, and her daughter’s friend (Kristen doesn’t smoke) pass a bowl around. Oh Amsterdam.
That, my friends, is the story of two egos coexisting within the same general area. In reality we had a good time, and I only threatened violence once…and roofies, but that is another story you may or may not hear.
After almost a three month period of not seeing each other, it takes less than 15 minutes for Boz to launch the first fat chick joke.
“What? I couldn’t let that one go.”
“Please, let’s just try to survive 24 hours.”
Was there any hope? We decided to encourage good will by breaking out a Siena standard – drinking together. Making sangria was the only thing actually on the itinerary for the weekend, and we wasted no time in accomplishing our goal.
Now, as you all know, I love sangria, it is truly a celebratory drink, except when f’ing Siena Security raids your room and takes its all. But this was a mildly celebratory evening and the Dutch are as laid back as Siena is uptight, so it was a fail proof plan. As we are preparing this heavenly beverage, I forget that irony rules my life, and make a truly poor thought statement:
“You know, red wine makes my head hurt sometimes, but if it’s in sangria form, it never makes me sick.”
Some of you already know where this is going, but I think all of you can see where it’s going. Anyways, several glasses of sangria later, we headed out to meet up with Molly for a bit. …the night’s festivities are cut just ever so slightly short when it is determined that sleep would be most beneficial for Maria.
The next morning commences with “Maria still loses” and “how did you even manage that?” Word to the wise: don’t mix antibiotics and wine.
I rallied though, of course, and we spent a good amount of time wandering the city and shopping before more sangria – I don’t learn – and booze and pancakes at Lenore’s, which was amusing. I had given a precursory warning to my friends here – “he’s my friend, but sometimes – read: often – he’s offensive” but everyone managed to play nice. We recounted my failings of the night before and discussed other similar college-style adventures of Siena, because our parties at Siena are comparable to other, much larger schools. We really do pre-game harder than most people party, though I’m not sure if we should wave that banner around.
The gallivanting continued: photography museum, shopping, apple pie and beer, watching soccer (yeah, a first), wandering. Shortly after Boz’s arrival, there was more alcohol in my flat than had ever been yet this semester and by Friday it was gone. Being it was Friday night though, we headed to the Red Light District. The weekend nights are when the best of the best are on display – “first class,” if you will. That is, in comparison to “economy.” The Red Light District is such a fun place to bring visitors – we all do it shortly after a new person arrives. The RLD was even better than normal this weekend for several reasons:
1)Tons (more than regular) drunken British; applauding each other as they emerged from the girls’ locales, taking over whole sports bars, waving their asses out of bar windows, advertising “50 Euro, 50 Euro.” Oh the Brits, they really might be more hated than us on the continent.
2)Red Light District Open House on the 31st – got into the (in)famous Casa Rosso, where a much tamer show than advertised was going on, got to see in one of the girls’ apartments (though, that’s an overstatement; it’s a bed, sink, and chair really), and the unveiling of the first monument to Sex Workers in the world. The monument's content/form had been an object of debate for days; it turned out to be a mildly unimpressive woman standing in a doorway.
3) As a feminist, I hate to admit this out loud, but walking around this city with a male makes life easier – no strangers blowing kisses or smacking their lips, no comments, and no harassment at the hands of the sex show bouncers. It was a nice respite from the daily sexual harassment that Europe regularly gifts me.
As usual though, the RLD proved entertaining every time we went – and we just seemed to keep on wandering back into it.
As if life in Europe isn’t interesting enough, as I was getting in touch with people about going out Saturday night and received the following email from Molly:
“Can’t [go to a bar] I’m going out with Kristen to smoke her Mom up.”
It was quickly decided that this was a must see. It was one of those kinda amusing, kinda awkward experiences – though Molly is so chill, I love her – watching a mother, her son, and her daughter’s friend (Kristen doesn’t smoke) pass a bowl around. Oh Amsterdam.
That, my friends, is the story of two egos coexisting within the same general area. In reality we had a good time, and I only threatened violence once…and roofies, but that is another story you may or may not hear.
Monday, April 2, 2007
The Dutch Way
I have been trying to read the local news daily (in English, I'm not that good...yet) both as a point of interest and a source of education. The political system and the social climate differ in significant ways from the US, and I'm not talking about the near-total lack of conservative mind-sets or the Red Light District. One of the biggest notable differences between Europe and America is the amazing lack of political correctness here - the concept and practice are met with disgruntled looks by the straightforward Dutch. In a country where the openly gay politician Fortuyn got elected - and reelected - all the while referring to Muslims as "goat fuckers" in the media, saying whatever happens to be on your mind is perfectly acceptable.
The more I read Dutch journalism, the more I see examples of such. General news articles have a touch of informality and even a pinch of unabashed biasedness. This "cut to the chase" kind of realness can prove quite entertaining. For example, this was on the front page of March 30th edition of "The Times:"
Sexual Relations with Animals Punishable
And just a taste "Having intercourse with animals can only be punishable if it can be proved that the animal has been hurt during the act."
The Dutch - always working for the rights and protection of all beings.
On a much more serious note, the city of Amsterdam is reeling from a real tragedy. Early last week, a 17 year old French girl committed suicide from the bridge near NEMO while under the influence of magic mushrooms. In a surprisingly snap decision, some officials issued a statement suggesting a country-wide ban on mushrooms. The girl's parents are holding the country of the Netherlands directly responsible for her death - mushrooms are very easy to get, arguably a touch easier than cannabis. The smart shop that sold the offending mushrooms did not ID the girl (you need to be 18 to buy shrooms) and only had information and warnings in English, Dutch, and Spanish.
While I've never had any interest in doing shrooms, I am still well aware of their supposed effects. Even more, if someone had a desire to do them, I'd imagine they realized their potential effects - otherwise, why would you want to do them? The smart shop admitted it failed to ID the girl, which does not come as a surprise to me, having lived in the city for over two months now. In my experience, bars, supermarkets, and liquor stores never ID, while coffeeshops do sporadically, either ID'ing all those present (even those not partaking) or at least the direct buyer.
An editorial I read today echoed my own thoughts - isn't jumping right to a complete ban mildly illogical and strangely nonpragmatic for the Dutch. Mushrooms, in and of themselves, do not cause death - though I wouldn't be surprised about permanent brain damage, considering the stories I've heard - but, like many other mind-altering substances, tend to emphasize emotions and perceptions. Specifically, they are known to heighten depression. I don't know the statistics for France, but in the Netherlands Prozac and other anti-depressants are the number one prescribed drug. That number is probably not that much different in the US. So, who's to blame for the girl's suicide - a substance or a previously existing chemical problem?
Upon reading this case, I was immediately reminded of the American way of dealing with cannabis. Cannabis is not completely harmless and I'm not suggesting anything of the sort, but I am suggesting that it is not the cause behind crime, poverty, or broken homes. Millions of individuals go to jail every year for a minor drug possession, while real "criminals" get off on bail and go on with their life. Cannabis use and personal possession are tolerated practices in the NLs because this allows the government to regulate an evitable occurrence. There are negative aspects of cannabis and mushroom use, but are we pointing the gun at the right enemy?
The previously mentioned editorial pointed to alcohol (ab)use in youth - a much more common occurrence around the world, with many more documented cases of injury, death, and resulting legal problems. This was the first mushroom related incident in five years in the NLs, while alcohol abuse causes problems every day. Mushrooms in Amsterdam, Weed in Albany...but when its liquor, we all conveniently avert our eyes? To alleviate a symptom, one must treat the cause, not just the resulting discomfort.
It will be interesting to see how the Dutch handle this singular case, and if any actions taken affect other currently standing policies. In America, I don't imagine much will change soon; even the liberal Dutch are progressively growing more conservative, I think that means there's no hope in sight for right wing America.
...Now, for those who are quick to judge (though I can't imagine there's many such individuals like that reading my blog) a disclaimer: I'm not advocating drug use, but nor am I condemning it. I only wish that others would take responsibility for their personal actions; if we could all just aim for that goal, I think we would see a reduction in many little problems throughout society. Then maybe, the bigger problems could get the attention they so desperately need.
The more I read Dutch journalism, the more I see examples of such. General news articles have a touch of informality and even a pinch of unabashed biasedness. This "cut to the chase" kind of realness can prove quite entertaining. For example, this was on the front page of March 30th edition of "The Times:"
Sexual Relations with Animals Punishable
And just a taste "Having intercourse with animals can only be punishable if it can be proved that the animal has been hurt during the act."
The Dutch - always working for the rights and protection of all beings.
On a much more serious note, the city of Amsterdam is reeling from a real tragedy. Early last week, a 17 year old French girl committed suicide from the bridge near NEMO while under the influence of magic mushrooms. In a surprisingly snap decision, some officials issued a statement suggesting a country-wide ban on mushrooms. The girl's parents are holding the country of the Netherlands directly responsible for her death - mushrooms are very easy to get, arguably a touch easier than cannabis. The smart shop that sold the offending mushrooms did not ID the girl (you need to be 18 to buy shrooms) and only had information and warnings in English, Dutch, and Spanish.
While I've never had any interest in doing shrooms, I am still well aware of their supposed effects. Even more, if someone had a desire to do them, I'd imagine they realized their potential effects - otherwise, why would you want to do them? The smart shop admitted it failed to ID the girl, which does not come as a surprise to me, having lived in the city for over two months now. In my experience, bars, supermarkets, and liquor stores never ID, while coffeeshops do sporadically, either ID'ing all those present (even those not partaking) or at least the direct buyer.
An editorial I read today echoed my own thoughts - isn't jumping right to a complete ban mildly illogical and strangely nonpragmatic for the Dutch. Mushrooms, in and of themselves, do not cause death - though I wouldn't be surprised about permanent brain damage, considering the stories I've heard - but, like many other mind-altering substances, tend to emphasize emotions and perceptions. Specifically, they are known to heighten depression. I don't know the statistics for France, but in the Netherlands Prozac and other anti-depressants are the number one prescribed drug. That number is probably not that much different in the US. So, who's to blame for the girl's suicide - a substance or a previously existing chemical problem?
Upon reading this case, I was immediately reminded of the American way of dealing with cannabis. Cannabis is not completely harmless and I'm not suggesting anything of the sort, but I am suggesting that it is not the cause behind crime, poverty, or broken homes. Millions of individuals go to jail every year for a minor drug possession, while real "criminals" get off on bail and go on with their life. Cannabis use and personal possession are tolerated practices in the NLs because this allows the government to regulate an evitable occurrence. There are negative aspects of cannabis and mushroom use, but are we pointing the gun at the right enemy?
The previously mentioned editorial pointed to alcohol (ab)use in youth - a much more common occurrence around the world, with many more documented cases of injury, death, and resulting legal problems. This was the first mushroom related incident in five years in the NLs, while alcohol abuse causes problems every day. Mushrooms in Amsterdam, Weed in Albany...but when its liquor, we all conveniently avert our eyes? To alleviate a symptom, one must treat the cause, not just the resulting discomfort.
It will be interesting to see how the Dutch handle this singular case, and if any actions taken affect other currently standing policies. In America, I don't imagine much will change soon; even the liberal Dutch are progressively growing more conservative, I think that means there's no hope in sight for right wing America.
...Now, for those who are quick to judge (though I can't imagine there's many such individuals like that reading my blog) a disclaimer: I'm not advocating drug use, but nor am I condemning it. I only wish that others would take responsibility for their personal actions; if we could all just aim for that goal, I think we would see a reduction in many little problems throughout society. Then maybe, the bigger problems could get the attention they so desperately need.
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