Too funny.
Three things are certain:
Death, taxes, and lost data.
Guess which has occurred.
Everything is gone;
Your life's work has been destroyed.
Squeeze trigger (yes/no)?
Windows NT crashed.
I am the Blue Screen of Death.
No one hears your screams.
Seeing my great fault
Through darkening blue windows
I begin again
The code was willing,
It considered your request,
But the chips were weak.
Printer not ready.
Could be a fatal error.
Have a pen handy?
A file that big?
It might be very useful.
But now it is gone.
Errors have occurred.
We won't tell you where or why.
Lazy programmers.
Server's poor response
Not quick enough for browser.
Timed out, plum blossom.
Chaos reigns within.
Reflect, repent, and reboot.
Order shall return.
Login incorrect.
Only perfect spellers may
enter this system.
This site has been moved.
We'd tell you where, but then we'd
have to delete you.
Wind catches lily
Scatt'ring petals to the wind:
Segmentation fault
ABORTED effort:
Close all that you have.
You ask way too much.
First snow, then silence.
This thousand dollar screen dies
so beautifully.
With searching comes loss
and the presence of absence:
"My Novel" not found.
The Tao that is seen
Is not the true Tao, until
You bring fresh toner.
The Web site you seek
cannot be located but
endless others exist
Stay the patient course
Of little worth is your ire
The network is down
A crash reduces
your expensive computer
to a simple stone.
There is a chasm
of carbon and silicon
the software can't bridge
Yesterday it worked
Today it is not working
Windows is like that
To have no errors
Would be life without meaning
No struggle, no joy
You step in the stream,
but the water has moved on.
This page is not here.
No keyboard present
Hit F1 to continue
Zen engineering?
Hal, open the file
Hal, open the damn file, Hal
open the, please Hal
Out of memory.
We wish to hold the whole sky,
But we never will.
Having been erased,
The document you're seeking
Must now be retyped.
The ten thousand things
How long do any persist?
Netscape, too, has gone.
Rather than a beep
Or a rude error message,
These words: "File not found."
Serious error.
All shortcuts have disappeared
Screen. Mind. Both are blank.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
Amsterdam ll
Well, the Amsterdam trip wasn’t quite all I wanted it to be…there were several costs/expenditures that were a little more than I had planned for, and when I left needed to give my business partner $125 that I had expected to have with me. It was a necessary expense for website/phone upkeep, and definitely worthwhile, but it did unfortunately limit my excursions a bit, mostly to places that were within walking distance of the Red Light.
I was able to see the Anne Frank house, which was really my first stop on the map, and one I would’ve hated to miss. When I was living in Brussels and about eight or nine, we traveled with several other families from the ICA (Institute of Cultural Affairs) house around Europe. We hit Switzerland, France, Germany, Spain, the Netherlands, and a couple of other places. While I vaguely remember the Louvre and all the various castles and pretty sights, the two places we visited that grabbed hold of my spirit and wouldn’t let go were the Anne Frank House and the small concentration camp we visited, . I’ve always been sensitive to energy in general (the double Pisces in me helps), and in both places, it was thick and riveting. The Anne Frank house affected me on such a deep level that not only do I remember it vividly, I still have the original diary we bought there, gingerly taped together and missing a couple of pages here and there. It freaked me out that there was this whole little quiet, terrified world behind that bookcase, and it tripped me out even further that that space was there BEFORE they moved in. I always wondered what it was doing there and what it had been used for previous to harboring the Franks and the others that lived with them. I think I also deeply identified with this girl because she was a child, forced into womanhood years before she was one, leaving behind this legacy that was simply her diary, one of the few friends with which she could share this incredible burden. It affected me just as deeply this time around, and again, I found myself broken down to my most humble components, both by the residual energy of the place, as well as the story itself.
I also saw the Dali museum (insert heavenly chorus here). Dali has always been a huge favorite of mine, and it was almost godly (hence the chorus) to see these pieces in real life. I wasn’t able to see any other art museums, unfortunately, and it would figure that with all my fuckin planning, the one thing I failed to pack was my camera, so there are unfortunately no photos of this trip. But as has already been decided, my girl Leslie and I will be going together, so hopefully then, I’ll be a little more prepared, and will have the time to really see the city in all its splendor. Anyone who wants to make a posse of it, put your name on the list and start saving now!
As previously mentioned, I had to tour the Red Light and do a sex show. Since it was on the very bottom of my list of things to do, I really didn’t do much research on it…then again, what kind of research WOULD you do? It’s pretty self-explanatory, right? Well, we got there, and for the first few songs, we had a couple of the most creative, playful, and enthusiastic strippers I’ve ever seen, and folks, I’ve seen quite a few. It was interesting; these girls really, genuinely enjoyed themselves. It wasn’t the seedy, guilt ridden, perfunctory atmosphere you find in most US clubs. These women were simply empowered and loved what they were doing, and that, in and of itself, made it pretty damn enjoyable. Next – and here’s the part that flew right over my head regarding what to expect – was a couple who actually HAD sex. Now, you’ve seen it once, you’ve done it a few times, so you know the drill. But not only was I surprised by the fact that there was actual sex and fellatio involved, not to mention unprotected, it was the smoothest, most orchestrated sex I’ve ever witnessed. They moved effortlessly and fluidly (no pun intended, it’s just the best descriptive, really) from one position to the next, and they did so in perfect rhythm to the music, making it that much more precisely choreographed and fascinating. This wasn’t the dirty, raw fucking you see in bad porn, but curiously, was at the same time so detached that it was sort of baffling. The only thing I can imagine is that these two sat down with nothing short of storyboards and at least ten hours to practice and get it just right. I don’t know how else to describe it, but it was a bit mind-blowing, to say the least.
The icing on that particular cake, however, was the reactions of the audience, something I relished just as much as the show itself. Remember all those partying frat kids and sorority girls I mentioned earlier? Oh, what amusement!! The men’s jaws dropped to the floor and stayed there long enough for a little drool to escape, and the women immediately found spots either on the floor or the ceiling that suddenly seemed to hold a great deal of interest. After about ten minutes past the foreplay and into the intercourse itself, you could see all the girls nudging their men, clearly urging them to leave, and I’m not kidding when I say half the men took absolutely no notice whatsoever, further angering the girls, some of whom simply got up and walked out. This finally got the attention of their men, who managed to look genuinely wounded that their women were so offended and finally, but VERY reluctantly, got up and followed them out. Then there was me, grinning like a kid with a new toy and going, “Wooooowwwww, cooooooooool, dude!”, but unfortunately, much like the other women, Lorna and Anthea finally had their awkward fill and asked if we could take off and move on with the night. Much like the other men, I was reluctant to do so, but I’d seen enough to write THIS much about it, so I was happy. Lorna and Anthea both said it was part of Amsterdam they’d wanted to experience, and despite the discomfort it brought them, expressed they were glad they’d seen it. It is certainly an experience that brings your inhibitions, conditioning, and prejudices - no matter how mild - crashing to the forefront, and at least in the case of these two, I believe that it made them think in a manner that most of the other women probably didn’t. By the end of my time with Lorna and Anthea, I would have totally asked them to be my BFF if they didn’t live in London. They, along with Patrick, certainly made the trip 150% more enjoyable than it might have otherwise been.
My visit to Amsterdam was entirely too short, but no less worth it. On to Kenya!!
I was able to see the Anne Frank house, which was really my first stop on the map, and one I would’ve hated to miss. When I was living in Brussels and about eight or nine, we traveled with several other families from the ICA (Institute of Cultural Affairs) house around Europe. We hit Switzerland, France, Germany, Spain, the Netherlands, and a couple of other places. While I vaguely remember the Louvre and all the various castles and pretty sights, the two places we visited that grabbed hold of my spirit and wouldn’t let go were the Anne Frank House and the small concentration camp we visited, . I’ve always been sensitive to energy in general (the double Pisces in me helps), and in both places, it was thick and riveting. The Anne Frank house affected me on such a deep level that not only do I remember it vividly, I still have the original diary we bought there, gingerly taped together and missing a couple of pages here and there. It freaked me out that there was this whole little quiet, terrified world behind that bookcase, and it tripped me out even further that that space was there BEFORE they moved in. I always wondered what it was doing there and what it had been used for previous to harboring the Franks and the others that lived with them. I think I also deeply identified with this girl because she was a child, forced into womanhood years before she was one, leaving behind this legacy that was simply her diary, one of the few friends with which she could share this incredible burden. It affected me just as deeply this time around, and again, I found myself broken down to my most humble components, both by the residual energy of the place, as well as the story itself.
I also saw the Dali museum (insert heavenly chorus here). Dali has always been a huge favorite of mine, and it was almost godly (hence the chorus) to see these pieces in real life. I wasn’t able to see any other art museums, unfortunately, and it would figure that with all my fuckin planning, the one thing I failed to pack was my camera, so there are unfortunately no photos of this trip. But as has already been decided, my girl Leslie and I will be going together, so hopefully then, I’ll be a little more prepared, and will have the time to really see the city in all its splendor. Anyone who wants to make a posse of it, put your name on the list and start saving now!
As previously mentioned, I had to tour the Red Light and do a sex show. Since it was on the very bottom of my list of things to do, I really didn’t do much research on it…then again, what kind of research WOULD you do? It’s pretty self-explanatory, right? Well, we got there, and for the first few songs, we had a couple of the most creative, playful, and enthusiastic strippers I’ve ever seen, and folks, I’ve seen quite a few. It was interesting; these girls really, genuinely enjoyed themselves. It wasn’t the seedy, guilt ridden, perfunctory atmosphere you find in most US clubs. These women were simply empowered and loved what they were doing, and that, in and of itself, made it pretty damn enjoyable. Next – and here’s the part that flew right over my head regarding what to expect – was a couple who actually HAD sex. Now, you’ve seen it once, you’ve done it a few times, so you know the drill. But not only was I surprised by the fact that there was actual sex and fellatio involved, not to mention unprotected, it was the smoothest, most orchestrated sex I’ve ever witnessed. They moved effortlessly and fluidly (no pun intended, it’s just the best descriptive, really) from one position to the next, and they did so in perfect rhythm to the music, making it that much more precisely choreographed and fascinating. This wasn’t the dirty, raw fucking you see in bad porn, but curiously, was at the same time so detached that it was sort of baffling. The only thing I can imagine is that these two sat down with nothing short of storyboards and at least ten hours to practice and get it just right. I don’t know how else to describe it, but it was a bit mind-blowing, to say the least.
The icing on that particular cake, however, was the reactions of the audience, something I relished just as much as the show itself. Remember all those partying frat kids and sorority girls I mentioned earlier? Oh, what amusement!! The men’s jaws dropped to the floor and stayed there long enough for a little drool to escape, and the women immediately found spots either on the floor or the ceiling that suddenly seemed to hold a great deal of interest. After about ten minutes past the foreplay and into the intercourse itself, you could see all the girls nudging their men, clearly urging them to leave, and I’m not kidding when I say half the men took absolutely no notice whatsoever, further angering the girls, some of whom simply got up and walked out. This finally got the attention of their men, who managed to look genuinely wounded that their women were so offended and finally, but VERY reluctantly, got up and followed them out. Then there was me, grinning like a kid with a new toy and going, “Wooooowwwww, cooooooooool, dude!”, but unfortunately, much like the other women, Lorna and Anthea finally had their awkward fill and asked if we could take off and move on with the night. Much like the other men, I was reluctant to do so, but I’d seen enough to write THIS much about it, so I was happy. Lorna and Anthea both said it was part of Amsterdam they’d wanted to experience, and despite the discomfort it brought them, expressed they were glad they’d seen it. It is certainly an experience that brings your inhibitions, conditioning, and prejudices - no matter how mild - crashing to the forefront, and at least in the case of these two, I believe that it made them think in a manner that most of the other women probably didn’t. By the end of my time with Lorna and Anthea, I would have totally asked them to be my BFF if they didn’t live in London. They, along with Patrick, certainly made the trip 150% more enjoyable than it might have otherwise been.
My visit to Amsterdam was entirely too short, but no less worth it. On to Kenya!!
Amsterdam, baby
So l took off yesterday for Kenya, had a GREAT layover in Atlanta, where l got to see two of my favorite Atliens, Ernest and Joel. More detailed blog on that to come. l finally got to Amsterdam, not a bad flight, especially since l flew business and had my pick of whatever movies and TV shows...and LEG ROOM HALLELUJAH!! :) Anyway, got to Amsterdam, immediately met some hilarious Liverpool boys in town for a game (can ANYONE understand these folks?? l was amazed l could follow even half of what they were saying, lol), who were kind enough to show me the way to my hostel. Got to the hostel, where they informed me l was not in the computer, and l proceeded to have a very quiet and complete freakout. l got the impression based on reviews of how some of the Americans here had been treated that to freak out publicly would have resulted in some unfriendly customer service, not that l'm a bitch anyway, but it seemed safer to be patient and see how it worked out. Fortunately that paid off, and it turned out that my dad, who booked the reservations, had booked me in yesterday instead of today, so l had to pay for another day, but l came prepared with a little extra cash so no biggie, and l think the fact that l DIDN'T freak out was why the lady chose to give me a ten percent discount on the final day, which saved me about four euros. l have a sneaky feeling that the Americans who DID post bitchy reviews were actually just bitchy themselves and earned the unpleasant treatment they got here, and frankly, having seen some of the appalling behavior of American tourists over the years (and keep in mind that l'm in the Red Light District, making way for lots of young drunken frat boys), l don't find myself all that surprised. Patience and friendliness in a foreign country does pay off, not to mention it's basic common courtesy...and at this juncture in present history, l'd like to represent America in a pleasant way.
At any rate, l'm here, yay! And you know, originally, l planned on coming here and partying some, but l'm just not sure that's something l want to do now. l really want to relish this experience, to soak it up, and to remember every detail of who l meet, where l go, what l see. After having to pay for an extra day, l may have less money to see all the museums and little things l wanted to do, but that's okay. l think l'll take this time just to experience the people and the atmosphere and simply make plans to come back when l'm able to really make it worthwhile. l remember loving Amsterdam as a kid, and l know that l'll be back here. Besides, there's a bunch of free shit l can do, so it's all good. Anyway, l don't know that l'll write more while l'm here, l may record it in my journal and then transfer it all here, but so far, l'm safe and the first half of my trip has been successful and l'm excited to go do my own thing and really appreciate a new and different culture for a few days.
Ah, finally. The Amsterdam part of the trip. I’m sitting on one of the many canals outside my hostel, the Bulldog. There are at least five Bulldogs here, most of them on the same strip...something that caused some consternation when trying to find THE Bulldog I was looking to check into. Not a problem, however, since THE Bulldog I was looking for had “hotel” underneath it, and all the rest were cafes and lounges. Suppose I could’ve figured that one out had I planned a bit better.
I decided to smoke a joint...I couldn’t help it. It was more the opportunity to do so out in the open than an issue of high quality, so I bought a prerolled spliff, rolled with tobacco, and that thing is HUGE. It’ll probably last me my full trip here. Took about three hits, put it out, and I’m feeling just fine. It’s a BEAUTIFUL day outside, I mean, 74, blue skies, lots of sun, gorgeous. A day this nice, at this time of the year, is a bit unprecedented; I know this based on weather reports I checked out, and also the reaction of the locals here, who expressed some dissatisfaction about having to work when it looks like this outside.
I’m tripping out a bit...I’m working on light sleep, I’m jetlagged, I’m buzzed, I’m still hyped over seeing two of my favorite people from Atlanta, and then there’s just the vast change in setting, culture, country. I was a bit deliberate about this little visit, though it was largely luck due to the airline I was flying and ticketing options. Aside from my trip to Seattle for a rite of passage camp at fourteen and moving to Seattle at twenty five, this is the first time I’ve been somewhere new on my own, and this is the first trip to a new culture as an adult. I feel free in a whole new way, and one I can’t entirely describe.
Everyone here’s dressed to the nines, among the tourists plastered from head to toe in Amsterdam gear. The peoplewatching is *spectacular*. Everyone walking by is hot, and I mean, really, REALLY hot, and incredibly diverse. It’s not that I don’t love Seattle, but I’ve been here two hours and I could easily live here, and love it. There’s a LOT of trash here, but I’ve not left the area yet, so it could be different elsewhere in Amsterdam. The area I currently happen to be in is the Red Light District, which, well, it *would* be trashy now, wouldn’t it. It’s sort of fun, though, being surrounded by dildos.
I’m pretty tired. It’s eleven in the morning, but I’m not allowed to check in until three, because they’re cleaning the rooms. I have no complaints about my room and bathroom (which I’m sharing with eight or ten other people) being so fresh and so clean when I get in there, and fortunately have been able to stow my VERY large suitcase in the storage room, but I’m still lugging around my backpack and small carryon suitcase, which means I’m not going very far. I really want to, I’m ready to explore...but that’s okay. This is a good time to just chill and absorb, and frankly, after hauling my luggage the six blocks to the hostel, I’m worn the fuck out and don’t have much energy at the moment to do anything but sit. All total, I’m hauling about eighty pounds, maybe a bit more. Since there are a few things Dad can’t get in Kenya without handing over his firstborn, my suitcase is packed FULL. As far as clothes, got some for me, five to seven pairs of jeans for Dad, about twenty or twenty five pieces of clothing for Aidan since he’s growing out of his old ones, and about 20 large bottles of Excedrin, five large of Tums, and (this gave me a bit of a Dad’s-impending-fragility pause) two large of senior multivitamins. I’m so relieved I made it here without my bag being opened and rifled, worried they would think I was carrying drugs, but I’ve left all the security tabs on, so I guess it was fine.
Yay! All done putting my stuff in the room, time to explore. I’ve met three people from London, Anthea, Patrick, and Lorna. Patrick is 22 years of as Irish as they come, and he’s adorable. Anthea and Lorna are absolutely hilarious, full of dry wit. I’ve been cracking up for the last two hours with these chicks, and the most recent hilarity is when Lorna asked Anthea where her ciggies were, to which she replied, “Lahst toim oi sawr em, luv, they were in moi hole.” Priceless. The bartender’s name is David, who moved here from Scotland with little money, and no job or home, and within two weeks, had a job and room at the hostel. He says this is the story with half of the out-of-towners-turned-locals here that he knows. If I really wanted to move here, this is the kind of place where I could make it happen without much effort.
This town kicks ass. It’s a bit Alice-in-Wonderlandish. Every coffeeshop or bar or restaurant has all this crazy art and deco on the walls, wacky interior design, and often, loud but REALLY good electronica. As I sit here, the coffee shop across the street is playing some incredible deep house, there’s a receptionist from my hostel getting down on the sidewalk outside, and I’m facing a grafitti piece of a cartoon globe with a ribbon in front of it that says “Enjoy the world”. A car just went by with two kids getting down to the funky music and a Pooh Bear decal on the back window. The little raver girl in me has died and gone to heaven.
The people are pretty fucking cool too. At one point, I was walking around and stopped in a coffeeshop near the hostel to check it out and say hi. When I left, I got a coffee to go, handed her a twenty euro bill, and didn’t realize until I walked out that I was short ten euro. I was with Anthea, Lorna and Patrick, and was debating whether or not to go in and ask about it, as I was worried I’d be perceived the wrong way. Lorna encouraged me to just go back in, so I did. The minute the chick behind the counter saw me, she walked to the register, pulled out a ten, and handed it to me with a profuse apology and a smile. I hadn’t thought she’d done it deliberately, and it was really refreshing to experience that. It’s clear the locals here tire easily of the obnoxious, raucous frat boys and sorority girls that frequent the Red Light, and it would certainly be easy to short them a few euro here and there if one wanted to. It’s nice to know that, after a nice conversation with this woman, she considered me cool enough that I wasn’t there to raise a scene, and that she was honest enough to return my money. That says a great deal.
The people here don’t take shit. Don’t get me wrong; they’re REALLY nice; they simply don’t cater to assholes. I had a conversation with one of the hostel employees, and here’s how she put it. “In other countries,” she said, “they have to be nice in order to get paid, even if their customers are dicks. Here, it’s not our job to teach our tourists to learn the language or be courteous, or to take their shit when they’re not. We require mutual kindness and respect here, and we don’t get penalized if we’re forced to tell a customer to fuck off when they’re making our lives hard.” Word.
I think it helps that, even though it’s clear I’m a tourist with my maps and whatnot, I don’t really look or act like one. I wouldn’t, given my own experiences with tourists in the countries I lived in, and it doesn’t hurt that I’m pretty likeable. Part of the issue locals here have with tourists is that since Amsterdam is THE place for pot smokers and general perverts worldwide to come - the Marijuana Mecca, if you will - it means the vibe is guaranteed to be chill in regards to certain individuals and groups, and completely insufferable with others. Regarding the latter, travelers here tend to either be whiny, over privileged families with three screaming kids and a major chip on their shoulders, or the aforementioned frat boys and Girls-gone-Wild types that are simply here to get high, drunk, and watch sex shows. Those kinds fuck it up for the rest of us, because despite the openness of the place, the rules and regulations that DO exist are very specific. For example, there are freestanding patios and tables here that don’t necessarily belong to an establishment. There’s NO drinking whatsoever if you are sitting at these, a rule that clearly gets broken regularly, as was evidenced by the four soccer hooligans I saw getting a ticket for their pints a few hours ago. There are also establishments that choose not to allow pot or cigarette smoking in their establishments, which means you MUST ask before indulging in either. The problem with irresponsible smokers and drinkers (generally, any situation involving either substance) is that people get dumb and don’t think, and get themselves in trouble. Not to mention that, even though the coffeeshops are generally where you purchase pot if you want to smoke, there’s a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ rule in regards to divulging WHERE you got it when asked. These are not difficult rules to follow, but as I said, they’re broken regularly, and I can’t say I blame the locals for their low tolerance level in regards to those who break them.
That’s enough for now. I’m off to do a mandatory sex show and trip around the Red Light. I’m hoping tomorrow I’ll have the opportunity to hit the Anne Frank House and see the tulips, which are currently in full bloom, and according to everyone around here, both local and traveler alike, they’re stunning. Woohoo! Fri,
At any rate, l'm here, yay! And you know, originally, l planned on coming here and partying some, but l'm just not sure that's something l want to do now. l really want to relish this experience, to soak it up, and to remember every detail of who l meet, where l go, what l see. After having to pay for an extra day, l may have less money to see all the museums and little things l wanted to do, but that's okay. l think l'll take this time just to experience the people and the atmosphere and simply make plans to come back when l'm able to really make it worthwhile. l remember loving Amsterdam as a kid, and l know that l'll be back here. Besides, there's a bunch of free shit l can do, so it's all good. Anyway, l don't know that l'll write more while l'm here, l may record it in my journal and then transfer it all here, but so far, l'm safe and the first half of my trip has been successful and l'm excited to go do my own thing and really appreciate a new and different culture for a few days.
Ah, finally. The Amsterdam part of the trip. I’m sitting on one of the many canals outside my hostel, the Bulldog. There are at least five Bulldogs here, most of them on the same strip...something that caused some consternation when trying to find THE Bulldog I was looking to check into. Not a problem, however, since THE Bulldog I was looking for had “hotel” underneath it, and all the rest were cafes and lounges. Suppose I could’ve figured that one out had I planned a bit better.
I decided to smoke a joint...I couldn’t help it. It was more the opportunity to do so out in the open than an issue of high quality, so I bought a prerolled spliff, rolled with tobacco, and that thing is HUGE. It’ll probably last me my full trip here. Took about three hits, put it out, and I’m feeling just fine. It’s a BEAUTIFUL day outside, I mean, 74, blue skies, lots of sun, gorgeous. A day this nice, at this time of the year, is a bit unprecedented; I know this based on weather reports I checked out, and also the reaction of the locals here, who expressed some dissatisfaction about having to work when it looks like this outside.
I’m tripping out a bit...I’m working on light sleep, I’m jetlagged, I’m buzzed, I’m still hyped over seeing two of my favorite people from Atlanta, and then there’s just the vast change in setting, culture, country. I was a bit deliberate about this little visit, though it was largely luck due to the airline I was flying and ticketing options. Aside from my trip to Seattle for a rite of passage camp at fourteen and moving to Seattle at twenty five, this is the first time I’ve been somewhere new on my own, and this is the first trip to a new culture as an adult. I feel free in a whole new way, and one I can’t entirely describe.
Everyone here’s dressed to the nines, among the tourists plastered from head to toe in Amsterdam gear. The peoplewatching is *spectacular*. Everyone walking by is hot, and I mean, really, REALLY hot, and incredibly diverse. It’s not that I don’t love Seattle, but I’ve been here two hours and I could easily live here, and love it. There’s a LOT of trash here, but I’ve not left the area yet, so it could be different elsewhere in Amsterdam. The area I currently happen to be in is the Red Light District, which, well, it *would* be trashy now, wouldn’t it. It’s sort of fun, though, being surrounded by dildos.
I’m pretty tired. It’s eleven in the morning, but I’m not allowed to check in until three, because they’re cleaning the rooms. I have no complaints about my room and bathroom (which I’m sharing with eight or ten other people) being so fresh and so clean when I get in there, and fortunately have been able to stow my VERY large suitcase in the storage room, but I’m still lugging around my backpack and small carryon suitcase, which means I’m not going very far. I really want to, I’m ready to explore...but that’s okay. This is a good time to just chill and absorb, and frankly, after hauling my luggage the six blocks to the hostel, I’m worn the fuck out and don’t have much energy at the moment to do anything but sit. All total, I’m hauling about eighty pounds, maybe a bit more. Since there are a few things Dad can’t get in Kenya without handing over his firstborn, my suitcase is packed FULL. As far as clothes, got some for me, five to seven pairs of jeans for Dad, about twenty or twenty five pieces of clothing for Aidan since he’s growing out of his old ones, and about 20 large bottles of Excedrin, five large of Tums, and (this gave me a bit of a Dad’s-impending-fragility pause) two large of senior multivitamins. I’m so relieved I made it here without my bag being opened and rifled, worried they would think I was carrying drugs, but I’ve left all the security tabs on, so I guess it was fine.
Yay! All done putting my stuff in the room, time to explore. I’ve met three people from London, Anthea, Patrick, and Lorna. Patrick is 22 years of as Irish as they come, and he’s adorable. Anthea and Lorna are absolutely hilarious, full of dry wit. I’ve been cracking up for the last two hours with these chicks, and the most recent hilarity is when Lorna asked Anthea where her ciggies were, to which she replied, “Lahst toim oi sawr em, luv, they were in moi hole.” Priceless. The bartender’s name is David, who moved here from Scotland with little money, and no job or home, and within two weeks, had a job and room at the hostel. He says this is the story with half of the out-of-towners-turned-locals here that he knows. If I really wanted to move here, this is the kind of place where I could make it happen without much effort.
This town kicks ass. It’s a bit Alice-in-Wonderlandish. Every coffeeshop or bar or restaurant has all this crazy art and deco on the walls, wacky interior design, and often, loud but REALLY good electronica. As I sit here, the coffee shop across the street is playing some incredible deep house, there’s a receptionist from my hostel getting down on the sidewalk outside, and I’m facing a grafitti piece of a cartoon globe with a ribbon in front of it that says “Enjoy the world”. A car just went by with two kids getting down to the funky music and a Pooh Bear decal on the back window. The little raver girl in me has died and gone to heaven.
The people are pretty fucking cool too. At one point, I was walking around and stopped in a coffeeshop near the hostel to check it out and say hi. When I left, I got a coffee to go, handed her a twenty euro bill, and didn’t realize until I walked out that I was short ten euro. I was with Anthea, Lorna and Patrick, and was debating whether or not to go in and ask about it, as I was worried I’d be perceived the wrong way. Lorna encouraged me to just go back in, so I did. The minute the chick behind the counter saw me, she walked to the register, pulled out a ten, and handed it to me with a profuse apology and a smile. I hadn’t thought she’d done it deliberately, and it was really refreshing to experience that. It’s clear the locals here tire easily of the obnoxious, raucous frat boys and sorority girls that frequent the Red Light, and it would certainly be easy to short them a few euro here and there if one wanted to. It’s nice to know that, after a nice conversation with this woman, she considered me cool enough that I wasn’t there to raise a scene, and that she was honest enough to return my money. That says a great deal.
The people here don’t take shit. Don’t get me wrong; they’re REALLY nice; they simply don’t cater to assholes. I had a conversation with one of the hostel employees, and here’s how she put it. “In other countries,” she said, “they have to be nice in order to get paid, even if their customers are dicks. Here, it’s not our job to teach our tourists to learn the language or be courteous, or to take their shit when they’re not. We require mutual kindness and respect here, and we don’t get penalized if we’re forced to tell a customer to fuck off when they’re making our lives hard.” Word.
I think it helps that, even though it’s clear I’m a tourist with my maps and whatnot, I don’t really look or act like one. I wouldn’t, given my own experiences with tourists in the countries I lived in, and it doesn’t hurt that I’m pretty likeable. Part of the issue locals here have with tourists is that since Amsterdam is THE place for pot smokers and general perverts worldwide to come - the Marijuana Mecca, if you will - it means the vibe is guaranteed to be chill in regards to certain individuals and groups, and completely insufferable with others. Regarding the latter, travelers here tend to either be whiny, over privileged families with three screaming kids and a major chip on their shoulders, or the aforementioned frat boys and Girls-gone-Wild types that are simply here to get high, drunk, and watch sex shows. Those kinds fuck it up for the rest of us, because despite the openness of the place, the rules and regulations that DO exist are very specific. For example, there are freestanding patios and tables here that don’t necessarily belong to an establishment. There’s NO drinking whatsoever if you are sitting at these, a rule that clearly gets broken regularly, as was evidenced by the four soccer hooligans I saw getting a ticket for their pints a few hours ago. There are also establishments that choose not to allow pot or cigarette smoking in their establishments, which means you MUST ask before indulging in either. The problem with irresponsible smokers and drinkers (generally, any situation involving either substance) is that people get dumb and don’t think, and get themselves in trouble. Not to mention that, even though the coffeeshops are generally where you purchase pot if you want to smoke, there’s a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ rule in regards to divulging WHERE you got it when asked. These are not difficult rules to follow, but as I said, they’re broken regularly, and I can’t say I blame the locals for their low tolerance level in regards to those who break them.
That’s enough for now. I’m off to do a mandatory sex show and trip around the Red Light. I’m hoping tomorrow I’ll have the opportunity to hit the Anne Frank House and see the tulips, which are currently in full bloom, and according to everyone around here, both local and traveler alike, they’re stunning. Woohoo! Fri,
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