TRAVELCHEESE

Eurovision! The best thing ever.

2011-05-15T03:31:00.009+02:00

Live blogging while watching the Eurovision song contest 2011 from my computer. Oh America, I wish you would embrace the goodness that is.

Finland: His face could fit in a thimble. It's disturbing. Apparently he is going out to save the planet because he doesn't want to be da da dum. Hmmm. So this is what earnest looks like without hipster facial hair.

Bosnia + Herzegovina: Sort of love the gray fox leading the troop. He is back in the competition after 12 years and wearing a 15 year old jacket. Hot.

Denmark. A young Brad Pit with Val Kilmer hair in leather pants leads a band of Aryans in a very heartfelt singalong: "Come on boys, come on girls, in this crazy, crazy world, you're the diamonds, you're the pearls, let's make a new tomorrow. Come on girls, come on boys, its your future, its your choice, and your weapon is your voice, let's make a new tomorrow. Today"

Lithuania: Hoping for extensions from Evelina. Aaaaaand....I can't even focus on her hair, as her dress seems to be infected with a black spore outbreak of some sort that is eating her mid-section. I REALLY hope the Fug girls are watching. Oh my. She's signing the lyrics and smoke is now overtaking the stage. But not enough to cover the unfortunate mermaid cut of the non-spore area of the dress. Going for more wine...my poor heart can't take this much.

Hungary: Kati Wolf is the singer...short skirt but the most amazing ring I believe I have ever seen. I wear big rings to distract from my face, and seemingly, so does she. Sort of an Anna Kolter look alike, but the song is a definite contender. Tom and I are dancing in our seats. The back up singers and dancers' costumes are lit up, highlighting their amazing hats and well cut suits. Very impressive.

Ireland: Already won for best hair and costume. They are called Jedword. Oh how I wish you could see this. Apparently these guys came in 6th in the UK "X Factor," but the kids are bringing the theatrics...and not much else. Now I understand why James Joyce was a drunk, if he had to deal with annoying kids like this.

Sweden: Never fail to bring the homoerotics. This time we have leather clad men performing synchronized dances, singing a bad Glad-inspired song about wanting to be popular. Big moment is when the dancers wheel over glass panels, making a box around the lead singer, only to have him BREAK the glass and break out of the box. Get it? He will be popular!

Estonia: With a name like Getter, it's got to be good. I have my extensions, but, disturbingly paired with a Minnie Mouse dress. I was prepared for flowing chiffon, but not Lolita. I can honestly not close my mouth for the jaw-dropping weirdness of it all. Apparently the song is about Rockefeller Street, where very strange things happen in neon colors.

Greece: Globalization has some unfortunate side-effects, like Greece having an Emenem sound-alike start their song. And the juxtaposition of him, with the main song being performed by a cute as a button young man singing all HUGE in Greek, makes me think I am being served spanakopita in a hip-hop club.

Russia: The first "Do you feel my heart beat Europe?" rhetorical question of the night!!!! Third boy band dancing and singing in harmony. Remember how Russian gymnasts in the 70s and 80s always looked sad and at least 15 years behind the times in their blue eyeshadow and bendy barrettes? And how we thought, since there are things like music television, that kids would be all caught up and current by now? And we were sort of sad about the sameness of it all? Take heart. In Europe, it's 1995 and the boy band still reigns supreme.

France: What happens when you use too much molding mud.I love that he is singing in a giant French operatic drama tenor fabulous voice, but am distracted by the sweat on his top lip and matteness of his hair.

Italy: Back in the competition after 13 years. Oh Italy. You could have done so much, but your version of Michael Buble is not good. Over-cooked pasta and watery tiramisu not good.

Switzerland: Very nice and very forgettable. Just like Switzerland.

13 ACTS IN AND MY VOTE SO FAR IS HUNGARY #1 AND FRANCE #2

UK: The same band as last year. You may know them as the group that the old singer beat out for the Christmas #1 in "Love Actually." Blue. They are the archetypal aging boy band and just so sad. Note to self: sell those tickets to the New Kids on the Block/Backstreet Boys show at the Meadowlands.

Moldova: Girl in fairy costume on a unicycle. Tall pointy hats and costumes that can only be called gnome inspired. If gnomes were on acid. The lead singer resembles Vin Diesel, and is wearing a monocle. The song is called "So Lucky" and indeed I am, to live in a world where Eurovision is delivered to my computer. Nothing on television is EVER as good as this.

Germany: Lena, last year's winner, and the reason I had to sing "99 Luftballoons" loudly in public, is performing again. The brilliant thing about Eurovision is that you cannot vote for your own country, so you really have to have a great song in order to garner votes from other countries. Especially if you're Germany. This song isn't so great. And she's lost the cute factor.

Romania: Contender. Cute lead singer, simple lyrics, catchy tune, horn section, very entertaining. Could this be Norway 2009 all over again?

Austria: The other big theme of the night is people living in peace and changing the world...God I miss Europe sometimes. She is wearing fierce platforms, matched by an equally fierce voice. Apparently the secret is love, by the way. I can totally imagine Rachel singing this song in a very special episode of Glee. Big props to anyone who can belt out the big notes on 6" heels.

Azerbaijan: Just when you think the Eurovision song content has gone soft, a J-Lo lookalike comes along to restore your faith in hair extensions and wind machines. But even they are...innocuous. Where is my rocking violin player and lycra-clad dance troop? If not Azerbaijan, then who??

Slovenia: Et tu, Slovenia?

Iceland: Six men, in jeans, waistcoats and ties, sing another Buble-inspired tune. 2011: all about the Bube. They seem like very nice boys, just like MB.

Spain: I have always liked that Spain sings in Spanish. The lyrics don't really matter, because the lead singer's eyes speak the international language of crazy. She freezes my soul with her yearning for a boyfriend, marriage proposal or baby.

Ukraine: Come on Mika -- please bring it. We have live sand painting on stage, projected behind the singer, which is a promising start. But, alas, they are earnest angels wearing crystal white, and cannot bring the fabulous. Though the angel wing shoulder pads get some points. Not everyone can carry off that look.

Serbia: OK. Now we are talking. 60s-inspired girl group singing in Serbian. Super cute! And a successful chord change!

Georgia: Going for the rocking option tonight, which has been missing amongst the boy band and Buble. Mixing it up with a little rap as well...perhaps the Georgia version of Black Eyed Peas? The overabundance of black eyeliner on the men is, again, a 1995 throwback. Oh USSR blue eyeshadow. You were never gone, merely hiding out for a few decades.

AND WE ARE DONE!!!
My picks:
#1 Romania
#2 Hungary
#3 France

Tom's picks:
#1 Moldova
#2 Ireland
#3 Germany

Now we wait for the votes to come in. 43 countries vote, and each one announces their points, so this can take a very long time.

The best line of the voting portion, from the German contingent: "Hamburg is flipping out!"

Final results:
#1 Azerbaijan
#2 Italy
#3 who knows...

Clearly I am not a student of the subtleties of European politics when it comes to block voting. SO much to learn. But once again, the best thing on television by far.

Until next May. x

The first revelation of 2010

2011-02-18T05:26:00.003+01:00

Did I ever write about my salvation brought on by blooming lilacs last May? It happened one morning when I was walking Rabito in Westerpark and involved the spirit of my dear cat, Waldo, absolute knowledge that I (1) wasn't alone in my journey, (2) was held tenderly in the universe's hand and (3) had always been, and, finally, an overwhelming sense of calm. It was life altering and reset the course for all things, with ascension as the goal. Up! Up! Up!

Strangely, I must have thought that my moment of salvation and subsequent upward angle was it. I got the message, evaluated my reality, changed my path and BOOM! My work here is done. Time to put it on cruise control and relax.

Turns out that isn't the case. I am struggling lately with negative vibes -- letting things get to me and drag me down despite my simultaneous overjoyed glee at being in New York, in an apartment I love, with the man I love, successfully freelancing and feeling good about my work, soaking it in and grinning most of the time. Despite all that, there is a dark shadow in the corners and I think it means I need to let my spirit go on walkabout to find the next staircase. The next level I need to get through. And after that level, there will be another.

It is a little bit scary to think that ascension is infinite. That hadn't occurred to me until now. You go up! up! up! and there really isn't anywhere to stop, unless you allow yourself to fall back down. You can't stay stagnant and you can't stop working. Finding peace seemed accidental, but retaining peace is nothing but intentional. How strange to realize this now and how fascinating it will be to go seeking in this new place, where calm is in short supply.

Friday night art excursion

2011-02-13T04:05:00.002+01:00

"It's an Andy Warhol!"
In a whisper loud enough to hear three paintings away.
Standing in front of Cy Twombly's akimbo canvas,
I try hard to rise above but fail.

Full Circle

2010-05-31T22:02:00.002+02:00

Today at work I had a conversation with a super great kid who is working on my big World Cup project. It came from nowhere, but when he asked, "I heard you said you were leaving advertising. Why?", some gems showed up.

Why? Because if you grow up a certain way, with college and fall back jobs and expectations of white collar, then the jobs you choose are means to an end. And the end is a house, kids, husband, car, shiny bbq, vacations that are nice but not too fancy, blah, blah, blah. These are the expectations of a child, but it is amazing how strong they are. Going to work in a vintage store post-graduation would not have been acceptable, at least in my mind. Not important or work attire needed enough!

But now I know better. After riding my bike everywhere, I don't want a car. After not buying clothes for six months, I don't need ennui-inspired trips to Target to scratch the novelty t-shirt itch. After post-house apartment living, I sort of like the shared walls with a landlord who takes care of business. After trying so hard to have kids (without REALLY committing to the idea), I wake up at 10am on a Saturday after working 14 hour days for a solid week, I clapped when saw the time and relished the late hour. And the travel...So why stay in a job, in an industry, that was great for a time but not my cup of tea any more.

After 20 years of advertising, it is time to do what I want to do. How rocking will it be to go to work in a vintage store now!!! I can not wait for the day when I finish this chapter and start the book of brand new start. It is going to be good...

Patara Elephant Farm

2010-04-06T21:12:00.013+02:00

Today I was reminded how important this blog is for capturing moments and sharing adventures. It has been too long, but I am writing again. And I have the best subject matter ever!

Exactly four weeks ago today, Tom and I landed in Bangkok and started a 16 day vacation. The entire trip was absolutely amazing and I have subject matter for months, but one day in particular was pure magic and a giant check mark on the "to do" list of life. Elephants!!!

After talking with other travelers at Secret Garden outside of Chiang Mai, we decided that Patara Elephant Farm was the best place to spend the day. It was destined to be touristy, so it was important to pick a place where the elephants are treated well and there is more purpose than profit. Patara Elephant Farm's mission: Patara Elephant Farm is a 100% Thai owned and managed farm focusing on health-care and breeding management for friendly, beautiful and special elephants to produce healthy elephants to live on Earth for long term elephant conservation.

We were picked up early in the morning and driven about an hour and a half outside the town. When we arrived we met the other 20 visitors (all they accept per day) and our host Teerapat spent about 30 minutes telling us the history of elephants in Thailand and more about the mission of Patara. We could see the elephants in the distance, but it still seemed fairly zoo-like. Teerapat divided the group in half and, after learning the signs that signal a good, receptive mood and donning official trainer shirts, we were led to meet "our" animals. I was first to go - I think because I looked the most nervous/excited.

My elephant, Nui, is a 10 year old female who is pregnant with her first baby and very sweet and funny. We each fed our elephants a basket of bananas, sugar cane and tamarind by hand, getting more comfortable with their giantness and their gentleness. Her mouth was strong! It was like putting your hand in a vacuum cleaner with gums. After feeding, we learned how to judge whether or not the elephant is healthy by checking for tear tracks and dirt on their sides (proof that they slept lying down on their side), sweat on their toe nail cuticles (you have to bend down and run your finger across their nail, while keeping the other hand on their leg so they know you are there) and finally, lots of things to check in their poop. And then we performed mini physicals, including the poop check, which, because elephants are vegetarians, wasn't bad at all. Once our animals were deemed healthy, we got them to lay them to lay down and we brushed them with brooms made from tree branches to remove the lose dirt and leaves from the back and head...and then we fed them the branches, which rocked. After that we led our elephants to the river by the ear and gave them a proper bath. Nui loved filling her trunk when my back was turned and spraying me in the face when I turned back around. I was soaked but laughing the entire time. We had baskets that filled with water and little brushes that we used to clean all over - the tail, along the legs, ears, face, amazing. Tom was right next to me, washing his elephant too.

After a brief break, we got on our elephant's backs and rode them up to a waterfall about 30 minutes up in the hills. The clean water is important. Saddles are not - bare back!! I was terrified for a few minutes because it is high up and you sort of rock back and forth without anything to grip, but after a while, and several deep breaths, I got the hang of it and relaxed. You have to sit way up on the neck, with your bare feet right behind the ears, which is a cool sensation on its own. The real trainer/mahout was never far away, making sure everything went alright. All the mahouts come from the Karen hill tribe known for working with elephants, and a portion of all profits from the farm go back to the tribe (and the shirts we wore were made by the women in the tribe). At the waterfall, we got off the elephants and they went into the water to cool down and drink...and then we actually got to swim with them. Fantastic in a million ways. Getting on an elephant in the water is very, very difficult. Who would have thought they were so slippery? Also, they seem to love spinning back and forth under the water, so you have to hold on tight and balance carefully, which is a feat unto itself, considering my natural grace. I laughed and laughed like a little kid. So nice.

We were lucky because our group was great -- a wide variety of people from all over the world. Everyone had a really happy attitude and I think the nature of the program makes guests open and respectful, which made for an excellent atmosphere. We all went into the waterfall before lunch and had this beautiful moment sitting under the water in the middle of the jungle, fresh
from riding these incredible animals and it just didn't get any better than that. We ate under a canopy of palm fronds and then got back on our elephants for the ride back. This time we went over a small mountain, with steep grades going both ways and a sharp drop on the right. At one point I just stopped looking around and trusted Nui to find her way...and she did. Once down the other side, we were back in the valley, traveling into the back of the farm, passing the sleeping quarters of the mahouts and elephants just hanging out. There are so many elephants that each one only goes out with tourists once a week, so there is lots of time for standing.
We let our elephants rest for a while and eat once again and went to go meet the twin 16 month old twin males who wander around looking to eat anything and everything and playing in the water. They were mischief makers. The last bit of the day was spent with Tom and I riding Nui along the river through (what can only be described as) verdant jungle. I rode the way Thai ladies ride, sitting on the very top of her head with my legs down her trunk. Tom, by this point, was a monkey and able to climb up the trunk and settle in anywhere, while I was a clumsy as ever and fairly frightened again when I had to ride in a new position. Laughter trumped fear after a few minutes and enjoyed the intense beauty of the experience. When we were done, we said goodbye with trunk kisses and sad face. It was absolutely amazing.

Snowy Saturday morning in Westerpark

2010-02-02T10:24:00.001+01:00

repeating over and over

2010-01-25T13:49:00.002+01:00

What annoys me about others are traits I dislike in myself. What annoys me about others are traits I dislike in myself. What annoys me about others are traits I dislike in myself.

But man...if I talked as much and listened as little as the monotone voice girl in my office, I would hope someone would hit me in the face.

Detox is right!

2010-01-19T10:03:00.003+01:00

I am in the third week of a month-long detox and the light at the end of the tunnel is a chocolate cake.

The detox diet is mostly no's:
- no caffeine
- no alcohol
- no meat
- no dairy from cows
- no wheat
- no salt
- no sugar

It would be a lot easier to do this in the US or the UK, where sugar-free, wheat-free, low sodium, vegan friendly, blessed by shaman and Trader Joe food is fairly simple to find. The only sugar-free thing in Amsterdam is gum.

That said, it has been going great. After the first days of hunger and emotional cravings, I settled down and cruised through the days powered by grains, veggies, fruit, herbal tea and the rare piece of fish. Though not intended for weight loss, the detox did take off several inches, most of which I attribute to booze bloat. My skin feels great, I sleep well and wake up easily, and I am generally less moody. So thumbs up all around.

What I didn't see coming was the emotional detox that piggybacked on the physical one. Without the gauze of nightly wine and an anything goes approach to ingredients (and the subsequent physiological impact they had), my brain was left to its own devices and decided to hit me over the head. With a rock.

Realities that hit hard:
- my best chance to be a mom was lost when I made the mistake of marrying Jeff
- I took on so much guilt for leaving the marriage that I ran all the way to Europe to escape it and have been living in a temporary world ever since. Lucky for me, Tom is smarter than I am.
- it is time to go home to the USA and face the daemons in the storage unit
- Tom is mortal and may get sick or be in pain at times. And I can't fix that. Horrible feeling.

In a twist of irony that only God can cause, I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub before work the other morning, thinking a lot about motherhood and feeling amazingly sad, but also feeling the beginnings of resolve (S-T-A-U-N-C-H) forming in the corners. While in this mire, the phone rang, and the endocrinologist on the other end told me that my hormone levels are now completely normal and there is no reason why I can't get pregnant. So what to do...

There is a lot of black tar to deal with emotionally, and without anything to mask it, I am forced to see. It doesn't feel bad, just big. Very, very big.

Photomontage makes me happy

2010-01-06T17:39:00.005+01:00

I have always loved Alexander Rodchenko and not just because I want to recognize myself in the Russian peasant women with dark hair and overly dramatic eye makeup, but because his photomontage was so modern and still feels current.

The stellar Amsterdam photo gallery FOAM is holding a retrospective of his work from now until March that I will brave the snow for this weekend to view. Very excited!!

This is why I love Mark Weaver. His photomontage prints are just genius. Especially love the bison head!!! You can see more of his work on his flickr site.

Happy New Year!!!

2010-01-04T10:25:00.002+01:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Unbelievable that it is already 2010. The last decade was...wow.
The last year was. Past tense. Thank God.

I start this decade and year pledging three things:

1. Buy no new clothes or shoes for one year. This is the one no one thinks I can do, but I am very excited to try and make it work. Shoe repair, tailoring, and up-cycling some pieces will be key, but, after organizing my closet yesterday and realizing how much extra I have and don't wear/use/see, I know I have plenty to work with.

2. Do something creative every day. That includes being more devoted to my blog. Life has been a bit of a gray mush for a while, and I haven't been inspired to write anything, but yesterday, when I was running on the awesome icy snow and stopped to watch a rabbit cross the canal on the ice, I realized I haven't allowed myself to be open to inspiration. Nature throws out the wonder!

3. Detox through the month of January. No booze. No meat. No salt. No refined sugar. No wheat. No dairy from cows. No caffeine. I am on day 3 and doing alright so far. Made a delicious dish last night that met all the criteria and was flavorful and filling. Here is the recipe:

SPICY SHRIMP (because seafood is allowed)
1 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
3 Tbs fresh oregano, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
1 yellow pepper, chopped
1 red chile, sliced
1 green chile, sliced
1/2 kilo frozen Tiger prawns or other big shrimps, peeled
2 Tbs fresh coriander, chopped
1 cup brown rice

Cook the rice. Throw onion and garlic at bottom of a medium-hot wok and stir around in a tiny bit of olive oil until soft. Throw in all remaining ingredients except for coriander, shrimp and rice. Stir lightly for approx. 5 minutes, until all ingredients are warmed through. Throw in frozen
shrimps and cover for approx. 5 minutes. Uncover, stir in coriander and serve over rice.

The Turkey Chronicles

2009-11-29T21:26:00.005+01:00

**NOTE** the funniest part of this post is at the bottom. The rest is just lots of detailed buildup. Feel free to skip ahead.

Thanksgiving in Amsterdam is an interesting event -- our ovens are small, cranberries are scarce and we work on Thursday. This year I decided to have dinner on Friday for about 18 friends. I had waited way too long to order my turkey from Small World, the place that delivered such an excellent bird two years ago, so this year I had to cook one myself.

I went to the market last Saturday and visited my favorite stall where I get the most awesome eggs and ordered a five kilo turkey...a WILD turkey to pick it up Wednesday (they only sell on Saturday at one market and Wednesday at another - see? Not the easiest holiday to shop for here oh friends in the land of 24 hour shopping in giant supermarkets). Since my only reference for wild turkey was the booze, I turned to the internet for help. Apparently they are all dark meat and can be very dry. Jeez. Armed with new knowledge and a fair amount of fear, I went to a shop to buy a roasting rack and other requisite turkey cooking gear, and wound up getting an earful of advice from a guy who works there and apparently LOVES cooking the big fowl. The key, he said, was basting the turkey every 20 minutes through bacon-grease soaked cheesecloth, while roasting at 150C until the bird gets to 56 degrees, and then it comes out of the oven to rest for an hour.

On Wednesday morning I went up to the market to pick up the turkey in a cold rain storm before going to work. Despite the fact that they were just setting up the booth, the farmer got it out for me, after asking me a few time if I was SURE that I wanted a wild turkey, and if I was SURE I knew how to cook it. He told me I should use at a lower temperature for a longer time, so I reconsidered my plan and committed to 130C for around four hours. Keep this change in mind as you read...

As I was loading the turkey into my bicycle saddlebag, the farmer's daughter tapped me on the shoulder and said, "He wanted me to tell you. He shot the bird last night in his forest." Oh my - the pressure of honoring a life. And then I rode to work with a turkey...Thanksgiving in Amsterdam.

I took Friday off to cook all day and put the turkey in the oven promptly at 3pm, after it had slept all night in a sea of salt, water, molasses and herbs. The first surprise came when the turkey, sitting on its new roasting rack in its new roasting pan and covered with bacon-grease cheesecloth, hit the oven ceiling and caused a tiny fire. Right. No roasting rack. After two hours, the turkey had yet to release any drippings and I was freaking out that it wasn't cooking. The temperature was up to 40C and I was telling myself that it needed to get all the way to 150 degrees. Confused? Me too. After three hours there were some drippings but not many, so I raised the temp a little bit. 30 minutes later, I took the cheesecloth off, 30 minutes after that, the temp went up a bit more. See a pattern?

By 8pm, the temperature was up to 70 degrees, when I started freaking out that it would never be finished. It was brown and gorgeous and smelled AMAZING and there were drippings for days, but it wasn't cooking! I turned to Jen and Mariah and said, it isn't hot! They asked how hot I wanted it to get and when I told them, they looked at me and said, "150 Celsius? That is like 300 degrees!!!" Oh. shit. I somehow got so confused and had remembered a different temperature and was reading Celsius when it should have been Fahrenheit and I killed the bird.

Then there was drama and pacing back and forth on the roof calling myself stupid and an idiot, convinced that I ruined Thanksgiving for everyone. Luckily I have amazing friends who talked me down (literally) and wouldn't let me throw the bird in the trash or myself out a window. The funny part is that if it were me on the other side, and my friend had done the same thing, I wouldn't even consider the night ruined or the situation to be that bad, but when it is you (me), the responsibility to make the evening perfect, or at least delicious, is so strong, everything else is dwarfed. I now understand a little bit more about my mom and why she sometimes was the way she sometimes was before big holiday dinners.

We let the very brown turkey rest and went to work on making so many sides that no one would notice if it was dry, but when it came time to cut up the turkey, it was fine! A bit on the dry side, yes, but certainly not the driest I ever had, and the brine made the meat taste SO GOOD! Our plates were full and everything was great. The company was even better. The bird did not die in vain and the bones made a beautiful stock so everything was used to bring delicious joy for meals to come.

And that is the beauty of Thanksgiving. Despite hurdles, it all comes down to enjoying food with people who love you and who you love. Warts, forgetfulness, drama and all. XXX

Katie Miller: Super Spy

2009-11-13T10:58:00.007+01:00

As I stare out the window at the gray Amsterdam winter that is sucking all the color out of life, I fantasize about whizzing along the Mediterranean coast in a sleek sports car, wearing some sort of sheath number that doesn't get stuck on my thighs or gap at the arms, and carrying a dossier detailing my next super-spy adventure.

Watching sixties-era Bond movies throughout my childhood made me question wide lapels and hippies. And I never really jived with women in power suits unless that suit is a hip-hugging bikini because those women are BAD ASS - sexy, powerful, smart and beautiful.

This is why Yuki-7, the creation of artist Kevin Dart, makes my heart bounce around with glee.
From Kevin's website/blog: Swinging 60’s spy girl, Yuki 7. Seductive, intelligent, and charming, Yuki romps through film after film, vanquishing villains while looking fabulous. Since these madcap movies exist only in his imagination, Kevin has brought Yuki’s world to life through a collection of original artwork and stories.

You can see more of Yuki-7 in digital gallery form to help get your super spy groove on. I am mentally applying fake tanner and coral lipstick to get me in the mood for trouble.

Live on tape...the wedding

2009-11-10T19:30:00.001+01:00

Wedding 2

2009-10-27T19:52:00.001+01:00

We got dressed in the morning (no ass bustle!) and got Rabito ready in his new Vegas-style leash and collar combination. At 9:45 we got on our bikes - mine decorated with white garland and white plastic flowers and Tom's decorated with Rabito riding over his shoulder. I got to Bakkerswinkel first and saw Snapper standing outside, keeping a lookout. He waved at the people inside and they came flooding out with big smiles and congratulations.

Holly had asked everyone to bring a decorated champagne flutes for Tom and I and we were given hysterical ones set in clogs. At 10am sharp, we went up to the wedding hall, when we met our officiant, Raymond Vreede, who seemed like a nice man, and saw the room which was more conference style than grand European room. It was funny and perfect. We took our seats in front of Raymond and proceeded to get married! Tom and I had emailed him the story of how we met from both perspectives, and a bit of our history together since living in Amsterdam. there were some comedy moments and it was so great to be able to laugh and giggle through the ceremony as the guests laughed and giggled too. So not a stodgy formal wedding! Then Raymond read the speech that Tom had written about why he wanted to marry me, which was beautiful. I cried. Then I read my speech about why I wanted to marry Tom, only going rogue a few times. I cried.

After the speeches, Raymond asked us to stand, look at each other and say our "I DO's" and at this point I was fully grinning and crying. When we both said yes, Raymond banged a lucite gavel and POW we were married. And then we kissed and kissed and put on rings, signed papers and were official.

I could not imagine ever having a more perfect ceremony. It was funny and moving and unexpected and completely right for Tom and me.

wedding 1

2009-10-21T22:13:00.002+02:00

I typically find writing to be the best way of describing anything, but it seems woefully ineffectual at this moment, when I try to describe my wedding day.

First, it was so much fun. From the minute we woke up, we were giggling like little kids on Christmas. The lead up to Tuesday wasn't without moments of stress, like when I tried on my dress on Sunday and realized, that when the sides were taken in, an ass bustle of sorts was created from the excess fabric. Instead of freaking out about the dress, I instead freaked out about the state of our dressing room (filled with my clothes and shoes all over the place) and went on walkabout to clear my head. When I got back two hours later, the dressing room was spotless. Tom is amazing.

Or on Monday afternoon when I had to take flowers as big as me home on my bike while rushing to get Tom money in time for him to buy champagne at the wine store before they closed at 6, meanwhile I need to pick up my (hopefully) non ass-bustle dress at the tailor before HE closes at 6 and there was so much to do at work that I had a mini meltdown, culminating in "I have to leave RIGHT NOW!!!" But the fine people I work with calmed me down, pointed me to Holly, who took Tom money, suggested I ask if a taxi would take the flowers to the house (they did) and led me into the conference room where there were bubbles and bon bons to celebrate. So nice and so surprising that I cried.

Or my wedding pixies who tried so hard to anticipate/glean/pry what I wanted out of the day and I was frustratingly vague because I only knew that I wanted it to be mellow and about the marriage, not about anything else but couldn't. quite. articulate. that. And then last Thursday Tom and I decided that of COURSE we should have the reception at our house instead of a local restaurant and told the pixies not to worry, we had everything under control. After everything they did and tried to do for us, we were like the mean kids in a John Hughes movie. But baking for the post-wedding party was completely stress reducing and I made a killer chocolate cake that made me super proud. And I made us a wedding cake that I fell in love with because it was odd and delicious.

Bride again

2009-10-15T11:32:00.002+02:00

I get married on Tuesday. Five days away and I have the first cheek pimple I've had in 15 years brewing under my skin. Everything is done - my dress is being altered, the rings are bought, the plans are made. Now I just need to run a half marathon on Sunday, decorate my bike with giant white plastic flowers on Monday and get to town hall by 10am on Tuesday.

All I want is to marry Tom. The rest is gravy. I have never been more excited for anything in my life, and I am so, so, so happy that we are combining forces to be together.

The Dutch aren't stupid and I don't hate them.

2009-09-22T14:45:00.003+02:00

Except the guy who almost ran me over with his car. Him, I still hate.

It has been a week of exhaustion, anger and hopelessness, as month's worth of paying lip-service to patience and optimism came to an end. And it became abundantly clear that I had been keeping my head in the sand, perfectly happy to let others tell me what to do and where to go when. Results like I had at the neurologist appointment last week were inevitable -- sooner or later the ball was going to drop because I wasn't making any effort to ensure it stayed up.

A fruit basket goes to that neurologist though, because he kept his word and followed up on my case, writing all my doctors a fairly scathing letter, and forwarding my case to a top neurosurgeon in the Netherlands. He even called me back to tell me about it. The neurosurgeon's office called me last Friday with an appointment to see an endocrinologist at the hospital they all work in today. I was frustrated because I thought I was starting all over again, but optimistic because I confirmed that all my files had been sent and received BEFORE going. And they all had. This is progress.

Today was the appointment and here is what I know:
- the tumor is attached to the pituitary gland
- the tumor is so small that operating is high-risk because chances are very high that part of the pituitary gland will be taken off in the surgery
- the tumor is benign
- the medication I was on before may have been reducing the amount of prolactin in my system, but the blood tests that I had been given don't measure exact amounts of that hormone. A >47 shows up if the level is greater than 47, so even if my level had gone from 193 to 48, it would have shown up as no change
- the lab in the hospital measures exact amounts of prolactin in the blood, so I will have a real baseline
- I have been given new medication that is stronger than what I was on before and will have blood taken again in five weeks
- If this medication works, I will have to take it forever
- No matter what, I need to lower my prolactin levels
- In seven weeks I meet with the endocrinologists again as well as the neurosurgeon if needed

So I now have a plan and a time line. Tom, upon listening to everything the doctor said, looked at me and said, "OK. Surgery is off the table." I tend to agree, and am hopeful that this medication will work and cut this tumor off.

I received so many messages of love and support from my friends which were just amazing. Special love returned to my Dutch friends who put up with my disparaging their entire culture and to the four who are equally funny, patient and fierce.

The Dutch are stupid and I hate them

2009-09-15T22:24:00.004+02:00

[caveat #1 - I am very angry]

[caveat #2 - none of my Dutch friends are like this]

It's true.

I have tried to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Tried to understand their obtuse rudeness.

Tolerated their non-existent work ethic - in restaurants where I have to beg for service, in shops where it is better to say "not possible" before lifting a finger to help, on jobs where they leave promptly at 6pm with work unfinished and no sense of responsibility.

I have had strangers wag their fingers at me for nothing - scold me for the littlest thing and I have not said a word. Not a word. Because I am a guest in this rotten excuse for a country and that would be rude, ugly-American behavior, and it is up to ME to adapt to THEM.

Bullshit.

Today, after waiting almost two months for an appointment with a neurologist to talk about my brain tumor...yes, my BRAIN F***ING TUMOR, the doctor sat me down and asked me, "Why are you here?"

He didn't have a clue. The other doctor never sent the MRI or told him about my situation and he never asked. Nothing. A complete waste of time, energy and emotion. This country is filled with sea cucumbers. Seriously. They don't care. They don't act. They don't do anything except use up oxygen and wear bad shoes. The doctor seemed embarrassed that this had happened to me -- and he seemed to be motivated to take action, but honestly, I think he will be distracted tomorrow by a new type of sprinkle to put on his buttered bread at lunchtime and forget all about me. And then it will be up to me again to call, nag, plead and beg to get something done. Except it won't be done...it will be promised and once again forgotten.

Imagine living in a culture without empathy. Then add cheese and laziness.

I hate it.

From the work vault...

2009-09-14T17:31:00.005+02:00

Trolling the net for myself during a lull in editing, I found images from the Nike Italy football campaign I worked on the summer I moved to Amsterdam with W+K. This one is my favorite. You can see the entire series here.

The Dom DeLuise Effect

2009-09-14T14:50:00.003+02:00

Combined brilliance from Joshua, Steven and Holly on a Saturday night:

DDLE (Dom DeLuise Effect) is a visual effect that works on our society's standards much like the Doppler Effect works on sound, changing the way we view Fat People. For instance - viewing Cannonball Run in the '80's, we all considered Dom to be obese. But now, 30 years later, in our mind's eye we remember him being obese, but viewed with the modern (read more) Fat People Standard (FPS), he's not even 'Fat-fat'. He's just 'Normal (Fat)'. As proof, DDLE also works on other stars in the past - for instance, seeing John Candy star as 'Ox' in Stripes - not 'Fat-fat', just 'Normal (Fat)' - but we all remember him as being obese.

I am in awe of their collective awesomeness.

Brain update

2009-09-08T12:21:00.003+02:00

My appointment with the neurosurgeon is next week but I am trying to stay in the optimistic here and now. When I invariably head down the darker road, I embrace the violins AND electric guitars AND dancers AND a chorus of it all. Now is the time for one amazing, gut-wrenching production number!

Long overdue holiday journal

2009-09-06T23:45:00.004+02:00

DAY 1
The trip started with Tom and Rabito escorting me to Weeze, Germany, a former air force base turned low-cost airline hub just over the Dutch border. The fares may be low on cost, but are more than abundant on regulations - it is a demoralizing trade off to make, and one that temporarily halted my usual "wait until the last minute then show up smiling and walk right on board" tactic of air travel. The fear of being sent to the back of the line because my checked bag (that I paid 10e for) is one kilo over the paltry 15 kilo limit. Or my one allotted piece of cabin luggage was a centimeter too large, causing me to leave my essentials behind. So much sternness stressed me out and, as a result, I was checked in (without incident) two hours prior to departure and the three of us sort of stood around and stared at each other.

A note for cultural anthropologists: the way to make Dutch people crazy is to divide the line for boarding an airline into "Priority" (people who paid to reserve a seat) and "General" (those who didn't). Then watch the people in the "General" line, which you know is the vast majority since the Dutch are loath to part with a euro, cluck their tongues and crane their necks as they watch other people go first. Every minute that they were prevented from moving forward, my personal space got smaller and smaller as they pressed forward. This time, instead of taking it, I used
wildlife safety knowledge and pretended I came across a bear in the wild. Like the handbooks say to do, I made myself twice as big by pointing my elbows out and widening my feet as far as possible, which kept them at bay long enough to make a break for it, run for the plane and score a seat by the window.

I slept through much of the flight, waking up to a view of the Mediteranian Sea and sunshine. The vacation was underway! The caravans are everywhere, as France vacations for the month of August. Paziols, the town I am staying in, is a few hours from Beziers, the town I flew into, and
the drive takes you through vineyards and gorges and dusty towns. Now that I am here, I am having a hard time not staring at the swallows that are darting back and forth outside my bedroom window and falling into an early sleep. The lady up the road offered to take me to the neighboring town for a concert tonight -- it starts at 11pm and she told me to knock on her door around 10:30 if I want to go. I know I should because it would be so nice, but I am doing what I do when I travel alone, and playing it safe inside the four walls. Perhaps I will break that pattern! Or perhaps not...

Cut to over a week later.

I read that entry and think I sounded bitter. Sort of sad too. It has been such an amazing vacation in all sorts of ways. I will give a summary.

DAY 2
Got up early and ran to Tuchan, the next village over and back, using the roundabout as my turning point. It was hot but so beautiful, and the air smelled like sunshine. Had morning coffee on the roof terrace overlooking the village and neighboring hills and then went down to the local market to buy necessities like bread and cheese. Then packed myself up and drove to the beach without a specific town in mind, just following my gut. It may have been Port-Barcares, but it felt vaguely Jersey Shore. Which I didn't mind because there were handy places to buy beach umbrellas and cheap towels.

Port-Barcares

DAY 3
Bought meat from the mobile charcuterie man who comes to the village on Tuesday mornings and sat a bit in the sun, waiting for enough time to pass for me to go to Toulouse to pick up mom. The airport is a few hours away, so I left early, but a bit too early, as I had many hours to kill before her plane arrived. I wandered around Toulouse, finding the Galerie Lafayette as if by some strange psychic pull, and took in as much as possible in between looking at my watch and nervously hoping my bangs didn't get stringy in the heat. Mom got off the plane later than expected, but my worries about her not being able to reach me and wandering the halls of Heathrow for a week were happily put to rest when I saw her beautiful smiling face wheeling the luggage cart out of arrivals. I cried because I was so, so, so happy to see her after eight long months. We made our way back to Paziols, I made her dinner and we went to sleep.

DAY 4 (serendipity ruled the day)
I had grand plans of taking mom to a major Wednesday market just up the road in Villeneuve, but when we got there, there was no market to find. Discouraged, I drove us to Durban, the next town up, where there was a smaller, but lovely gourmet market. The world should all know the joy of heirloom tomatoes for 2 euros a kilo. There was also the ubiquitous rotisserie chicken man, who threw in a bottle of cider with purchase of a bird and roasted potatoes. As we walked to the end of the market, we were approached by a woman selling raffle tickets for a trip to Morocco. When she realized we didn't speak French, she passed us off to an English woman named Maureen who has lived in the village for 20 years. Maureen not only got me to buy a ticket, but got mom and I to buy tickets for the town Sardinaire on Friday night. This was a good chance for us to see the famous regional dance at a traditional fete, we thought, and Maureen was so lovely, we figured it would be our best chance to mingle with the locals.

Chateau d'Aguilar

After leaving Durban, we explored some towns up in the hills, stopping for a picnic where mom saw how freaked out I am by bees. Then back for a nap, and then a drive up to Chateau d'Aguilar, our local Cathar castle. The light was amazing, and we made do taking photos instead of trying to climb up the path in inappropriate shoes. I thought we'd go to a medieval festival somewhere to the left of Tuchan because I'd seen lots of signs for it and thought it could be cool, but since I had no idea really where we were going, we stumbled upon the gorges as the sun was going down and were stunned by how beautiful the area is -- huge rock formations and a river way down at the bottom. It was actually car-stop worthy, which is saying something. Then we drove and drove and drove, up to the Chateau Peyrepertuse, but we turned back before even getting close because the hordes of people flocking to the fest. On the way back, we noticed a Don Quiote windmill in a town we had driven through on the way to Peyrepertuse. It was so cool that we parked and walked up the hill to photograph it in the sunset. Amazing. This all happened in one day!

We had our dinner of cold chicken, potatoes and tomato salad on the roof terrace, where it stayed balmy through the bottle of wine and meteor shower. I saw my first real shooting star - so bright and low that I thought some kid had let off a bottle rocket. The tail stayed in the sky for a long time after the star faded out. Now I know that star was named Guy.

DAY 5
Lunch at Chateau de Jau. Amazing setting, amazing food and wine.
Tomato bread with serrano ham
grilled lamb chops (I had three) with fresh tomatoes
sausage
roquefort cheese
orange sorbet

I was very good and merely sampled all the wine parings. Delicious 2008 rose aside... when we got back to Paziols, mom went to take a nap and I went down to the cafe du sport for a pastis and read in the sunshine. A lovely day.

DAY 6
Lazy day of reading. Went to the river to cool down in the afternoon, and after making mom slip and slide down the bank, I was quickly disenchanted with the nature of it all. The clay soil becomes blue mud and was a ready made mask for my t-zone. The water felt great, but the little fish nibbling on my toes didn't. And did I mention my fear of bees? We picked blackberries and figs, eating both on the walk back to the house, which was perhaps the most decadent thing in the world.

Dinner in Durban

After our requisite naps, we showered the river off and went to Durban for the fete, where we were befriended by the English contingent who lives there. Such nice people!!! The sardinaire centered on sardines caught that morning and fried whole. It was all you could eat, quite literally. The sardanare, is the Catalan dance that we didn't see. What a difference a letter makes! We were well cheered by the night and thankful that we didn't find the intended market on Wednesday.

DAY 7
Got up fairly early for our climbing day and started at Chateau d'Aguilar. Amazing. Went to go to two more chateau and thought I followed the map correctly, but the little twisty turny road didn't lead where I thought it would, so we went up to chateau Peyrepertuse. We picnicked on hay bales left over from the medieval days. The fortress is built quite literally on the edge of a cliff and was a heck of a walk up, though we were aided by a recorded guide who made comments about eating "a delicious weeld boore and drinking the verry nice locaal wins." We deserved a nice meal after all the climbing and sweating so we went to our local restaurant for dinner, which sort of sucked, to be honest. But there was some very nice cheap cheese (aka sheep cheese) that brought the day around full circle.

DAY 8
Another lazy day focused on making a nice Sunday lunch. For dinner we went into Tuchan for tapas which were delicious, rivaled by seats outside on the terrace next to to boules court with lights strung over head and music coming from the community center next door - great jazz and classics. Completely redeemed the meal from the day before and reminded me again how great it is to hang out with mom.

DAY 9
Drove to Collioure which was just amazing. We got there after much traffic and stress around the roundabouts, but the hotel setting put all the tension to rest - on a low rise overlooking a cove/beach. We happened to be in town during the St. Vincent festival, which could have been the reason there were so many people and traveling groups of horn players. We stopped at the first restaurant we came to on the water and lucked into a table right on the beach with a view to absolutely love and remember. We ate salads and drank rose and watched people and pinched ourselves because it was all too amazing. And then there was a bit of shopping before going back to the hotel and going for a swim in the ocean.

Collioure

And THEN dinner at the highly regarded hotel restaurant. It was an incredible meal - fancy plates and even fancier view of the battlements and castle overlooking the water from dusk through sunset to night. Instead of going right to bed, we walked down to town and danced to a band for a while. Such a good time!

DAY 10
Breakfast on terrace, swim in ocean, a bit of a wander in town, stumbling into the Templars for citron presse and art viewing before some more sun on the hotel lounges and a stress-free drive back to Paziols. Does mom really have to leave?

DAY 11
Early morning drive to Tolouse to take mom back to the airport. Had it really been a week already? It was so sad to say goodbye, made sadder by my first foray into Facebook in a week, where I found out that my friend Guy Champney died suddenly the week before. I booked a train ticket back to Amsterdam for Friday because I couldn't stand the idea of being without Tom any more. Beauty is fine, but being with the people you love is better. I left the airport with a heavy heart and went to the original market town from the week before, but had just missed it, so drove to Port-La-Nouvelle for some beach time. Unlike the other beaches I had been to, this one was soft sand with waves perfect for body surfing. I played in the ocean for a long time, laughing and crying at alternate minutes - thanking God and trying not to ask why.

DAY 12
Warm air that feels like the softest sweater. Watching stars and bats. The taste of really good rose, butter and bread. Finding the Roman bridge and standing in the middle of a dirt road with my head back, eyes closed and arms outstretched, trying to embed the smell of the air in my memory.

DAY 13
On a train all day, watching France change before my eyes. I watched the sun rise while driving to Beziers and felt strong. It was the right decision to come home today.

Let me introduce you to my little friend

2009-08-05T10:46:00.005+02:00

Turns out that I have a little visitor in my brain. A very little 6mm mass that has been hanging out by my hypothalamus for a while, producing a hormone called prolactin. I got the news yesterday and will have an appointment with a neurologist when I get back from holiday in two weeks. My doctor, who I trust implicitly, actually said, "This doesn't cause you concern, does it?" when he told me because it looks benign and is not causing me any symptoms other than the ones contributing to my infertility.

Or maybe I am actually really good at Scrabble and the natural state of my stomach is flat, but the tumor is affecting these as well. Maybe once this is out I will be able to understand Dutch and remember Tom's mobile number. Maybe lot of things and maybe who knows.

In the meantime, I go on vacation with my mom in France and pontificate on beauty and good food and sunshine. More to come!

The photo above is by Joyce Tenneson. I am feeling the passion flower something huge of late...

It is hard to keep a positive attitude...

2009-07-13T11:20:00.003+02:00

...when you sneeze while at your desk and no one in the room says, "Bless you."

It's the little things that break your spirit. The big things I can deal with, but stuff like this makes another little part of me want to pack up her bags and leave.

1:05:15

2009-06-29T21:54:00.004+02:00

I have been running regularly for the past month and a half - about 30 minutes every other day - and feeling a lot better because of it. Everything is calmer and happier on a running day and it is a beautiful thing to keep improving.

Last Friday night I was out with Maureen and asked if she wanted to run together over the weekend and she said, "I'm running a 10k on Sunday. You should come!" I decided to go and give it a try, figuring I would run until I had no more run left and then walk the rest of the way. It was going to be a good test for me to try and go 60+ minutes.

But like Yoda said, "There is no try, there is only do," and I did! There was no walking at all and I finished in a very respectable one hour, five minutes (and 15 seconds). Tom and Rabito came and met me near the finish line, and I credit them for keeping me going because I couldn't wait to see them both. I rounded a corner with about half a kilometer to go and there they were! I clapped and waved and Rabito came bounding across the road to run with me, and I had a brief vision of crossing the finish line with him, but, as he couldn't stand that Tom was five feet behind me and kept trying to pull me back to run next to him, I had to do a reverse relay pass and hand the leash backward. And then I ran as hard as I could to the end!

And just like that, I became a runner. I signed up for another 10k in August, with hopes of running the half marathon in October. I feel like I have found a friend and I am excited for the journey ahead with her.

Michael Jackson is one of the reasons I want to be a mom

2009-06-26T17:23:00.003+02:00

Because the idea of being able to hold a baby and dance to "Off the Wall" is just too heartbreakingly good. I remember the first time I heard that album - in 6th grade music class one day, our teacher brought in her copy and played side one. It was the greatest thing I had ever heard and I still love it. I want to be there when my child hears it for the first time too - albeit at a seriously young age so he or she doesn't have the capacity to tell me that it is crap.

Not the best reason to parent, but not the worst one either.

Yankees? Really?

2009-06-15T20:08:00.009+02:00

Friday in Manhattan was a crazy day of errand running, starting with coffee and an eye exam in Greenwich Village and ending with a Yankee game at the new stadium. There is never enough time to do everything I want to do while I am there, but I have managed to amass a collection of exceptional moments, and this trip delivered a doozy.

Tom and I met Jason at the Strand before heading uptown for the game because, really, what says baseball more than used books? We got to the stadium a little early and walked up and up and up to our seats. I was only at the old Yankee stadium once and had nothing really to reference, but even I could appreciate the coolness of the set up and the fact that we could see the field great from way up in the nosebleeds. There were all these people walking around the stadium with "How may I help you?" signs and matching shirts, leading to Tom's observation that things have changed considerably since his first Yankee game when he saw some kid get mugged for his ice cream.

The Yankees were playing the Mets after being swept by Boston earlier in the week. There were a fair share of Mets fans at the game and a fair share of taunting on both sides, but I have to say that the Met fans were stupid and wore stupid hats and stupid jerseys and were more stupidly loud. Like they were dorky resident assistants in the college dorms of baseball. So I happily cheered for the Yankees, the team I love to hate, though when one of the stupidest Met fans was removed from the game by 8 police officers, apparently for SWEARING, I was tempted to switch sides. The Disneyland attitude that cleaned the surface of Times Square made its way to the Bronx -- keeping it shiny on the surface is paramount. If they could show Derek Jeeter in a white suit on the jumbotron saying, "Smiles everyone, smiles!," it would complete the quasi-illusion.

Toward the end of the game we headed down to the lower level to watch the game from that perspective and the security guard let me go down to the front to watch an inning from seats right between home and first. That was very cool and I took photos, though it was a very fast inning and I didn't get a lot of opportunity to take too many.

At the beginning of the 9th we left the stadium and went to the iconic bar across from the old stadium called Stan's because the Yankees were trailing and we were craving cheaper beers. Walking in, I almost turned back because the baseball hat to overweight and red-faced ratio was a bit too close for my claustrophobic comfort. But I got over my phobia and was rewarded with a booth open to the street on one side and with a clear view of the television on the other. It was truly kismet, as we watched the Mets go to the bottom of the ninth with a one run lead and two outs as Alex Rodriguez came to bat. There was a pop up and the crowd all groaned because it was an easy out and easy end to the game. But Castillo dropped. the. ball. And then threw to second! It was mayhem as two Yankees scored and they won the game. There was screaming. There was jumping up and down. There was high fiving. This film sums up the moment nicely:

We kept our seats by the windows as people streamed out of the stadium and the taunting commenced on the streets. An hour later, there were still yelling and hugging out there and Tom said it was like the Yankees won a playoff game. I just laughed and laughed and laughed, egging people on and grinning like a fool. The next time someone criticizes the USA, I may punch them in the face. Not really...but it was so nice to be there, enjoying the fun and ease and absence of existential angst. Sometimes a baseball hat is just a baseball hat!

The night ended late, with me getting my photo taken with New York's finest and a subway ride back down to the Village, where Tom got me a 2am BLT and I fell asleep a Yankee convert.

Why I love New York

2009-06-12T00:34:00.002+02:00

I've been in New York for just over 24 hours and already:

was engulfed by humanity upon arriving at Penn Station and wheeled my suitcase through and around and over more than a few hurdles and the odd puddle of something in my journey to the hotel. It was hard to keep from beaming while maintaining my subway face.
accomplished my #1 goal of the trip and bought new running shoes. We went to Paragon Sports on 18th, and the experience made me think I was still in Amsterdam because the guy helping me was just showing me shoes they had in my size and not the best shoes for my gait. Then, after I told him that I'd like to see some different brands, said, "OK, but my shift is over so someone else will have to help you." If he had been 7 feet tall and had gelled hair, it would have completed the illusion. We left without buying and went to Jack Rabbit Sports where I had a complete opposite experience and left with some awesome new shoes and a big smile on my face. I tried them out this morning on the treadmill and ran like the wind.
went to a diner and had a sublime BLT on white toast, no mayo, side of fries and a piece of cherry pie.
met friends for dinner and drank Oregon pinot gris - woo hoo!
ordered a vastly overpriced pumpernickel bagel with cream cheese, lox and tomato and ate it over the Thursday Style pages in the Times.
found my awesome wedding dress at Century 21 marked way the heck down
ventured into the annals of the diamond district to get my engagement ring repaired at the city's top-rated jewelry repair shop. It was bizarre but so good to see that the undercurrent of weird still exists behind the chain stores.
got my manicure and pedicure and nearly cried

And that is just the first 24 hours. I love it here.

Carol LoPresto is fa-hab-ulous

2009-05-20T14:33:00.005+02:00

From New York Magazine.

I love this photo of Carol LoPresto so much. I see myself headed in this direction of bohemian wackiness and love it. If I could just find a hat to fit over my amazingly large head, I would do the scarf/hat combo with aplomb.

Makes me happy to live in a world where outfits like this exist...and happy to be going to New York in a few weeks where people like this (me!!) thrive.

Could it be? Yes it is! EUROVISION!!!

2009-05-16T17:17:00.003+02:00

Eurovision comes and goes so quickly - I didn't even know the semi finals were this week until I saw the Dutch entry on the front page of the newspaper. Thank goodness there was time to review the semi-final performances and get them on the blog before the finals tonight. I must go now plan my Eastern European diva ensemble to wear to the viewing party (otherwise known as Joshua's birthday party - lucky duck). Thank goodness I have a crazy ruffled shirt in the costume trunk! Now Tom and I just have to fight for who is going to wear it...

Reviews written while viewing on YouTube - so there is no particular order.

Montenegro - Just Get Out of My Life
The chorus is "Just get out of my, out of my, out of my head." Irony this early in the show is a bad sign. Male dancer wearing white cotton pants is completely distracting as he does some sort of aerobics behind the singer. I start my synthetic hair extensions (aka: SHE) count now: 1.

Turkey - Dum TekTek
Harem pants with slits up the front on the backup dancers. All women on stage wearing red and one token male backup singer wearing a brown satin shirt, which doesn't really match. OOOOH new male dancer just back-flipped onto the stage! Apparently he is the one from the chorus who "kisses like it's his profession"' though the giant skirt he's wearing leads me to think not really.

Iceland - Is it True
Pixie-nosed elf wearing one of Belle's dresses from "Beauty and the Beast." Seriously, she and the backup singers look like bridesmaids from a 1984 wedding where the bride has confidence issues. Why is there a dolphin projected on the screens in the background? EARNEST BALLAD GUITAR PLAYING! Awesome. The song is quite lovely in an adult contemporary sort of way.

Romania - The Balkan Girls
Lots and lots of dancers, a fog machine and SHE all over the place. She just sang "My peeps are ready to go," which should signal the definitive death knoll for that particular piece of slang.

Israel - There Must Be Another Way
I don't understand the verses, but their harmonies are just lovely. Strange gothic lesbian overtones, or that might just be the influence of a late night episode of "The L Word" Oh. Oh. Oh. And now the singers are drumming. For five seconds. Strange.

Greece - This is Our Night
A guy is actually singing. And dancing. And his shirt is short, so when he moves at all, it rides up on his stomach. It's like he is wearing a flesh belt.

I have yet to see a sequin. I am very disappointed.

Finland - Lose Control
The name of this group is "Waldo's People." They have fire dancers, a rapper/singer who is dressed like Eminem and three blond backup singers who are wearing outfits that don't really match and sound like a bad girl group. All over the place and confusing. They will probably win.

Serbia - Happiness
1. Accordion player in black leather
2. Ironic bald dancers in curly toed shoes and wallet chains
3. Singer with bleached afro
4. Diva singer in giant white tutu
5. Fabulous backdrops of band members as pixelated avatars
Eurovision has officially begun.

Norway - Fairytale
Finally, a violin. And it is the singer who is playing! And he is all all cute and sounds like Cliff Richard. Totally a favorite to win. Sort of folk and timeless and sweet. But his smile is so big it scares me.

Croatia - Lijepa Tena
zzzzzzzzzzz. Soon to be playing as the backing track to a "Come to Croatia and Get Some Sleep" commercial. I hear they do have lovely beaches.

Slovenia - Love Symphony
Men in grey suits rocking stringed instruments coming out of what look like phone booths or those sleeping pods in "Alien." Singer is still inside her booth. Is she trapped? Her mic is working but all l I see is a silhouette in a flowing gown. Perhaps she is ugly? There she is!! She has a big voice - and a pierced tongue. I didn't need to know that.

Hungary - Dance With Me
There was stripping down from quite cool mod outfits to some sort of ..ew ew ew! They are icky. I have to stop watching.

Albania - Carry Me In Your Dreams
There is a man wearing a sequin turquoise full body suit that covers his face dancing behind the singer whose tutu is almost showing her tuck tuck. And evil mimes in black trench coats. Her SHEs are so plastic they may melt under the lights.

Azerbaijan - Always
Synthetic hair extensions are to former Soviet singers what blue eyeshadow was to their Soviet gymnast counterparts. At least be on tune. I know all your Soviet satellite sisters will vote for you and probably make you advance to the finals, but really. Step up your game because you are embarrassing yourselves with your flatness.

Denmark - Believe Again
They actually have a band and not just backup dancers! And they sing. Love the ubiquitous long-haired rhythm guitarist and bass player wearing the black leather cowboy hat that Chris Robinson left behind at the Copenhagen stop of the 1992 Black Crows tour. Just when I was thinking Eurovision had become "Solid Gold", my faith is renewed.

Sweden - La Voix
It is unfortunate that ABBA was the most successful Eurovision winner because it sort of ruined Sweden forever. How can you top "Dancing Queen?" So this year they went with a standard beautiful blond giant opera singer auditioning for an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. She is a soprano - no doubt about that as the glasses are shattering around me.

Andorra - Get A Life
The tiny country between France and Spain features a girl group singing in Catalan and English. I think those guitars they are playing are just for show, which confirms my idea that they have the WORST STYLIST EVER. Who put the lead singer in giant angel wing sleeves?

Portugal - Todas As Ruas Do Amor
This is actually lovely. I like them so much I want to believe her hair is real and not plastic. Accordions are always good, as well men doing the liquid hip dance behind bongos. All sung in Portuguese with a minimum amount of cheese - clearly this is the moment when camp took a bathroom break.

Bosnia and Herzegovina - Bistra Voda
Hmmm. They are dressed for an 18th century battle where everyone had to wear shades of winter white. So overly dramatic without any sense of humor at all. And look! They are posing on the stage in a dramatic tableau complete with red flag flying behind them! Don't worry young tigers, I'm sure the butcher still has meat!

Malta - What if We
Clearly Malta's Celine Dion with sassy "oh no you din it" neck shakes at the bridge. And she has lots of neck, so that was a big move.

Ukraine - Be My Valentine (Anti-Crisis Girl)
This is why you keep tuning in. Men in chrome gladiator outfits. Singer taking a break to do a drum solo. So pointless.

The Netherlands - Shine
Performed by Dutch favorites "The Toppers." Imagine three men vaguely in their 50s, covered with fake tan and wearing ill-fitting grey sequin tuxedos singing a series of cliches that make no sense when put together in a chorus or verse. And they put a giant woman in a white dress covered with fringe and then made her wear the portable turn table even though there WAS NO SCRATCHING. Why did they do this to her? Why?

SPOILER ALERT: It was front page news that The Toppers didn't make the finals...

The salt to my pepper

2009-04-30T21:58:00.004+02:00

Today was Queen's Day and it was epic. Tom and I had no agenda other than wandering and we ended up seeing just the people we wanted to see and doing just what we wanted to to. And I wore a parrot on my head all day. Photos to come later.

Queen's Day really is the world's largest garage sale, and I spent most of the day digging through vinyl, looking for records to boost my new collection. I did exceedingly well, bringing home 10 new LPs and a big box full of 45s -- 90% of which were free.

One of my new records is by Kate Bush, my best friend Jonna's all-time favorite. As I listened to her tonight, laying on the floor between the speakers, a massive wave of love washed over me. Such a massive wave that I grabbed my computer, compelled to write.

I was not a girl who had close friendships growing up, and though I have some regret about that, I also accept old scenarios as being exactly what they were. What I know more that anything is that, no matter what signals I sent (send?) of independence, confidence and self-contained affirmation, I was desperate to find people who got my jokes and wanted to be in my orbit.

I actually didn't know a joke getter existed until my first week of college, on floor two of Moore Hall in the Bean Complex, at the University of Oregon. I met Jonna, who was so much cooler than I was. She was funny and dry, knew about music, was super smart, had a great style and was a fierce individual, but didn't alienate anyone around her as she flew her unique Jonna flag. After a month of torturing our respective roommates, we moved into the same room, and the rest, as they say...

It is only after 20 years that I appreciate what a monumental meeting ours was. Before Jonna I didn't know what it was like to have a best friend. Someone with whom my emotional kimono could remain perpetually open without fear of a pointy "Ha ha!" We were a pair, and according to a few people who shared our world, a bit of a force to be reckoned with.

There is no way that I could ever do what I am doing if I had never met Jonna. It was because of her friendship that I started to believe that I had something to offer other than good outfits, because if someone so great likes you, then you must actually be likeable. And maybe a little bit great as well.

I have never had Jonna's grace, but that is so ok with me. She is the salt to my pepper, which means we both have strengths that the other may be lacking, but the combination of both makes a perfect seasoning. As I listened to "Wow" by Ms. Bush tonight, I realized that Jonna was the first person to tell me I was cool. Amazing even. And that song will remind me of her (and the coolness) forever.

There is not a real point to this post, other than to acknowledge the impact Jonna has had on my life. A best friend is a powerful thing. It doesn't matter that her days look different than mine because at the core of it all, we are still the same 18 year old girls tickled to death that someone gets us. When I grabbed bags of free clothes tonight, as the official selling hours ended and street vendors left their unsold items on the street, I knew that whatever didn't suit or fit me would be sent directly to Jonna for a secondary perusal - undoubtedly finding things that make her look fabulous. No one will appreciate the random care package like she will, and that makes her rock all the harder.

xx

Bumbling through the tulips

2009-04-26T21:51:00.003+02:00

Tom and I rented bikes and rode out amongst the tulips.

...and daffodils.

We stumbled upon the world famous flower parade. This is a photo of an old person waving at a float.

A right of passage of sorts

2009-04-20T21:54:00.002+02:00

Disclaimer: This entry is personal and perhaps disconcerting for those who don't want to know about my boobs.

Today I had my first mammogram. A right of passage for a 40 year old in the USA, in the Netherlands, a woman isn't "qualified" to get one until she is 50. After my sister was diagnosed two years ago, I asked about paying for a mammogram myself, just to get a baseline to measure against later on, but was told it was not possible. Even if I paid myself! The nurses I talked to advised me to lie and make up symptoms so my house doctor would give me a referral, but I couldn't do it.

Then I didn't have to make up symptoms because I found a strange mass on the side of my right breast that hurt when I pushed it. I waited about a month before getting up the guts to make an appointment with my house doctor, and then went in and showed her my business. She thought it was nothing, but with my history, gave me a referral. I felt like I won the golden ticket!

So this morning I went in and got squeezed. It hurt a lot more than I thought it would - I yelled, "Holy crap!" at squeeze #4, much to the surprise of the technician. Then it was done and I was told to get dressed and wait in the waiting room. That was the only time I felt scared -- while waiting. But after five minutes, another nurse came out and told me everything looked fine. Just like that.

I've been thinking about my health a lot lately. Thinking about my dad's slow PD progression. Thinking about my sister. Thinking about the strain on my mom and the effects it must have on her. Thinking about the Pickle who had surgery to remove a cyst on his brain last week. The line we walk is a thin one and every day we can get an "all clear” has to be considered a small victory.

Vegetarian vacation

2009-04-08T23:14:00.002+02:00

Saturday morning in Boulogne-sur-Mer saw me with Rabito and a big cloth shopping bag, following old women with empty baskets as they vaguely made their way toward the town center square. One of the sterling pieces of advice I can unequivocally give to anyone who asks or cares is always, ALWAYS, follow old women with empty baskets on Saturday mornings. Unless the empty baskets are shopping carts and you are on a freeway. Then not such good advice.

Old women know cooking and cooking means markets and markets in France mean everything. I was in absolute and utter heaven. And udder heaven too, as the cheese I tasted there was sublime and ridiculous. The neurons in my brain actually shuddered (uddered?) and I was filled with a strange sense of glee, which led me to buy a large chunk from the cheese makers selling from a folding card table and plastic cooler. "It is good for four days and don't refrigerate!" I was told...ok.

To go with the cheese I bought a French rotisserie chicken for a ridiculous 6 euros, a baguette, three apples, a jar of home-canned gherkins from an old man and a bottle of hard cider, which Normandy is known for. Breakfast was two pain du chocolate and a home canned jar of strawberry jam. Truly bliss. It was a bit sad not to be in a place with a kitchen because there was just so much to buy and try -- whole birds of every shape and size, rabbits, black truffles in a big mound, gorgeous artichokes, cheese, cheese, cheese, meat, sausage like you wouldn't believe, a hill of Coquilles, fish, flowers, bread, cakes and the list goes on.

We drove down the coast, stopping for our amazing picnic, briefly in Deauville, to walk the beach in Honfleur and at the D-Day monuments at Juno and Gold beaches. The architecture in Normandy surprised me - all half-timber houses with scalloped Victorian fanciness. Sort of like towns made of tuberculosis asylums from strange Gothic novels.

We didn't book any hotels ahead of time, so when we had a rough idea of where we wanted to get to, I looked in a guide book and called the one hotel that sounded good (it had a recommended seaside restaurant attached, so we could avoid the experience of the terrine). I nervously dialed the number and asked, "Parlez vous Anglais?" when a woman answered. "Non." was the reply. There are two things to do at this moment: hang up or muddle through. I muddled -- horribly, but adequately and did the biggest happy dance of all time when I hung up the phone. I like to think my slaughter of French pronunciation and vocabulary made her laugh.

Our dinner was excellent and the bed gave me the best night of sleep I'd had in a long time. Day two was fantastic and I really felt rejuvenated and ready for day three.

I do not think that word means what you think it means

2009-04-06T21:06:00.004+02:00

Tom and I made our way to France for a long weekend road trip through Picardy and along the Normandy coast. It was fantastic, made all the better by the sheer impetuousness of it all.

Friday we rented a car, packed Rabito in the back, made a last minute hotel reservation in Boulogne-sur-Mer and hit the big, wide road. We caught our first glimpse of ocean in Calais and took a break to frolic in the sand before driving the rest of the way.

We got to Boulogne just in time for dinner and fell into the classic trick spinning in circles trying to find a restaurant as our blood sugar spiraled downward. We were there during the Welsh festival (cheese, fried egg, ham on toast) and every place featured a sign with a smiling egg yolk, which seemed to mock our hunger. We wound up going to a strange place that specialized in food of the Alps region - raclette and fondue and such, which was perhaps a bad decision in retrospect. Tom was curious about the Welsh, but the terrine made with rabbit, pork, chicken, etc. sounded good too (especially the way I described it - all put together in a nice hot stew pot like a cassoulet but without the beans), and since the waiter wouldn't let him order two main courses (!), Tom eschewed the Welsh and went with my suggestion, as well as ordering an appropriate entree. Order! Garcon in French chain restaurant must have ORDER!

It ends up that terrine isn't a nice stew at all, but a cold gelatinous meatloaf, and Tom was not the happiest camper in town. He valiantly ate some, as I picked at my duck salad (my vegetarianism took a holiday too). It was not our finest meal, by any stretch. But it was a meal, and sometimes that is enough. And we were in France on a Friday night, which is always a good thing because you know what happens on Saturday mornings in France? Markets!!!

And that will come tomorrow.

Turning 40 part 3 - Electric Bogaloo

2009-04-01T21:27:00.006+02:00

Saturday night was my Aaron Spelling Party, where guests came as characters from his shows. Fantastic theme with fantastic people. Really. Here are a smattering of photos. So fun!

Pasquale and Marco as Starsky and Hutch

My friend Buffi Duberman as the misguided but well-intentioned hippie character on Mod Squad.
Tom as James Brolin from Hotel and Alexis Carrington from Dynasty,
though I wouldn't blame you mistaking me for a New Jersey realtor in bad drag.

Maureen's Krystal and Alexis waging an epic battle.

Alison as Heather Locklear in TJ Hooker, sans wig

Holly as Hooker With a Heart of Gold #1 from Fantasy Island (or Stephanie Power from Hart to Hart)
Demelza as Farrah Fawcett from Charlie's Angels and Barrie as Steve Sanders from 90210

Nicola as "Powerful female business woman" from Dynasty with Brenda Walsh (post mid-party costume change)

Jen as Jo from Melrose Place and Krystal Carrington. The cheekbones!

Alison and Snapper (in the background) looked suspiciously like strippers in their costumes.

Joshua and Steven AS Hart to Hart and Fantasy Island, respectively. And Brenda.

Closing with Mr. James Brolin. Sexy!

Turning 40 part 2

2009-03-28T16:04:00.002+01:00

I was a bit maudlin last night when I wrote part 1. But promptly after posting, Tom brought up the ipod and played "All the Single Ladies" by Beyonce and we danced and danced. And then I fell asleep on the couch. Such is my life!

Tonight is my Aaron Spelling-themed birthday party where the guests are dressing like any character from any A. Spelling show and I will hold court as Alexis Carrington. The best theme ever and I am beyond excited to see how everyone turns out. Photos to come tomorrow!

Turning 40 part 1

2009-03-28T00:27:00.005+01:00

How did I get to 40? Honestly. I don't know when it happened and now that it is here, I am not sure I want to let it in. It sounds so old. So final. So finished. This isn't the way I feel at all -- I have the love of my life and the job of my life, yet all I think about is the call that brings me back to Portland for a funeral, Tom's cough and the mole on my arm that seems a bit suspicious. Is this what it means to be 40? I have always been a bit snide when siting the inevitability of time -- the solution to never ending production nightmares, the end of never ending waffling, the final answer because at some point you run out of questions -- but when it comes down to it, it is damn scary. We are going to die someday. Ick.

I plan to write quite a bit this weekend. Join me on my crisis of confidence and reevaluating everything journey of WTF? I don't know when I got so old. At least I look really fantastic and have very few things to ever regret.

A Friday bit of funny

2009-02-27T11:55:00.003+01:00

This made me laugh, especially after playing the, "Describe the accessory and guess the neighborhood" game. Tribal tatoo? Williamsburg. Stroller? Park Slope. Scratches from fighting Polish women for meat? Greenpoint.

Enjoy

So I gave up eating meat...

2009-02-26T18:29:00.002+01:00

...because I saw my reflection coming down a flight of stairs in a pair of jeans and didn't like what I saw. And because I felt puffy all the time. And because, when I thought about my inner battle between eating lamb and loving bouncy little lambs, I felt dirty. And it was time to take control of my food intake again.

It is going surprisingly well, largely due to this web site:
http://thisiswhyyourefat.com/

Nothing stops the cravings like a heart attack on a plate.

RIP favorite orange vintage shoes

2009-02-23T23:49:00.003+01:00

My heels simultaneously snapped off while slipping down a flight of carpeted stairs at work.

I sort of liked how the toes curled up afterwards and managed to shuffle around on them for the rest of the day, as well as ride home.

I loved these shoes, found at Lady Day during my first Amsterdam summer, and was sad to see them go, but even a pack rat like me knows when it is time to say farewell.

Hotel mini soaps are like crack

2009-02-08T20:44:00.006+01:00

No matter where my parents lived, there was always a bag of mini toiletries stashed somewhere. And by bag I do not mean a wee gift bag or small piece of hand luggage, I mean a proper shopping bag, probably culled from a duty free shop somewhere. The bag bulged because there was never a soap, shampoo, body lotion, sewing kit, shaving kit, business class amenity, cologne, cracker or mini ketchup, that my parents did not keep. When I would drift through the house, engulfed in ennui of my own pre-teen creation, (which was a lot, in retrospect), I would take the bag down from the shelf in the linen closet and sift through the bounty.

There were paper-wrapped soaps from France that smelled like lime and cloves and white shirts that never stain or wrinkle. There were bottles upon bottles of 4711 cologne from flights to Germany. Zippered welcome pouches with slippers, sleep masks, combs and toothbrushes from flights to Japan (the yukata robes liberated from the Hotel Okura in Tokyo accompanied these nicely), mingled with lotions and potions from hotels throughout Europe - souvenirs of business trips made throughout the 70s - and Asia - souvenirs of business trips made throughout the 80s.

But it wasn't just fancy things in the bag. There were also the brittle pink soaps picked up en route during family vacations at budget hotels that lined the highway. Mini bottles of Scope, though my parents were die-hard Listerine people. Shoe shine sponges and tiny emory boards, all packed in cute boxes with names and locations stamped on the outside.

I love hotels, partly because of these free samples of luxury that filled the bag, and in turn fed my imagination. Like Tiffany's, nothing bad could ever happen in a fancy hotel that gave its guests presents. Travel seemed elegant.

But the reality of travel is quite different, and lack of space combined with the diminishing quality of hotel giveaways have made me less likely to bring anything home with me, though the spirit of mini soap crack still runs strong in my veins. The first thing I do when I get into my room is go into the bathroom and gleefully explore the freebies on the counter, but unless the product is exceptional, it typically stays behind (the Hermes soap, shampoo, bath gel and lotion from a recent stay in Munich was squirrled away in my suitcase within two minutes of checking in, just in case hotel management decided I wasn't worthy and came to take it back).

But of everything found on my recent work trips, this is my very favorite - a very cute toothpaste and mini toothbrush combination liberated from the hotel outside Milan. I have no use for it and shouldn't have even taken it, but absolutely could not resist it. In the classic vein of travel goods of old, it is far too special to use casually, but not nice enough to give away as wampum. It belongs on a shelf somewhere, right? Saved for a rainy day when no toothpaste can be found and I am jonesing particularly hard for a souvenir of free.

Uncomfortable

2009-02-03T18:05:00.003+01:00

There is a European thing that I do not enjoy and that is the unisex restroom. Sorry. Toilet.

Not a low lit, stylishly accessorized room with a toilet, sink and ubiquitous almond scented hand soap that either men or women use based on who gets there first, but a truly unisex toilet. A room you enter, minding your own business, and you see a closet for dames and a closet for heren (men) and a urinal hanging out on its own with a little half wall for privacy of sorts. The sink is out in the open and you can totally see the back of the man using the urinal when you exit your closet (and his surprised face when you walk in the room). This set up makes me uncomfortable.

And this is the toilet situation at the new building RIOT moved into on Monday. So the surprised face is a co-worker's face. And even more uncomfortable? When you exit your gender closet the same time as a man exits his gender closet because then you know he was sitting down. I don't need to jostle for position at the hand washing sink with a guy who will later be jostling for position at the coffee machine.

And that is the rant for the day. Peace out.

A very cold Amsterdam

2009-01-25T22:35:00.002+01:00

For more than a week the temperatures were well below freezing and the canals actually froze.

The Dutch left work early on Friday to go skating, but the ice wasn't anywhere near thick enough for me to trust. They were amazing to watch though.

Birds #1

Birds #2 and #3, on the ice flow by our apartment.

On the eve of a great day

2009-01-19T23:08:00.002+01:00

Tomorrow at 6pm Amsterdam time, I will close my computer and glue myself to the television to watch President Obama take office. Talking to another American today at work, we admitted to the shame spiral that we have been swept up in for most of our lives. Except for a brief respite in the first Clinton term, there has been a constant urge to apologize for or rage against the US leadership. As a post-Watergate kid, I grew up believing that politicians were liars. And when I polled the playground in 1980, I was amazed that kids and adults wanted Reagan to win when Carter was so clearly the nicer person. And look who was right!

The Reagan era, though clearly Nixon-like in its antipathy toward the law, gave me something to fight against. Something to argue and debate about over the dinner table. The world was black and white to me then, as it has never been since. When George the First took office, I was sad that the first vote I cast was wasted, and when the first bombs fell on Iraq, I cried with all my fellow journalism students at University of Oregon. We were a liberal bunch.

When Clinton won the election, I cried again, only this time with joy. I thought everything would change, but instead it got worse, with the rise of Newt and Rush and the further fall of the golden rule. Neighbors began to mistrust neighbors and rule by logic and intelligence dwindled. Clinton was too human. Too much of a punchline to be effective in his second term. And then the dark days began.

Eight years of shame. Eight years of embarrassment. Eight years of apologizing for something that I didn't do. All ending tomorrow. Tomorrow!

I hope Obama will be everything I hope he will be. I hope the United States becomes the country I have always wanted and expected it to be. I am so grateful that this moment has happened and that my nieces and nephews and children I know will know that truth, justice and the American way isn't just a comic book construct. It is possible. God bless.

Do I REALLY have to go back to reality tomorrow?

2009-01-04T20:50:00.007+01:00

What a fantastic few weeks it has been. Time off. Time in Portland with family and friends. And Tom and I got engaged. Should I have led with that?

Here is the story:
When we were in Rome, I was drawn into a small jewelry shop off Campo de' Fiori, which, though I love jewelry, was unusual because I tend not to not even window shop for it, much less go inside. As opposed to say, being drawn into shoe stores. Digression.

I went into the shop and saw a beautiful antique ring in the side case and gestured and smiled my way into asking the shop keeper to show it to me. It fit and I fell in love with it right away. I showed Tom and left it at that.

On Christmas Eve, just after finishing my super-sentimental post, Tom told me to open my last present next to the tree because, "the box is fragile and I am afraid it will fall apart if you move it." So I did. He went over to the stereo, put on "Downtown" and came over and got on one knee as I opened the box and saw my Roman ring sitting in a mass of rose petals. He said something about "happy" and "love" and "marry", but I couldn't really hear him through my crying. It was a lovely moment and we both kept looking at each other and saying, "Me? You really want to marry me?" Later that night we went up to the freezing cold roof and threw red rose petals into the air. Tom said he saw them on the street for days afterwards. Apparently there are no gift boxes to be had in Amsterdam, so Tom had to buy a large porcelain bell in order to get the right sized container. So if you come to my house and see the bell, now you know why it is there.

So we are getting married! No plans yet, but it is doubtful that it will be this year. I want to enjoy being engaged to my lovely man and let things come together as they may.

After spending Christmas day lazing on the couch with stockings and presents from family, I took off to a very snowy Portland. We had the Miller Family Christmas on Saturday, which was a riot. Seriously good times with lots of laughter and some impromptu dancing to scenes from "Summer Holiday." My nieces and nephews are getting so grown up and funny, but I was most struck by the moments where my brother, sister and I do whatever it is we do to make each other laugh. We are freaking hysterical.

I didn't get to see as many people as I would have liked, but did manage to check in with some good friends and see their rapidly growing children and some new babies. Portland doesn't change, but the kids do. It is such a great place to be from and I am grateful that I had the opportunity to fly back for a bit.

And now back to work. I expect to be crazy with football content and site production for months and months. So the posts may be short, but I'll try to stay current. Happy New Year everyone!

Holidayrific Catchup

2008-12-25T23:10:00.007+01:00

Some photos documenting the crazy weeks leading up to Christmas. Work has been super hectic, and will continue to be well into the new year, but we managed to have lots of fun whenever possible. Saturday we hosted a holiday cocktail party where fancy was the theme and even the dog dressed up.

The morning after the party, Roland and Amy, friends from Portland, arrived for a few nights on their way to France for their holidays. It was such a treat to hang out with them and enjoy their combination of smart and funny.

Rabito received presents from everyone! Ken and Jen, my sister, Tom's mom, and Santa all brought toys of varying squeaks and squishes.

Christmas

2008-12-24T21:13:00.002+01:00

I overcooked the roast beef, but the sauce was delicious and the potatoes were mashed and plentiful, so it didn't really matter.

The weather in Portland is bad. Really bad. So a nice man at Orbitz managed to get my plane ticket changed and now I get to spend Christmas day in Amsterdam with Tom instead of in coach. I win!

Last year Rabito was in foster care in the south of the Netherlands, after what we can only imagine was a fairly horrid life in Spain. Tonight he opened presents from friends and has a stocking already filled from Santa. But we are the lucky ones.

There is no present under the tree that can match how much I love Tom, but he has done a fairly fantastic job of coming close, and we are just pausing for desert and champagne. Who knows what treasures are yet to be unwrapped?

I am so grateful. Just that. Grateful.

Thank you.
And happy birthday Jesus.

Beautiful people and social networking

2008-12-08T21:48:00.007+01:00

"The most beautiful people are those who have known defeat, suffering, struggle....and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen." unknown author

I do loves me some cubbyholes and have willfully put myself and so many others into them throughout my life. Case in point -- high school. I have written before about going to my 1o year high school reunion and how different I felt when my 20 year reunion came around and I couldn't go. I was a wound up 15 year old and a wound up 18 year old and a wound up 21 year old who took herself so seriously. So seriously that she wouldn't even tease up her bangs at the height of fabulous 80s hair excesses! So seriously that she thought her struggles were hers alone and so conceited that she thought her struggles were unique. I figured out in the last few years that none of this is true and somewhere along the way I stopped being so self important and started laughing.

Which brings me to this lovely photo of two stone cold foxes:

Could this be more 80s? Karin, on the left, and I weren't so close during high school, clearly because I envied her way cool hair. I remember that she always seemed super confident and everyone liked her, which undoubtedly made me jealous and spiteful (my insecure MO -- just call me Rizzo). I have such good memories hanging out with Keri, the beauty in the yellow pants on the right. There was a whole group of fantastics, and for a while I was their friend, but then I disappeared. Why? No idea, though at the time I probably had all sorts of good cubbyhole reasons for taking myself out of the fun and putting myself on some sort of soapbox. How boring.

I planned to start over in college, and I did, but then did the exact same thing to the friends I made there. Cutting and running is something I did well, though since I remember envying the people who remained friends through the years, I was clearly not THAT good at it. Same thing happened in California and throughout different phases of life in Portland. So boring.

So leave it to a little thing called Facebook to give me a new chance to know bits about the people I knew before. Whenever I become friends with someone from high school and beyond, I clap my hands with glee. There is no way to go back and redo anything, but this way I can have a little glimpse into the lives of people I wish I still knew. Yes, Facebook has issues, yes we put our best selves forward on it, yes it is a fake reality, but it is also heartening because through it - through photos and words, I have learned that these girls grew into women with very authentic, very different, and very compelling realities. Just like me. How much would I love the chance to sit down over a bottle of wine or two and compare notes on life. The quote on the top of this page was posted by Karin on facebook the other day and it inspired me to write this post.

I had years worth of bitterness and assumptions built up, so many that I could barely hold a conversation with people at the first reunion, but now I see that we are all flawed and fabulous. Undoubtedly we all made choices we regret, learned lessons the hard way and changed for the better. It just never occurred to me that anyone other than me had any reason to change.

Thank you Easter Bunny!

2008-11-25T22:28:00.005+01:00

It is Thanksgiving week, so in the spirit of my all time favorite holiday and the tradition that is never quite as moving as it is on television, I bring you:

THE 2008 WHAT I AM THANKFUL FOR LIST

1. A rekindled love affair with typography
2. Time away from work
3. Jumping into the abyss
4. ...,staat and everything that is superdeluxe and wow
5. The eye of the tiger
6. Jewish girls from Brooklyn who teach English to rock stars and wear yellow boots
7. Guitar Hero
8. John coming for a visit and making Tom so happy
9. 80's Trivial Pursuit in the Old Man Bar
10. The shisha collecting dust in the closet
11. Heart-to-heart talks on the roof terrace
12. Eagles of Death Metal
13. "Sound of Music" on Christmas night
14. Rome
15. Obama!
16. "This American Life" explaining the US financial crisis in terms I can understand
17. Everyone I love is still here
18. Nights of good sleep
19. The smell of Tom's hair when he wakes up in the morning
20. A Spanish dog named Rabito
21. Amsterdam Fashion Week
22. Nieces, nephews and the children I love
23. Snow in November, sunshine in May
24. Lowlands
25. Hearing someone call my name while I am riding down the street
26. Art, design, creativity, opportunity, laughter and lessons learned
27. Everyone who reads Travelcheese. Thank you.

28. And more than anything, I am thankful for the man who smiles when he sees me, rides the waves of my emotions and brings me peace.

Sinterklaas arrives!

2008-11-16T22:05:00.005+01:00

Sinterklass and many zwart piets arrived in Amsterdam today, so Tom and I dragged ourselves into the center to watch the parade, feeling a bit worse for wear after going out last night with my new coworkers. Tequilla is still be worst boyfriend ever -- sweet and fun at first and pure manipulative evil after a date or two (or five).

Enjoy the photos. I know it is shocking to see blackface, but I have to say, there was so much joy and rare Dutch smiles everywhere today. This tradition may be unPC, but comes from a place of goodness, so don't judge too harshly please.

Zwart piets doing aeriel tricks while hanging off the walls of the V&D department store along the parade route.

Yea! Yea! Yea!

2008-11-05T07:15:00.003+01:00

We woke up at 6am, just in time to watch Obama make his acceptance speech. What a happy morning. What a happy day.

I started my new job three days ago and already feel like I have been there a month or so. It is very busy this week, so I'm just swimming and will reflect and write once I have emerged and dried off.

But for now, I am going to go to work a newly proud American.

Green thumb on the Emerald Isle

2008-10-29T20:31:00.008+01:00

In the continuing saga of my time between jobs, I went to Ireland to visit my friend Monique while she is spending time there with her boyfriend Colin. They are working on his mother's old house -- fixing it up after she passed last year and there is a lot of work to be done. The garden is huge and was vastly overgrown over years of perennials gone wild, so I called on my long dormant inner weed puller and went to work. For two days Colin, Monique and I tugged blackberry and ivy, cut back hedges, dug up trees and heaved countless piles of debris into one giant, soon to be mulched, hill. It was so fantastic and I suspect that the vestiges of a few demons were left behind in the mud.

Colin and Monique have neighbors named Joan and Wilfrid who we visited for tea on Sunday and cocktails and showers (since the water was out in the area and they have a well) on Monday. Wilfrid is a brilliant story teller in the vein of George Robertson (a shout out to heaven!) and I could have, and probably would have, listened to him for hours and hours.

A mushroomy fungus thing that grew in clumps on an old log. When you pushed them down, they would release a greenish spore-filled powder. Now we know what leprechauns take when they party.

On a morning walk with coffee in hand.

Colin in the back 40 in the midst of pulling. This is what it looked like before...

My fantastic Irish breakfast. Soooo good.

Muddy!

Mushroom house for a mini something.

...after. The back 40 after two days of hard work.

It's Ireland...green grass, bright leaves and old stone walls.

Bella Roma - part 2

2008-10-15T12:52:00.013+02:00

Like a rock concert for God, and the man himself (not Charlton Heston)

Day 5 - WEDNESDAY Vatican day. I donned a black dress - very chic, very cool - and Tom asked, "Why are you wearing that?" I said, "I like how it looks and it is really comfortable for walking around in." And then later, when we were surrounded by believers at St. Peter's he asked, "Why are you wearing that?" "I wanted to be respectful," I said. "I KNEW IT!!!" he said. "You are more Catholic than me!" You'd think that, but I suspect he has his own line to God, because when we woke up he said, "We are going to see the Pope today." And we did. But more of that in a moment. We hurried through breakfast and onto the metro because we didn't have tickets to the Vatican Museum, but thought that the crowds shouldn't be too bad since it was early in the day, off season and a Wednesday. So it was surprising to be packed in the metro car with other people, all of whom disembarked at the same stop we did. It was a mad rush up the street, toward St. Peter's, with me elbowing the odd German teenager who cut me off at an intersection. Of course we didn't know exactly where the Vatican Museum was, but figured everyone must be going there, I mean, WHY ELSE would anyone go to the Vatican on a Wednesday?

So we arrive at St. Peters and there is a massive horde lining up. Discouraged, we decide to bag it (there was an issue of Tom not wearing any sunscreen that day because he thought he would be inside all day and it was VERY bright outside) and stood outside the barricades at the top of the square watching people filter in after going through security. We finally asked an American couple what was going on and they replied, "The Pope is going to be here in about 30 minutes!" thinking we were crazy for not knowing that. Humph. Really? I looked at Tom and said, "How did you know?" "I know things," he said. And that is how a lapsed Catholic and a Presbyterian get to see the Pope. By accident. We ended up getting inside the square to better see the giant screens that broadcast the Pope Mobile driving around with the Pope waving to the crowds and then showed the German cardinal reading out the parishes who were visiting that day (in German), so when he said, "The blah blah blah church from Koln," the 20 or so people in the crowd who were from that parish all yelled and waved little flags. It was seriously like a rock concert for God. Or the man who is God on Earth. Or something. When Pope Benedict gave the benediction, we genuflected and left in order to actually find the Vatican Museum. Which we did. And there were no lines.

A fawn in the Vatican. Paganism is bad, but apparently, not as collectibles.

The museum was impressive and the Sistine Chapel was breathtaking. I was prepared to be underwhelmed by it, but just like "David" in Florence, it is absolutely incredible in person. You are not allowed to take photos or speak loudly while you are in the room, so you have to tune out the guards repeating, "NO PHOTOS. SILENCE." in loud monotones to fully appreciate the environment, which is difficult because people keep taking photos and talking loudly. This annoyed me, and I took out my annoyance on an old couple who spoke no English. When she took a flash photo and I turned to glare at her, he smiled a consipratorial smile and put his finger to his lips. Like THAT is going to work. I squinted and spit out, "Have some re-SPECT!" and walked away, taking my high horse with me. Tom, of course, was taking photos from his hip the entire time we were there. Yin, meet yang.

Michelangelo is going to be soooo pissed when he hears you photographed his ceiling!

Tom, whose Papal dispensation lasted all of five minutes.

After the museum, we wandered around Vatican City, had a glass of wine overlooking the dome and went back to go into St. Peters. Massive. Beautiful. Many priests on the dais -- like 30 of them -- which made me nervous. Such perfect architecture and design which was what moved me. After being in so many churches, large and small, crowded and empty, this one left me the coldest in terms of feeling the spirit, but absolutely blew my mind in terms of what man can build and create.

St. Peters

Day 6 - THURSDAY

I had to have "Roman Holiday" moment, and the hand of truth was it.

Not much to report from Thursday. At last we had seen everything that we felt we needed to see and could just wander and enjoy it all. And we really did. We got a late start and wound up having cappuccinos at a cluttered corner bar that we promptly fell in love with. I bought my fancy Italian shoes. Tom checked in on Rabito and the score of the Giants game while I was buying my fancy Italian shoes. We walked around a lot more, met Marco's friend Pricilla for a coffee, went to the most popular Chinese restaurant in Rome, which happened to be up the street from us. In order to get a table, we had to get there early at 7:00. We could have waited until 7:30 or even 7:45, but by 8:00, it was packed. The food was good -- really good.

Chinese food in Rome is ever so dreamy.

Then we walked back into the center to see what the Trevi Fountain, wedding cake, Pantheon, etc. look like at night. Beautiful, but it was disheartening to be in the middle of tourist mecca at night, when the purse sellers and pan handlers with puppies come out. On the way back to the hotel we took a new route and walked straight through a red carpet event complete with cameras and beautiful people. That was funny.

Old men, a bike and a cart at Campo di' Fiore.

Day 7 - FRIDAY
What an amazing day. We went to Campo di Fiore and Piazza Novona, wandering around the small streets that run behind each area. Vintage shops abounded and I found my perfect Italian purse sitting on a table, minding its own business. I fell in love with it and bargained superbly for it -- my style of bargaining, which is deciding what I am willing to pay, start there and stay there no matter what. And pay in cash. Other highlights: Fresh fig sorbet!!! Saltimbocca, which is a carnivore's delight. Grilled artichoke. Old men by the market who were selling an old bike out of the back of a cart but were more intent on gossiping. Warm sun and white wine. A slow and easy afternoon.

Katie and Constantine.

Day 8 - SATURDAY
What a difference a week made. Our last visit was to the Capitoline Museum so I could see the giant head of Constantine. I remember seeing the slide of the head in art history class, and I really wanted to see it in person. Not enough to make a special trip, but since we had time, and it was the last day, and the she-wolf was there too, we decided to go. And it was so worth it! Big head, big foot, big hand and big arm. But Tom's arm is bigger, albeit on a smaller scale. The museum was a good note to end on and on the way back to the hotel I passed by a souvenier stand and shot the photo of all the stuff that lead off the first Rome posting. One thing I wonder is whether or not Pope Benedict feels a little bit like a lesser pope, considering that Pope JPII is still everywhere, souvenier-speaking. Just a thought. Another weird thing? A man had climbed up a building crane and was standing in the basket-part with his hands held out like Jesus. There were police and firemen standing underneath, but they didn't seem too concerned. Perhaps he is there every Saturday. Wish I was!

Bella Roma - part 1

2008-10-13T11:02:00.028+02:00

Your one stop Roman shop - from Popes to emperors with every she-wolf and coliseum in between

I feel like I left part of my heart in a sunny palazzo in Rome. What an amazing place and what an amazing trip we had. Here is a rundown by day for the first half of the trip, accompanied by photos.

DAY 1 - SATURDAY

We had arrived at Marco and Pasquale's apartment around midnight on Friday, so we woke up not knowing where we were or where anything else was either. So we took off walking without a map and promptly came returned to the apartment 20 minutes later to fetch the map after already getting lost. Cut to two hours later when we finally stopped walking in generally the right direction to get pizza (delicious) and caffeine (necessary) and just like that found a metro stop which took us into the center. We decided to go to the most cheesy tourist attraction first, the Trevi Fountain, but turned the wrong direction upon getting off the metro and had to seek shelter in a cafeteria during a brutal thunder and lightning storm (more pizza and my first panini of goodness). When the rain stopped we actually got on the right track and managed to find something! Here I am after tossing my coin, though at this point I wasn't too interested in returning to Rome.

How wrong I was. The rest of the day was fantastic.

We dodged rainstorms to see the Pantheon -- I loved that we were constantly semi-directionless, so we wound up approaching it from the back, which is very impressive and gives an idea of the scale and age much more than the front does. It is beautiful and bizarre. We got coffee at Tazza d' Oro, one of Rome's best coffee shops, I bought boots because my feet were cold in their ballet flats and no socks, and we wound up having afternoon wine in the cloisters at Santa Maria della Pace completely by accident. The Caravagio paintings at San Luigi dei Francesi were right out of my art history books and stunning. We wound up wandering the fancy fashion streets by the Spanish Steps at nightfall (after Tom had more pizza) and ate dinner at one of Fellini's old haunts. And then we caught the metro back to the nearest station and walked 30 minutes or so to the apartment. I don't think I ever fell asleep faster.

Day 2 - SUNDAY

Exterior and interior of Santa Maria in Trastevere

The morning dawned sunny and cool, and we woke up more mass transit savvy, as we managed to catch a bus directly to the Porta Portese flea market. It. Was. Huge. The best things? Tables filled with used handbags for three euros each and tables of cashmere sweaters for 30 euros each, but really, there was something fairly fabulous at every turn. I left with one used handbag and Tom left with a new backpack, so we let our eyes do the shopping instead of our cash. After the market we wandered through Trastevere and visited one of the coolest churches of the trip, Santa Maria in Trastevere. We lunched al fresco where I discovered that rucola, fresh pear slices, Parmesan and lemon juice is a delicious salad to accompany a nice white wine. And on the pear theme, after lunch I had the most amazing pear gelato -- it had the grit that fresh pears have and all the sweetness too. For an ice cream fanatic, I was in heaven, especially because I had a scoop of pistachio as well. To work off dessert, we walked up the Janiculum hill for the view of Rome below.

Nuns making me smile on Janiculum hill

Three nuns from my favorite order (I like their habits the most) were up there too, which made me a little giddy. We continued the walk up more hills into a large park, where we wandered amidst the roman statuary and assorted grottoes -- in a way it reminded me of the backyard pool area of our next door neighbor during the 70s, all random stone figures and a strange sense of nothingness (though none of the statues we saw in the park were of a boy peeing, so that was different). There was a cricket match going on at the top of the park, so that was cool too. Back in Travestare, we had pizza (are you getting the theme?) and suppli' (fried rice balls -- the Roman bitterballen but better) before heading back to the neighborhood for more pizza at the place downstairs from the apartment. Fabulous day.

Day 3 - MONDAY

Pompeii head, columns and mini coliseum

Pompeii mosaic room and storage room

We got up early and caught the train to Naples, en route to Pompeii. I won't bore you with the travel particulars, but know that we were right on form, catching the wrong commuter trains and having to backtrack, getting lost and running late (only after taking advantage of the Sephora in the Rome station). But we got there with time to wander. It was beautiful and strange, but I wish I had gone to Herculeam instead, as I hear it is better preserved and a

bit less crowded. That said, it was very, very cool and a place I had imagined seeing since I was a little girl. After a semi-stressful trip back to Rome, I found us a restaurant serving Neapolitan food in dining room decorated in quintessential seafood restaurant grotto style and a singer. Fabulous. The food - great. The atmosphere - great. The song "Volare" - beyond great. On the way back to the train station we passed a hotel that looked cool so we went in and got a room for Tuesday through Friday nights just to be a little closer in.

Day 4 - TUESDAY

Evil smile in the Coliseum, Forum column and headless vestal virgin

Roman Ruin Day!!! We hadn't seen the Coliseum at all yet, so there were proper awe-faces made when we exited the metro station and saw it straight ahead of us. We were so struck by awe, in fact, that we had to get coffee and pastry before taking it on. Very cool, but the Forum was cooler. It is so vast and so evocative that you can easily imagine what it must have been like 2,000 + years ago. Yes, that's a two with three zeros after it. And tour groups still flock there. What have we done today that will be worthy of touring in 2,000 years? Hmmm? Dinner that night was seafood risotto followed by pork roasted with pistachios and figs.

Forum beauty

Gladiator

I will work on the text and images for part 2, but here is a preview: the Pope, scolding old people for breaking rules, wandering, food, wine, sun, coffee, beauty, fabulousness. Where to next???

Baa haa haa! Funny

2008-10-03T10:49:00.005+02:00

Funniest thing I have seen in a very long time. Off to Rome for a week -- expect photos when I get back!

This is what hope looks like

2008-09-17T17:17:00.005+02:00

Barack Obama photographed by uber-rocking Terry Richardson.

I hope.

How two people see things differently

2008-09-15T23:16:00.002+02:00

For three months, I sat with my back to the creative department I am supposed to manage, facing a glass wall with the account people on the other side. It wasn't bad, but I never felt comfortable.

Actually that is a lie. It sucked. I was separate from everyone, sitting alone with my dictionary and the voices in my head. Speaking what language?

So it was fantastic when I moved desks last week to the corner within the studio, amidst all the creatives, facing everyone and with my back to the wall. I think it is that last detail that is the best thing of all -- I instantly felt so much more relaxed as soon as I took my chair.

When trying to come up with a title for this posting, I asked Tom for his thoughts on what it meant that I am so much more comfortable in the new space, and he said, "You must have been Paulie Castallano in a previous life."
Um, who?
"You must have been in the mafia."
Um, ok. That wasn't really what I was thinking.
"What were you thinking?" he asked.
"I have to sit with my back to the wall because I was once jumped from behind in a wild west saloon. Or in a castle. Or on the trail."
"Wow," he said, "We have absolutely no imaginary scenario locations in common."

It's true. We don't.

Castles and Cassoulet

2008-09-08T22:34:00.010+02:00

What an amazing weekend! Tom and I went to the Pyrenees on a bit of a lark and were blown away at every turn. We stayed 30 minutes straight up the mountains from the town of Foix, in a small inn owned by a young husband and wife pair, their dog and nine month old daughter. He cooked delicious dinners -- reminded me how good shallots are in a vinegarette -- of simple, regional French food, which we ate in the restaurant before promptly falling to sleep to the sound of crickets. And the stars!! Here are some photos and some additional commentary.

Completely random figure outside a small church in a tiny town filled with random figures like this. Dressed in a WWI uniform, this soldier stood beside the town war memorial and held a faded French flag. Other characters included a priest, a bride and groom and a pair of old people sitting on a bench. Facinating. And creepy.

Us outside the Niaux Cave and trying to get in the same frame on a hillside

Jesus at the entrance to Sigeur

Sigeur

The Carcassonne Cathedral

Foix

Super foxy bread guy in Mirepoix

Carcassonne

Our view outside the door to our room.

Highlights:
- the Niaux Caves where we saw paintings from 14,000BC inside a 200,000BC cave. Truely exquisite.
- Castles! Castles! Castles!
- Crosses and Jesus and churches everywhere!
- This beautiful, charming surprising town called Sigeur in the Ariege that we stumbled on and walked around galking for an hour or so.
- Carcassonne was impressive -- an entire mideval city inside the battlements that is a bit of a tourist mecca, but still completely unique and facinating. Outside the walls there was a fete where people in town had a giant garage sale. I lingered over the junk, which led directly to us missing our flight back to Amsterdam. Not by best moment. But really, French junk is just much cooler than other junk.

Carcassonne fete and cool things for sale.

As a feminist, I am mortified

2008-09-01T22:02:00.003+02:00

What the hell? Seriously. I don't know where to start with this. I was a child of "Free to Be You and Me" and therefore embraced the idea that women and men are all equal and everyone should be free to be themselves and do whatever they wanted with their lives at a very early age. This record, memorized from repeated listening, made me laugh at "old" ideas that there was a cookie cutter future for all men (strong silent fathers who had manly jobs) and women (wives and mothers who sighed into the sink and wished for something different). But apparently I was wrong.

Apparently all you need to court women voters is to put a woman on the ballot. It doesn't matter that this woman is a politically under qualified, hypocritical Christian conservative who believes that birth control equals abortion and therefore supports her 17 year old daughter's teenage pregnancy instead of perhaps WANTING HER DAUGHTER TO GET AN EDUCATION, BE INDEPENDENT AND DO SOMETHING GREAT. It doesn't matter that this woman has seen virtually nothing of the bigger world outside Alaska. It doesn't matter that this woman is called a "hero" because she didn't abort her 5th child when she learned he had Down's Syndrome (I don't call that heroic. I call that normal -- what mother would?) All because she has a vagina and that, apparently, is all we (women) need. Ridiculous!!!

I want a woman strong enough to stand before her congregation and admit to having an abortion when she was young. I want a woman strong enough to stand before her friends and tell them that having five children is, perhaps, irresponsible in the face of overpopulation and diminishing natural resources (but apparently not in Alaska, where there is an entire wildlife refuge filled with oil to suck out of the earth). I want a woman who made bad choices. Who hated God at times. Who triumphed. Who worked hard, hard, hard! Who is smart and tough and can take care of herself. Who raised children who didn't resemble one of the Spears girls or their husbands. I want a woman who doesn't make a love of Jesus a prerequisite for morality. I don't think this is too much to ask, especially for the second most powerful person in the USA.

If I didn't believe that conservatives like this woman judge first and blame second, I wouldn't care so much. But the Fox News channels of the world make me believe different. Women like her are mouthpieces of the right. Soldiers for the likes of Karl Rove and Dick Cheney. They don't want to hear or consider any ideas different than theirs, and therefore are the most frightening, and unladylike people on the planet. I know I want to come back to the USA soon, but not if the USA considers women like this to be acceptable leaders. I wouldn't let her walk my dog.

ROAR!!!

Lowlands

2008-08-20T19:46:00.005+02:00

Lowlands is a three day music festival that takes place about 2 hours outside Amsterdam each August. The acts are top-notch, but since it typically involves camping, I said no no no. But this year I was given a day guest pass because ...,staat designed a giant (and so cool) compound for Converse. Sunday I gathered my camera and Chucks and took the train down for a day of wandering and photography. It was a great, great time with a superb performance by Yeasayer and lots of enjoying the special treatment that the special "Guest" wristband gave me. More than once I found myself wondering how I got there and marveling at my continued good fortune.

The entrance to Lowlands. Deer! Guns! Good!

Fantastic swamp things drinking Veuve Clicquot in the guest area.

Sneaker pimping in the Converse compound.

Funny puppet. He traveled with his wife puppet and heckled the crowd in a posh English accent.

Cotton candy leads the way. Woo hoo!!

Universal truth: you have to love the guy in the chicken suit dancing to bluegrass music.

Public toilets that I didn't have to use because I was doing the "Guest Pass Gives Access to Nice Bathrooms" dance.

More fantastic numbers

Gup covered the walls between areas of the festival with daily photo uploads.

A Hunter S. Thompson sort riding along with a disco DJ parade.

Lead man from Yeasayer. Their set completely blew my mind.

The Guest/Press tent. Oh how sweet it is to have perks.

Me. With a very 70s shag and camera.

A day out in (transport) Maastricht

2008-08-16T12:16:00.004+02:00

What? Color on the buildings? Shocking!!

I just saw Tom flail his arms around and nearly fall off the couch because a fly flew by his head. And this morning Rabito was so excited when Tom got up to take him out that he jumped up and promptly fell down flat on his belly with a loud bang. I live in a house of funny.

After far too many weekends staying in Amsterdam, Tom and I took a day trip to the town of Maastricht in the sound of the Netherlands on Saturday. As is the norm when we travel, there were transportation issues. How could we know that there was work on the tracks and we would have to get off the train at Utrecht and take a 45-minute bus ride to re-catch a train? Or that the train labeled "Maastricht" wasn't actually a train to Maastricht, but instead a train you take to another stop where you had to get off and get on another train? It was silly and has provided some good dinner party conversation because stories about your fellow travelers are always interesting.

Especially if:
- a man gets on the train after you and sits directly across the aisle, staring intensely at your dog. When I acknowledge him, he tells me that he has been away from his dog for three months because he has been in prison. I debate whether or not to let Rabito cross over to him, but figure why not. He pets the dog, Rabito wags his tail, he pets the dog again, Rabito decides he is a bit too needy and comes back over to me and stays firmly out of reach. And after a few minutes of the man begging the dog to come closer, the man leaves. We saw him get off the train a few stops later and he didn't seem in too much a hurry to see his dog again, judging from the amount of time he was spending drinking a beer and talking to some guy in a car who was waiting outside the stop.

- on the 45 minute bus ride, you get the only two remaining seats together, behind an old couple. The man has leaned his seat all the way back, so his head is almost against my chest. You know when old people have white hair that is sort of yellow underneath? He had that. And some dandruff. He and his wife got out some soft cookies to eat, emphasis on soft, because they didn't have teeth! They gummed the cookies, which involves A LOT of jaw movement. I was fascinated. Better than tv.

The town was very pretty and looked quite different than Amsterdam. There was a plethora of skinny women in white jeans and ballet flats, which signaled its proximity to Belgium and France. It is good to know that the love of olive green and cheap vinyl shoes is perhaps more regional than national. We walked around, oggled a Roman wall, Rabito met goats and chickens when we stumbled upon a mini zoo of sorts, saw many churches and Catholic ephemera on our wanders (the south is Catholic and much different than the Protestant north -- a bit loosened up and decorative), and had a generally lovely day.

My sister had to put Shandy the Wonder Dog to sleep yesterday, which is very sad. Shandy was a great dog and she will be missed. I am sorry for my sissy because it was a very hard decision, but she did the right thing.

Shandy the Wonder Dog (right) and Pepper during the days of sisters and pets.

And now for something completely different

2008-08-07T23:46:00.002+02:00

For the first time ever in my entire life, I am putting someone else's needs before mine.

9/8th's of the people reading this will be smirking right now amidst the whole "it'sabouttime"ness of it all, and the remaining 1/8? Sorry to tell you, but I am a completely selfish brat. My smile and jazz hands might have distracted you up to this point, but it is very true. But not in a particularly bad way...I like to think I am a super fun selfish brat that distracts you from your usual world and causes you to buy impractical garments.

Tom is more important than anything I have ever had or anyone I have ever known. So for him I keep going and plan on staying in Amsterdam for who knows how long. Sigh. I am so ready to go back and put down some roots and experience being in New York for the first time, closer to family and friends but still writing new chapters in my life book. But. BUT! The experience of staying for someone else is a new chapter too because, as I have already said, I have never done anything for anyone else on any long term level. And who knows what this will uncover. As I write this I am listening to a play list made while living here and wonder what other bands will I discover by working around crazy creative Eurofabulous people. And the jaw-dropping nature of the vast number of Dutch artists and photographers I am exposed to on a daily basis. And working around fashion, which is like Charlie going to the chocolate factory. Not to mention learning what it is like to put myself second for once. There is a jewel out there, I know, and it will take me being unlike me to find it.

At the end of this strange rainbow will be me walking down some pathway toward Tom and a figure who channels God's goodness. And we will look at each other and proclaim our love to the heavens and promise never to let go ever ever ever, followed by dancing. The trials we have had here make that vision all the more exciting because it will be a day a serious celebration. Growth and change and compromise and sacrifice and being humbled and being so freaking lucky and another Amsterdam winter and another Amsterdam spring and friends moving away and happiness just the two of us and enduring and keeping yourself for moments of strength are all reasons to lift a glass and sing a happy tune. I can not wait.

Whatever Tommy needs, I want to give to him. This ask is tiny. And this is love.

brilliant

2008-08-04T21:12:00.005+02:00

So simple, beautiful and well done.

Gay Day #3

2008-08-03T21:33:00.005+02:00

Not as many drag queens as last year, but the canal parade was still full of shiny goodness. And aging bears in tiny black shorts. And Sinter Klas with a boatload of gay assistants. And lots of rainbows. Enjoy!

Love the exuberance in rainbow afro wigs. Why can't every day be like this?

What makes our shockingly un-PC holiday even more un-PC?

Drag queen in pink. Hot! But looks a little like Tony Clifton...

That diva bitch in black was FIERCE mmmkay!

These bodies were not hot.

2008-07-31T21:32:00.003+02:00

Crazy, crazy days. Work is busy, but not overwhelmingly so, and I have been enjoying some summer days and evenings with friends. Last weekend was fairly fabulous -- a fashion week party on Friday, the arrival of Nicola on Sunday, a fashion show on Sunday and then a baby shower for my friend Vanessa on Sunday afternoon. I felt very fancy. This weekend is another big one: celebrating Marco and Pasquale's birthdays, Gay Pride day on Saturday -- my favorite parade of all time, and Sunday the summer flea market in the north. And that is all I have for now. Hopefull there will be many more photos after this weekend of feathers and leathers!

I made it into another blog!

2008-07-14T11:24:00.007+02:00

http://www.360fashion.typepad.com/aifw/

A blog about Amsterdam International Fashion Week, the project that consumed my days and nights last week. If you scroll down, you can find me looking furtive in a euro-scarf, trying to capture client feedback at 11:30 at night. The good news is the paper we produced came out on time and looking beautiful. All was worth while in the end!!

And speaking of fashion, I love Karl Lagerfeld. I just do. A sign on the company toilet says, "Pissing everywhere isn't very Chanel," which sort of sums it all up for me. Here are some photos from the recent Chanel show of two things I covet. A white Chanel wrist bag? Yes! A black and white stunner that needs at least a foot more material on the end to make useful? Sure!
If you can't tell, I am seriously enjoying myself!

Rabito goes to the beach

2008-07-14T00:05:00.005+02:00

This was our first trip to the beach with Rabito and we learned quickly that he loved the sand. With his face. Those tubes are the North Sea version of razor clams.
Happy, happy dog.

If pioneer women quit...

2008-07-06T22:57:00.002+02:00

I'd have grown up in Kansas.

Hee hee hee. I am fine and feeling really good for getting through (the only way out...thank you uncle carl!) the mire. I understand more conversations now and am making substantial progress, so there is lots of hope. Wee!

Mile 19

2008-06-30T21:56:00.002+02:00

I am all up in my own self-pity grill right now, so stop reading if you don't want to scoff. Because my rant is super scoff worthy.

A number of years ago, I completed the Portland Marathon. I had trained all summer to walk the course very fast, but when the event was happening, I found myself running, though I wasn't a runner, and walking way beyond my usual pace. Apparently this is called "race adrenaline" and as far as phenomena go, it is a bastard. Yea sure, you are cruising along at mile 5, 9 or 14, wading amidst the hubris as you look at your branded watch and think, "At this pace I will finish in time to watch the back to back "90210" episodes on USA and eat a lasagna! And still do the laundry and roast a chicken!" Or something (not at all) like that. It all felt great and powerful and uplifting and superhuman.

Until mile 19 when the wall crashed down on my swollen head. "How does that feel Cocky McGee?" it said while dangling a bottle of Advil in front of my face.

"Ow," I said.

Really. It was not just pain, but also a feeling of absolute exhaustion. My muscles turned into 20 pound lumps of Play Doh and I realized, at this mile, that the strap of my jog bra (sorry! I hate that term, but what am I going to use in its place? Athletic support? Jock brassier?) had rubbed my shoulder raw. I was not going to make it, feeling the way I felt. No freakin way.

But I did. At mile 20 was my old house, with Advil and a Bloody Mary waiting for me. My friend Warren, a marathon veteran, was there, and wouldn't let me sit down, but did let me chug a cocktail before sending me on my way. And you know, by mile 21, I felt much better. I actually ran mile 24, managed the last bit by sheer determination and teared up when crossing the finish line. It was so worth it, and something I swore I would never do again.

Until I decided I'd take a job in an office that works in another language. Yea. That was smart! It was arrogance that made me think I could slip into Dutch without too much work and it was 8 hours of mile 19 that made me want to quit today. But my friend Marco here is my friend Warren there and he gave me quite a talking to tonight (while sitting on the sun deck of Musikgebouw overlooking the Ij -- so pretty). Apparently we Americans believe so much in ourselves that we are shocked when we can't do something perfectly and tend to quit rather than struggle. "Europeans," he said, "are quite honest about their failings, which shows our humanity and allows us not to put so much pressure on ourselves." Interesting. He convinced me that stopping now would cause me great regret later. This is a guy who speaks seven languages, so I am not going to argue with his wisdom. But I do want to quit, even though I know I won't.

Learning a language while working full time and spending all non-working time with my English-speaking people is quite difficult, and I hope I remember that when feeling frustration toward non-English speakers who live in the US. It isn't school, where you have set time periods devoted to studying. This is more trying to remember the word for "Less" while grabbing some chicken to make for dinner before the grocery closes at 8. It is very hard, but I hope very worth it. Will I get a commemorative medal when it is all over? Perhaps a free container of yoghurt and a complementary banana? Only time will tell.

Homework break - geek style

2008-06-25T21:59:00.002+02:00

Tom and I just lipsynched "The Kid Is Hot Tonight," by Loverboy during halftime of the Turkey vs. Germany match and while I was in a good stopping point from the Dutch studies. I was resplendent in a dishtowel (clean) headband and holding a wooden spoon microphone. Tom rocked the air guitar. Is there any wonder why I love this man so much?

Brain stretch

2008-06-24T08:23:00.004+02:00

It has been a long ass time since my brain ached. Proper eyes blurring, head numb, justonemoreandthenI'lltakeabreak, ache. And it is the best feeling in the world. I love it. Class yesterday was good -- I am one of six students, and while my Dutch isn't the best, it isn't the worst, though my lack of vocabulary is shocking to me. How I thought I could learn an entire dictionary of words by osmosis and sporadic "classes" is beyond me. The reality of learning and the effort required to do it, came back with a vengeance yesterday as I spent four solid hours on homework with a grin on my face. Fantastic. Honestly I was the happiest student in the world! I went to a cafe, spread my books out over a big table by the window and proceeded to translate every single word I didn't know before filling in the blanks or circling the opposite adjective on the worksheets. It took a long time and produced four pages of Dutch words and their definitions -- all written in a newly purchased notebook and with a newly purchased pen, which I think will help me learn faster, don't you? Now I can say things like, "Rustig aan!" and "Heb je een goedkoop trui?" which are not complex sentences, but use words I didn't know yesterday morning when I got up. And that is why I love learning so much; my brain will have new and different things in it tonight that it has never had in it before. The only big difference between today and the last time I was a student of anything but life and shoe trends is it takes a bit more time to make my brain remember what it learned today, yesterday, last week, an hour ago, or five minutes from now. Oh well. It just means I will be keeping myself in new notebooks for a while, which is never a bad thing.

Ik ben (sort of) Nederlandse

2008-06-22T23:26:00.002+02:00

What a weekend! After my second week at work, I started to settle into a groove, only to be away from the office all this week at intensive Dutch class. I am so excited to start tomorrow, and hope to stretch my brain beyond anything I have imagined. I know it won't be a silver bullet that allows all communication to be clear, but it is a significant step toward becoming a proper Dutch speaker. And that is a good thing.

Saturday was the quarterfinal match between Netherlands and Russia. We went to a bar in de Pijp with friends (after consuming an obscene amount of cottage pie at Alison and Snapper's house) and were there to ride the waves of frustration, glee and sadness, as the mightly orange were eliminated from competition. When Holland scored a goal to tie the game, it was as loud, as exciting, as fun as I have ever imagined. The place went nuts, and we were part of it. I think I may have inadvertantly caused the loss because I had visited a costume shop earlier in the day and had bought much orange ephemera in anticpation of a victory -- wigs, hats, glasses, ect.) Note to self: wait until your team makes it to the finals before buying props. At least we are set for Queens Day next year!

Today was a lovely lazy day, as the winds are blowing with great force and the temperature is a humid 75. It is nice to be here, experiencing all of the events of the day with Tom and Beets. Just to sit on the red couch together and read books as Spain and Italy battle on the television is a beautiful thing. I hope the Dutch takes and I am hopeful that another world will open up here for us. It will take time and work, but it is quite a great challenge to take on. I'll keep you posted.

It's 10pm, but I swear it seems like 6.

2008-06-15T21:42:00.002+02:00

I love summers in Holland, and now that it is officially my third such season here, I can say that with some cred. It stays light so late that the days take on a slower pace and everyone seems to be amazed all the time because it is perpetually 6pm in our collective heads, though it is much later in actuality. I remember being sent to bed as a kid when it was still light outside and using the lingering daylight to sneak a page or two of reading in when I was supposed to be sleeping. Those few pages felt like gold, and I still get the same charge when the clock says one thing but the light says another.

I started work this week and like it very much so far. Being the only non-Dutch speaker is a challenge, mostly because I can't eavesdrop and get a leg up on the challenges that I know are coming, but I am eager to learn and the people I am surrounded with are both patient and kind. The work is amazing -- very creative and smart -- and I feel like I fit. Once I can communicate in Dutch, it will all be better. One thing that surprised me was lunch, when everyone eats together in a common room, from food that is provided once a week by the company. Lots of soft sandwich bread, lots of butter, lots of cheese, lots of milk and lots of spreads. And sprinkles. They were very nice and asked me if I needed anything specific to eat, so this week will see the addition of Wassa crackers, green apples and soy milk. I want to fit in, but I can't eat what they eat and feel at all healthy. It is the first real cultural difference I have experienced, and in the very first week of working somewhere else. Guess this little experiment is working already!

The Euro Cup is very exciting. On Friday I went to the Arena (stadium) for the Bon Jovi show (which rocked, so stop your scoffing right now), and they showed the Netherlands vs. France match on the big screen before the band played. So exciting -- especially with about 20,000 people. So loud, so fun, so Hup! Hup! Holland!! Unfortunately, I know the French national anthem better than the Dutch one, but my friend Elissa and I managed to fake lip sync well enough to get by. Note to self: learn the Dutch national anthem.

I am on the set of "West Side Story"

2008-06-09T20:48:00.002+02:00

Some young punks on the corner are singing the "Italia" anthem moments before the Euro Cup 2008 match between Italy and Netherlands starts. It is an epically beautiful evening, with the sky the brightest blue and more orange shirts in the streets than ever show up on Queens Day. Air horns, body paint and a real sense of excitement, even amongst the normally placid Dutch.

Tomorrow I start my first day at my new job, so that real sense of excitement might just be emanating from me like so much garlic, but I don't think so. It is a new chapter for me, and that is always a cause for celebration. More details to come.

We have all adjusted back to Amsterdam time and ways. On the way back from the phone store (which PROMPTLY closed at 6pm), Tom and I ran into a Dutch friend who is moving to Denmark tomorrow with his lovely Danish girl. For anyone who has ever emigrated to another city (within your country or not), you will recognize this moment as a watershed: you are minding your own business and hear your name called out from an outdoor cafe on the corner. You look over and see a friend who motions you over and asks you to stay for a beer. THAT is a sign that you have arrived and started creating a life. THAT is a cause for celebration.

Oh my god, Netherlands just scored. There is madness coming from the windows of apartments all over my neighborhood. Fantastic.

I know I need to share details of the trip, but I am loathe to try and write about it when I am still so in it. Suffice it to say that I was reminded how much I am loved just as I am and how amazingly lucky I am to have such amazing people in my life. I'll just go to the "Sound of Music" place and say, without embarrassment, that somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something seriously good. Nothing comes from nothing as they say.

WOW. Netherlands just scored again. Hup Holland!!!! Scream from the street! Yellow card!! I have to stop writing and start enjoying. I was far too green (te groen) to understand or participate in the glory that is European football when I moved here during World Cup 2006. Now that I am going on my third year, I can finally don my orange, push my way to the front of the pack and cheer along.

a fast update

2008-06-07T03:07:00.002+02:00

I was in the US for three weeks and am now suffering major jet lag, combated by sleeping pills that wreck me until the early afternoon. So until I am back on my feet, there won't be any updates. But rest assured, there are stories to be told and photos to be shared once I am up and running on my own accord.

Until then, call me Judy and give me my beautiful dolls.

Tom + Katie try to culture it up

2008-05-15T17:09:00.007+02:00

The Amsterdam weather has been fantastic -- sunny and 80ish for more than a week -- and once again I am reminded how well the Dutch do warm weather. Everyone leaves their rooms and embraces the sun, mostly without proper sunscreen. The canals were filled with boats, sidewalks in front of apartment buildings were filled with families and friends having dinner al fresco, and I was schooled how to use parks for proper picnics and birthday parties. Lots of lazing in the grass eating fantastic food and the happiest dog in the world.

On Sunday Tom and I went to the Art Amsterdam 2008 show at the RAI (in the south), which featured the latest in international contemporary art from 125 galleries. It was a great way to see such disparate work, as there wasn't the intimidation of going into actual galleries and there was a sense that you could discover something cool before a museum or highbrow collector did. And there were plenty of collectors around, which made the people watching freakishly great.

Some favorites:
Patrick Bergsma - Dutch artist who uses iconic Dutch motifs with great humor and affection

Klaas Gubbels, Door Vermeer, 1993, olieverf op doek, 70 x 80 cm

Klaas Gubbels - my affection may be influenced by the fact that he was in the space, signing books. I stood on the edge of the crowd that was gathered, watching him, and when I turned around, the expression on my face caused Tom to say, "You are such a goon. So excited to see a real life artist!"

Robert De keersmaeker - Dutch realist painter with a charming eye

Susanna Majuri, Farevil Kanal, 2005

Susanna Majuri - Finnish photographer

Kresten Havgaard, Uden titel, 2005, Olie på lærred, 67x92 cm

Kresten Havgaard - Danish painter in the best Motherwell vein

This show happens once a year for four days and was one of the best things I have done since moving here. So great that we were inspired to buy a piece of our own by Rotterdam artists SCHILTE & PORTIELJE. Though I can't download the image, you can see some of their work on at the Van Wijngaarden Hakkens gallery site. We felt quite fancy.

Summer Lovin' Amsterdam Style

2008-05-09T11:15:00.004+02:00

The 100m Stiletto Sprint (this photo from Flicker)

I survived my second Queen's Day last week, celebrating in orange style with friends and a massive influx of Dutchies for a Day. The night before QD, is the Drag Queen Olympics at the Homomonument and it was fabulous. I learned one important fact: never photograph a drag queen from below when they are hurling a handbag. It just isn't fair.

A handbag toss from below. I apologize.

The next morning I got up and did a bit of shopping on the streets. No Frank doll like last year, but I found a set of walnut, glass-topped stacking tables and some pieces of the West German pottery that I like. Then we donned our orange garb and boarded a boat with lots of people from W+K for a four hour tour around the canals. Tom's orange knickers were a bit hit (though you have to be careful who you say knickers to, as it also means underwear).

And after the boat we went back into the streets to soak in some mayhem.

In the days following, the sun came out and the temps soared, so I assembled the patio furniture and opened up the roof terrace for the inaugural BBQ and cinco de mayo celebration. It rocked. The sun rocks.

This week I spent lots of time in the park with the dog and starting to get ready for the trip to Portland and New York: hair cut, facial, work stuff, finding a dog walker, etc. I can't believe I will be there for three whole weeks. So excited!

The most trivial post ever.

2008-04-25T20:41:00.005+02:00

It has been a busy week of job interviews, afternoon trips to IKEA, long walks in the sunshine with the Beets, blogging on Smiling Magpie and finding some kick ass vintage pieces in hot pink and orange cotton print. After my initial post-job loss moping, now I am trying to take advantage of every minute of free time with a giant smile on my face. All is good.

During my dog walks, I have lots of time to think about important things like how to conjugate "to be" in Dutch and my definitive list of iconic hairstyles that I have tried over the years.

1. Louise Brooks - the short bob. This would have been the perfect cut for me if I didn't have giant cowlicks that kept the bangs from hanging straight. Instead of being sleek flapper girl, I looked like I was growing horns. #4 - same problem. Once, after an ill-advised perm in the 80s, I learned that, with this cut, I bear a striking resemblance to a mushroom cap.

2. Mia Farrow - the short cropped 'do in Rosemary's Baby. I had this cut in the early 90s and if I ever tell you that it was my attempt to be part of the whole Riot Grrl thing, I am lying to you. I was actually attempting to look like a Giorgio Armani ad. It didn't work.

3. Nana Mouskouri/Marlo Thomas hybrid - the parted in the middle, shoulder length, no bangs style that had more bounce (read: class) than it's Lori Partridge/Marcia Brady counterpart. This tells the world that you do not wear cut off shorts, drop acid or fancy men with feathered hair. Can also be parted on the side and held with a barrette in order to look vaguely French.

4. Bettie Page - short Frankenstein bangs are key. Very few people look good with this haircut, but its a requirement if you ever want to take swing dance lessons, wear "Emily Strange" clothes after 17 or dye your hair pitch black. All of which I have done.

5. The Darren Star girls: Kelly Taylor ("Beverly Hills 90210" season 6) and Jane Mancini ("Melrose Place" seasons 1 & 2) - short blond hair with many bobby pins (predating another Darren Star girl, Carrie Bradshaw, who also seemed overly fond of said pins). The short hair was just the thing when one was battling cocaine addiction with one's artist boyfriend (Kelly) or dealing with one's fillandering doctor husband while living in an incestuous apartment building filled with obnoxious advertising execs (Jane). Of course my love of this hair is clearly derived from my first hair icon: Dorothy Hamill.

I have given each of these styles repeated tries, but nothing really worked for me and my cowlicks until I moved to Amsterdam and found Franc. He looks at me and says, "Zo. Vat should I do today?" I tell him this and that and then he proceeds to give me the exact same cut every time. And even though I get pissed that he ignores me, Franc does know best. He found my perfect haircut: the *(&W)!) Shag.

The hair of the Bay City Rollers, Leather Tuscadero, Carol Brady in the final two seasons of "The Brady Bunch" and countless JCPenny catalog models from 1976 is my best look. Who would have thunk it? Though this may be the most trivial of all blog entries ever, I felt the need to share because there is a good chance that when I get off the plane in Portland in a few weeks, I may look like this:

I thought you should know. But if British comedians (like Noel Fielding of the hilarious "Mighty Boosh", above) are rocking the modern shag, at least I know I am in stellar company. Because we all know that British comedians lead the parade of hair trends. Don't you all remember the Dudley Moore curly mullet in "10?" The balding comb-over of John Cleese in everything?

Jeez. This is so vapid I need to go plant a tree or fight crime just to redeem myself. Apologies for the trivial rant!

A giant circular journey through my brain

2008-04-18T10:23:00.011+02:00

An unforeseen side effect of unemployment is a serious case of writer's block. So, in an attempt to get out of my brain and onto the screen with something worthy of posting, I photographed some house numbers on my morning walk.

Pretty, no? While I was uploading the photos to the computer, I remembered a fabric pattern that I saw on the Marimekko site the other day:

"Summat" pattern by Marjaana Virta

And this reminded me of Jasper Johns. Actually it reminded me of seeing paintings of numbers in art history class and the handy internet led me to Jasper Johns and a nice visit to PBS.

Jasper Johns, Grey Numbers, 1961

And this painting made me realize just how much mid to late 20th century painting influences what I see through the camera. That thought led me back to the last photo I took this morning which sort of brings it all around full circle. Good stuff.

And for more good stuff, visit Smiling Magpie for more information on Marimekko and other bits of shine. This is my new blog where I obsess less about the workings of my brain and more about the funny, cool things I find in my travels around Amsterdam and beyond and the places on the web that sell such things. Please visit and tell me what you think!

I write this for Stacy

2008-04-16T21:34:00.005+02:00

**post removed due to overabundance of red-wine fueled sentimentality**

But if you haven't visited my friend Stacy's blog yet, you should. It is funny and fabulous, just like her.

And just like that, Spring is here!

2008-04-04T14:08:00.005+02:00

Between Rabito's morning and noon walks, the mini-daisies bloomed in the park up the street. Though I can still see my own breath, this gives me hope that warmer days are on their way.

The universe gives a birthday present

2008-03-31T21:03:00.005+02:00

Birthday sparkles at Moeders.

I wrote about being taught the phrase "en 'shallah" when I was in Egypt, but I didn't expand on how valuable the idea "if God wills it" would become in the weeks after I returned back to Amsterdam from holiday.

While I was away, there were several layoffs made in the company, much to everyone's surprise. Long story short, when I returned to the office, I was told that I was being let go as well. Though I worked very, very hard this last year, the job I was doing was a casualty of client changes. There is no way that anyone working in advertising can possibly believe that their job is ever safe with all the variables that come into play in this industry, but it was sad news.

"Guitar Hero," I will miss you most of all!

Fortunately, Tom was hired by a Dutch company when we were in Paris, so he can sponsor me and we can stay in Amsterdam. I don't know what I am going to do yet, but I have some ideas that are kicking around. There is no hurry to find a new job, so I want to make certain that I give this decision the attention it deserves.

Freddie Mercury showing off his Queen's Day crown before we left the office.

Friday was my last day at the office, followed by my birthday on Sunday and tomorrow is Tom's first day at his new office, so there are plenty of changes and celebrations afoot. I found a spot for my Freddie Mercury doll in the apartment (whew!) and was feted in grand style by my friends. And tomorrow Rabito and I will hang out together and figure out our routine.

Matthew and Maureen gave me a set of "Gnarly Teeth," which livens up a dinner like nothing else. How great to have friends willing to ass out in public for the silliness of it all.

My first goal of unemployment will be perfecting the basic crepe. Tom gave me a beautiful pan, but my first foray into crepe-making yielded lumpy batter and alien shapes, so I am going to spend an entire day trying out different recipes and combinations. Tom will come home from work and I will force-feed him 20 crepes while demanding to know every small detail of his day. Or maybe a better idea will be an impromptu afterwork party for my friends where they just stop by and pick up some crepes on their way home. That sounds better. And less crazy.

There is nothing but opportunity waiting for us around the corner, but so much freedom can be a little daunting, especially when work has been the defining aspect to my time here. It will be a different Amsterdam once spring arrives and I will actually get to enjoy it, en 'shallah.

Paris - in pictures

2008-03-30T23:11:00.004+02:00

After my return from Egypt, I said farewell to Allison and hopped a train for Paris with Tom and Rabito. We had a lovely time, made all the better by the parental bonus, as my mom and dad were in the city for a few days before leaving on a tour through Italy. I will let the captions tell the story of the trip.

Rabito was a wonder dog on this trip. He slept in our laps on the four hour train ride, walked all over the city with us, sat calmly under restaurant tables and charmed the French ladies with his white boots.

My beautiful mom, at her birthday lunch at the fabulous Le Hangar.

Tom in front of the Louvre. I love this picture.

The waiter said, "Large beer." Tom thought, "What can the French know about large beers? I am from the land of large beers, surely I know better!" Hello hubris? This is beer calling. Je suis très grand.

Bito on the metro.

Tom getting a job and looking suave.

Mom, dad and Tom in the metro tunnel.

Beautiful sky. Beautiful city.

En'shallah

2008-03-20T17:08:00.003+01:00

Allison and I were given a beautiful gift on our last day in Egypt. The man who had sold us the snorkel trip with Red Sea Aqua Center on the first beach day would stop by to chat every subsequent day we were there. Kimo was very interested in why an American would live in Europe and was interesting to speak with him about being Egyptian surrounded by tourists on all-inclusive sun holidays. His wife is an Austrian Catholic, which interested Allison, since her boyfriend is Saudi and living in Michigan as his sister's chaperon. Lots of good chats.

Anyway. On our last day, Kimo said, "If you learn one Arabic phrase, it should be this: 'En 'shallah,' which means "If God wills it." You will hear us say this very often in conversation -- whenever we wish or want something to happen, we say this phrase."

Allison and I looked at each other and repeated the phrase to each other. It is indeed the perfect mantra to chant when flying from sun and laughter and sea back to reality and the unknown future. It will be the gift of that trip and I send all my gratitude back to Kimo for sharing it with us.

We managed to stay on the plane all the way to its final destination in Amsterdam that night, which seemed like an accomplishment. Allison was shocked by the inconsideration of the Dutch --- standing in a group in the aisle, talking very loudly about nothing while people all around them are trying to sleep (the flight left at 10:30pm and landed at 3:30am), pushing their way into lines, being generally as they are. My boys greeted me at home with a welcome home sign on the door and lots of tail wagging. What a week -- next year again, but for longer. My only hope is I will have a traveling companion as wonderful, funny, adventurous, smart and entertaining as Allison.

En 'shallah.

Red Sea fishes

2008-03-18T00:57:00.008+01:00

After almost a week away from Egypt, my memories are starting to blur together. I will try to capture the last days of our holiday before moving into the next phase of my time off work - ma famille à Paris.

On Monday Alison and I went snorkeling with the Red Sea Aqua Center. We met at their boats right by the resort and headed out around 8:30. For some reason, I have never snorkeled in nice weather, and this day was no exception. It was cloudy and windy, and while it was still shorts weather, it wasn't bask in the bright sun weather. We went to four places to see different fish in different snorkeling conditions -- the first was from Paradise Island, where you walk into the sea and directly into a fairly beaten up reef. The only snorkeling experience I had previously was in Hawaii where the message, "Don't touch the coral! You'll kill it!!" is repeated loudly and often. Here, there are so many tourists from so many places and the ecological aspect of tourism hasn't really sunk in yet, so it took some effort to get out beyond the damage caused by people and see the good fish. Fortunately our guide took a liking to me and led me out to the far reef where I saw a puffer fish (shaped like a box with rounded corners, not unlike many Russians), a giant clam (Rock Lobster!!), a stone fish, a clown fish and many, many other cool fishes.

The Napoleon Fish

The second, third and fourth stops weren't beaches, but spots to jump directly from the boat. We saw a Napoleon fish on the second stop -- it must have been at least three feet long and its lips are huge! The colors of the fish were amazing and the water was crystal clear so visibility was great. At the third stop one of the other guides brought me over to see the Morey eel coming up from the rocky bottom. Huge. Scary. So cool. By the third stop I was free diving down as far as I could along the sides of the reef. I was able to focus on smaller fish this way and look at the patterns created by different sizes and colors of fish all swimming together. Under water paradise -- no apologies for how cheesy that sounds because it really was.

The fourth stop involved jellyfish that were pink and about 6 - 8 inches long. One brushed my neck and caused little prickles on my skin - which didn't hurt as much as freak me out. I can handle swimming with creatures that have eyes and teeth, but give me a eyeless blob and I get out of the water faster than Roy Scheider.

My preference for free diving over snorkeling on top of the reef makes me think that scuba diving may be for me, so I've set it as a goal to get certified before going back to Egypt next year. Spending a day swimming amidst beautiful fish in the Red Sea (hello again Moses!) was special for me. More than once I gave thanks for my life and the crazy bundle of circumstances and choices that got me in that ocean at that moment.

Luxor

2008-03-12T14:20:00.005+01:00

When we last left our travelers, they were journeying across the Arabian Desert in a tour bus convoy on their way to Luxor. At Qina, the topography changed dramatically from dry dust to green fields, as the convoy turned left and traveled through the Nile River Valley, along the canal that runs parallel to the river. As the buses pass through villages, all bridges are closed and oncoming traffic must stop, which adds to the whole surreal aspect to the trip and provides some excellent photo opportunities. The largest crop in this part of the valley is sugar cane, which we saw piled on donkey carts, while the robed cart driver waited on the bridge for the tourists to go by. Lot of livestock and houses along the canal -- one dead cow floating in the water -- and lots of life happening there too. Twas cool and reminded me in a strange way of Chama, New Mexico and the people I met there during my two visits for holy week.

Our first stop in Luxor were the Karnak Temples, where I was gobsmacked by the enormity of the buildings, as well as how well preserved the hieroglyphics are. They are so clear and the colors are still in evidence in many places, which surprised me too. These temples are 4000 years old! I can't keep my hair colored for six weeks! Owl figures (hurrah!) are carved into the walls ("M" in hieroglyph), as well as other birds that are instantly recognizable. One part of the temples had some sections devoted to different kinds of birds and other sections devoted to different kinds of plants. These were the original locations of these carvings -- they weren't moved close together later -- so I imagine that this little area was the Audubon book of its time. I really can't do it justice in words. Seeing the huge statues and obelisks and everything else there baking in the sun was fairly amazing. Much different than seeing the same Egyptian treasures in one of many northern museums.

After Karnak Temples we drove through Luxor, which gave us a good view of "real" life; albeit one that depends heavily on tourists. We stopped for lunch and then went on to the Valley of the Kings, a valley in Thebes where the tombs of approximately 63 kings and nobles from the 16th through the 11th century BC are located. We saw two tombs and, again, I was amazed at how detailed the work is and the beauty of the colors. And I loved watching the Russian guy get his camera taken away after he took a photo in one of the tombs, which is a HUGE no-no.

I didn't take this photo inside the tomb, but found it on the website of someone who doesn't follow travel rules. Bad man! Bad!

We then drove to the Temple of Queen Hatchepsut after leaving the Valley of the Kings. This temple, unlike the Karnak temples, is built on three terrace levels directly into the hillside.

Each level is connected with ramps, and from the top-most level you get an amazing view of the valley. It is beautiful and surprising to see such vibrant green in patches of irrigated land amidst the brown of the desert.

There was some driving after this visit, which culminated in a 30 minute boat ride on the Nile as the sun was setting. How cool is that? The boats were small and bright and there was so much to see. After the heat of the day (it was Africa hot, after all), it was lovely to be on the water, even fairly polluted water. And then it was back on the bus for the convoy back to Hurghada.

It was a tiring day that ended at 11:30. There was so much to take in and I look forward to posting some photos to help explain the trip. Well worth while! Tomorrow: snorkeling in the Red Sea. I saw this:

Egypt days 3 and part of 4

2008-03-11T20:45:00.003+01:00

Day three of the Egypt adventure brought more hours baking on the beach and by the pool. We went to a nicer place to eat (still included, but there were several hoops to jump through before we were allowed to partake). Kofta kebabs grilled over charcoal, giant spoonfuls of hummus AND baklava for dessert? Couscous, fish AND delicious cucumber and tomato salad with yogurt? Oh yes. We gorged ourselves.

Today we went to Luxor, which meant getting on a bus at 5:40am. I had heard that all buses travel in a caravan across the desert, but I was not prepared for the seriousness of it. When I thought of a "convoy" I pulled the imaginary semi-truck horn and thought of the novelty song from the 70s (when CB radio was king), but after today, I will think of 50+ tour buses gathering in a secured gravel lot 60 kilometers from Hurghada and leaving together with armed police at the front, at the back and in two cars that patrol the middle. Lots of machine guns.

The drive through the desert took a few hours and was highly surreal, made all the more surreal by the Myers Elementary School 4th grade curriculum in 1978. While other children learned about ancient Egyptians, our hippified teachers thought we should spend the year learning about the Bedouins, Egypt's desert nomads. I get that we were in an "experimental" school, what with the open plan classrooms and reading and math "pods", and I even tip my hat to the idea that kids should learn about nomads and such, but spending a year's worth of social studies hours on the Bedouins seemed like overkill.

That is until we made our only WC and coffee stop about an hour into the convoy trip. Enterprising Bedouins were waiting for us with camels, donkeys, goats and little girls, all decorated in bright colors, for a manufactured photo op. There was that moment of thinking, "I shouldn't support this - it is essentially begging." And then that moment was beaten down with the realization, "That may possibly be the most pretentious thought ever!" Because it isn't begging, but taking advantage of an opportunity, and I know, thanks to the overabundance of Bedouin lessons, that opportunity didn't come often to desert. More to come later - temples, Nile river, my love of hot weather, snorkeling in the Red Sea, bartering and the perfume debacle along with other assorted gems. Must sleep now.

Rolling with the Ruskies

2008-03-08T00:38:00.002+01:00

Hurghada, Egypt: day 2
Checklist of things seen today at resort filled with 80 percent Russians:
- Mesh top on round man
- Plethora of sparkle on every possible piece of clothing
- Men who look suspiciously like Putin
- Teenage girls who look suspiciously like Ivanka Trump
- Leopard print banana hammock highlighting a very pink and fairly large bum
- Grandma in floor length paisley caftan and babushka. I almost rolled her for the outfit
- young son of banana hammock with Kagol hat, gold chain and shoulder tattoo. He was maybe 7 years old.

The best people watching ever! Food good. Hotel good. Company beyond fabulous. Sun present and accounted for. I swam in the Red Sea today and thought of Moses. All is good.

Traveling to Egypt - a primer of sorts

2008-03-06T23:07:00.005+01:00

Greetings from Hurghada, where Allison, my intrepid friend from Michigan, and I are spending the next five days. It was a long day, filled with adventures, and a few lessons learned. In the spirit of sharing equals caring, here is my list of memorable moments.

1. The airport in Amsterdam now boasts several Starbucks. Those among you who are disdainful of the homogenization of the global culture can pretty much suck balls right now because my first Dutch-made Chai Tea Latte was freaking delicious. Sorry for the crass language mom.

2. When booking a package tour in a non-English speaking country, be prepared to not hear English spoken on your journey. This is especially true if you are on a charter flight, as we were. Transavia is a Dutch airline, but surely all instructions are given in English as well as Dutch, right? Nee, danke u wel

I managed to muddle through the ordering of the prosecco and Pringles without too much problem, and was feeling fairly cocky about my comprehensive abilities when the plane landed and some people disembarked.

3. When half the plane is staying in their seats (keep in mind that these are Dutch people staying in their seats - a people not famous for orderly mass exits), AND all announcements are made in a (still) unfamiliar language, it is a good idea to ask a flight attendant what is going on instead of joining the group and exiting the aircraft.

4. When the man looking at your itinerary in the airport says, "You got off the plane too soon. This is Marsa Alan, not Hurghada," I recommend reacting like Allison did: "You're kidding, right?" That made everybody laugh! And no, they weren't kidding. Who knew the plane made multiple stops? Clearly not the non-Dutch speaking kids!

5. Get a ride back to the plane in a beat up pick-up with a very nice airport employee. Talk about a walk of shame down the aisle! All those stoic faces staring at us and our former seats were taken by people who were not about to give them back so we had to pass everyone before we found two seats together in the back. We did play the self-mocking card as we ran the gauntlet and I think a few people actually smiled. Once we sat, the stewardess very nicely said, "Now that the two passengers who got off in the wrong place have got back on the plane, we can take off." But we didn't know she said that until Allison noticed that people were pointing and laughing at us and asked for a translation. Because her derision was in Dutch. Well played tulip girl. Well played.

6. We got off the plane at the next stop - Hurghada and followed the sheep through all the necessary steps to get our visas, get stamped, get money, get luggage, get to the correct hotel shuttle, tip the guys who handle the bags (we should have brought handfuls of 50 euro cent coins for tipping) before arriving at the Hotel Aladdin (pronounced "aladeen." It seems great - an all-inclusive paradise of food, drinks, shisha bars, cushy lounge chairs, beach, pools and 80+ degrees. We are here and already having a fab (and memorable) time.

The happiest, cutest, most smile making political messages ever

2008-02-21T11:08:00.002+01:00

http://barackobamaisyournewbicycle.com/

Click on the link and keep refreshing your browser window for seemingly never-ending messages. I don't know who make this, or if the Obama campaign even endorses it, but it is brilliant.

Hee hee. Barack Obama rocks.

Say goodnight gracie

2008-02-18T17:01:00.007+01:00

In my mind I am a mere wisp of a girl. A gamine continental hipster. I am Audrey Hepburn without the aging love interest.**

Except I am not.

I will preface this story by saying that the game "Guitar Hero" was installed in the conference room across from my desk two weeks ago. On a Friday. After a long week. My inner rock star, who is a wispy, gamine hipster, but decidedly more NY than EU, was so excited by the prospect of playing along with Poison "Talk Dirty To Me" that she ran into the conference room when it was her turn to play. Only she/I didn't run into the conference room itself, but rather the glass wall next to the conference room doorway.

With my nose.

As my mom said, while laughing, "You have been running into walls your entire life." And it is true. What I like to think of as living exuberantly, perhaps isn't the BEST way to live, especially when dealing with glass walls, potato peelers, hot oven racks and sharp knives. I know scars are supposed to tell one's life story, but my book is getting long and isn't that exciting. The scar from touching a hot pan isn't nearly as cool as a scar from, say, wrestling a bear.

There really isn't any solution to this. I wasn't a gamine girl even at my tiniest, and I would much rather jump-rope in platform Prada's, causing a huge, and still painful scar on the top of my foot, than cheer from the sidelines. That is the way this dual-continent, aging hipster apparently wants to roll. And if there were any doubts that I won't learn anything from the glass wall incident, let me assure you that, after the nose swelling went down and my coworkers stopped laughing, I walked into the conference room and made it through Sonic Youth's "Kool Thing" on the first try. I even worked in a totally rocking kick mid-way through without falling down or hitting myself in the head with the guitar. Nice! I am a guitar hero indeed.

** Even a skinny-man aficionado such as myself is disturbed by the bandanna on a greyhound imagery brought on by Fred Astaire's jaunty red scarf knotted on one side.

Rabito is great - and we are fine also.

2008-02-03T20:14:00.000+01:00

We really didn't plan for the dog to match the carpet.

It has been three weeks since Rabito came home and I have been spending all my free time staring at him and cooing instead of updating the blog. I'd apologize, but if you could see how cute he is, you would understand. Honestly. Tom and I got so lucky with this dog! Here is a list of Rabito attributes:
1. he is perfectly housebroken and would rather sleep for another hour than go out early in the morning for relief.

This ball is crazy-making.

2. he is the calmest dog in the land except he is let off the leash to run free and then he is a craaaazy puppuh who flies back and forth, jumps three feet straight off the ground (all four paws straight up ) and has the most hysterical expression of manic glee on his face for about five minutes. And then he flops down at your feet and asks for a belly scratch.
3. he is beautifully behaved when I bring him to work. At one point last week there were four grownups on the floor vying for his attention.
4. he makes people smile when they see him coming.
5. he pounces on his toys. Which you can see in this video. Maybe I am just a proud parent, but CUTENESS!

I feel like I have a family of my own now and I love coming home to the greetings of both boy and dog. And now that the project that I have been working on is over, I actually get to come home at a decent hour. I even started cooking dinner again, and I am please to report that Tom has started gaining some weight after the skinny days post Christmas illness.

March will be good, with three weeks of vacation coming. I booked a trip to Egypt last week for my friend Allison and I to take when she comes over from Michigan. All sun, beach and relaxation -- all inclusive of food and the requisite cheesiness. Then Tom, Rabito and I are going to Paris to meet mom and dad before they leave on the Orient Express. Can not wait to see them! And the last week is yet to be decided. I'm hoping we can get to Rome - sans dog.

Our newest addition -- meet Rabito

2008-01-13T19:42:00.000+01:00

Or Inigo. Or Milman. Or Dodo. Or perhaps the cutest dog in the world.

One of my Christmas presents from Tom was a dog or a cat, so last weekend, he and I took a look around for a scruffy mutt dog that wasn't too big and wasn't too small and we found him on a site devoted to rescue dogs from Spain.

Rabito (means "Small Tail") was rescued by the Animal Life Aid Service, a group devoted to saving animals from all over Europe. Rabito comes from Spain, and was literally saved from death row, where he was sent after his family decided, after 9 months, that he was too big to keep. Spain -- nice people, good food, but not so nice or good if you are a dog. Instead of trying to find new families for dogs, they simply kill them. So people from ALAS saw Robito when his "turn" was just two dogs away, ealized he shouldn't be there and saved him. He was sent to a foster home in southern Netherlands, where he stayed for 2 months, waiting for us to find him.

And we did. While looking through postings on the internet, we came across Rabito's photo and instantly knew he was our dog. We rented a car and drove for about two hours to get to a small town close to the Belgium border. The people who took care of him were lovely, and have fantastic kennel facilities that they open up for rescue dogs free of charge. Rabito was a bit scared at first, but warmed up quickly and even let me hold him in my lap all the way home. We walked a long way back to the apartment and Rabito's head must have been spinning to go from a farm to a big city with trams and helicopters and bikes with bells and cars too.

He has been adjusting beautifully, including sleeping all night last night and quickly figuring out who we are. The three of us went on a big walk today in Westerpark, where dogs can run around free (though not Rabito yet) and there are lots of trees to use and lots of mud to play in. And then he got his first bath.

Tom and I are in love, and Rabito seems happy too. Now we get to be a family!

Marco + Pasquale

2008-01-04T23:39:00.000+01:00

My lovely friends in Amsterdam, via Italy. On Christmas day I was lucky enough to be invited to their flat for Christmas lunch with Marco's sister, her two boys, a coworker of Pasquale's and Pasquale's parents -- their first trip outside of Italy and their first trip on an airplane! I could not think of a better place to spend the afternoon. Though I was the only non-Italian in the group, I felt so welcome. Pasquale's father kept telling jokes through the meal, which Marco graciously translated for me. I had to laugh well after everyone else in the room, but I did laugh. When I told him (and had translated), "I have to remember these jokes so I can tell my father." he raised his glass and said, "To Papas!" At which point I teared up. Of course!

These are photos from the Wieden+Kennedy Christmas party. Marco is the one in the glasses. In looking back on the year, I am very aware that I have been lucky enough to make some lifelong friends. That doesn't happen often and I am so grateful that these two fine, funny gentlemen came into my life.

This is why I love Tom Lyman

2008-01-03T18:59:00.000+01:00

He had me at the tweed hat and wellies.

The fact that he is the funniest man to walk with amidst the Dover sheep is a fantastic bonus.

Bizzare holiday greeting

2007-12-23T13:27:00.001+01:00

What better way to spend a lazy Sunday morning than to cut out my own head and post it on the most random holiday video of all time?

All because I am a sucker for kittens in Santa hats...

Happy Holiday Season!

2007-12-13T20:39:00.000+01:00

Sinter Klaas reading the poem from my secret Sint

Sinterklaas came and went and I celebrated my first real Dutch holiday in grand style. Our friend Kerrie had a party complete with a Swedish Klaas and Dutch Zwart Peet handing out presents. We each had a secret Sint that we wrote a poem about (which was read out loud in grand style) and brought a gift for. I was so lucky to be the Sint for my friend Pasquale and he was the Sint for me. He wrapped his gift in a lovely fashion and gave me beautiful red yarn and new size 7 knitting needles. I promptly started making a scarf in between pouring glasses of Prosecco. Kerrie has fab friends from all over and it was a most festive occasion.

Last Saturday Tom and I went to Dusseldorf for the day to visit the Christmas market there. Unlike last year's visit to Cologne where I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of British tourists thronging in the square, this market was exactly what I wanted -- crowded, but with actual real live Germans! We ate dumplings and waffles and potato pancakes and had more than a few glasses of mulled wine and saw so much STUFF. It was most decidedly fantastic and the train ride there and back was a great way to travel, as always.

Tom and mulled wine at one of the markets

Me showing off new Christmas decor bought in the Dusseldorf train station (and new sunglasses too)

We got our tree on Saturday -- a four foot tall live tree that Tom carried back from the stand on his bike. I wish I had my camera with me, but if you can imagine Tom peddling away with a tree balanced on his knee and one hand on the handlebars, you will get an idea of what I saw. We have been decorating the tree and the apartment with bits of holiday sparkle. I wish I was home more to enjoy it!