Eurovision! The best thing ever.

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

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

"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

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

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

repeating over and over

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!

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

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!!!

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

**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

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

Wedding 2

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

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

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.

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

[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...

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

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.