Eurovision! Where have you been all my life?

There is this thing that happens every year called the Eurovision Song Contest. I didn’t know it existed until today, but it’s like I discovered part of my other half. Brilliant and campy and so very, very entertaining. Apparently it used to be better and now it is too produced and the wounds caused by the first and second world wars completely affect the voting (meaning that Germany will never win) and no one votes for France or England because they are prats (that is a direct quote from an actual real-life British person, not me just being mean). I watched the semi-finals and blogged live. Here are my reactions to all the semi-final teams.

Bulgaria – Gypsy music meets Shelia E. Outfits: leather pants and chain mail. Lots of hair.

Israel – Klesmer music meets French café music meets Yiddish rap meets sort of a Fishbone thing. Outfits: Camouflage guitars, a fat guy in a giant tent playing the accordion and the rest is all over the place.

Cyprus – Boring, though the lead singer has an unusually large head. Singing in French, which may be a blatant suck up move to get votes.

Iceland – “No summer wine, no Valentine.” Four guitarists rocking out to a power ballad. “A tiger trapped inside a cage. An actor on an empty stage.” The bass player looks and plays just like Jeff. Fabulous rhyming! Any excuse for a rhyme and to pull out those leather pants from 1995.

Georgia – Russian dancers like in “The Nutcracker” behind a lady singer. No band to speak of. Perhaps there are teeny tiny synthesizers in the kneepads of the costumes. Oooh! They have swords too! Points for originality and dialing up the cultural reference.

Montenegro – Rock and freaking roll! It is nice to know that the guitar rocking (the bass player and the guitarist leaning against each other and rocking back and forth to the beat) is truly international.

Switzerland – There are twenty people on stage. Half dancing and half just standing there. Oh, they played the “Forever Young” card. The song is about vampires! Oh my god.

Moldova – Who says that skills learned in high school flag line won’t serve you well later in life? There are several people on stage twirling fabric. Singer is very flat…ears are bleeding…must leave television.

The Netherlands – Girl band starring cast offs from “Holland’s Next Top Model.” Boring.

Albania – You know how you always felt sort of sorry for the Eastern Block girl athletes during the Olympics before the wall came down because of their blue eye shadow and hopeless barrette situation? They didn’t know they were camp; they were just making the best of their situation. This is the case with Albania. There are many people on stage all taking themselves very seriously. I have a real issue with violin players who rock out and brandish their bow like a sword. A little to Yanni loving his pan flutes.

Denmark – DRAG QUEEN!!!! GIANT CROWN ON STAGE!!! FEMMY BOYS DOING A DANCE WITH GIANT PINK FEATHER FANS! Song is called Drama Queen, which is no surprise. Nice veneers on her teeth. Very Bob Fosse ending. Points for doing three costume changes while on stage. Love it.

Croatia – Bluesy. Main guy singer has a kick-ass smokey voice. No camp to speak of, but the main girl singer looks suspiciously like Shakira.

Poland – Sort of Black Eyed Peas, only without any talent. Except the lead rap guy has nice arm muscles and the lead girl singer looks good in a short skirt. YAWN.

Serbia – We have a wider version of k.d. lange singing very soulfully. Interesting. She isn’t wearing a tie with her suit, but the lipsticks behind her are…

Czech Republic – After all the mournful ballads and soulful dancers, it is LOVELY to have long-haired old men with no necks rocking out in Czech.

Portugal – Again with giant fans, but these aren’t feathered. Have worked in the “Dancing with the Stars” angle with the addition of a samba duo to the side…the man dances with the singer when she has a break in the lyrics.

Macedonia – Again with the dancers, but no fan. Lots and lots of Macedonia fans in the audience. Wind machine! “Music is the only world for me!” Sing it windy sister!

Norway – The dancing theme is overdone. These guys are singing in Spanish! Why?

Malta – Shirtless men – one playing violin and the other banging the gong. And fans.

Andorra – Cute little pop-punk boys who play their guitars low on their hips and have the classic three chord song down pat. Sounds a little a bit like Good Charlotte combined with Blink 182. Andorra is a landlocked country in the Pyrenees bordered by France and Spain.

Hungary – Blues. She is carrying a suitcase across the stage and wearing those acid washed jeans that have the white patches at the top of the thigh and below the knee – the two places that jeans never get faded.

Estonia – Dancers. Wind machine. Dare I say ubiquitous?

Belgium –Love! Horns, satin shirts, sunglasses, 70s vibe, singer has horrid voice but is super cute. The chorus, “Can you feel the love power coming your way? Can you feel the love power today?” I predict the finals for sure!

Slovenia – Operatic wailing brought the crowd to its feet.

Turkey – “Shake it up, shake it in, you’re my only sweetie.” A troll in a red coat is squealing about sex, surrounded by belly dancers in curly extensions. “Lovely dovey, lovey dovey, all the time, I have lots of candy for you.” Perhaps the most disturbing lyrics of all time.

Austria – Gay! Gay! Gay! Singer is resplendent in a sequin hoody with background singers in red feather hoods.

Latvia – Three men dressed a bit like Marice Chevalier in “Gigi,” singing very dramatically and in harmony. Oh my. Now there are five of them. Now six. Crap! They are multiplying. Maybe they just got the entire Latvian football team to put on top hats and sing onstage.

The teams going to the finals on Saturday are in bold. Also going to the finals are Slovenia and Belarus, but I missed them somehow. It is a veritable eastern European song fest! I can already imagine the grumbles from western Europeans, "They come over here, they take our jobs and now they take our Eurovision contest.

Here is the official link, if you want to explore the madness for yourself: http://www.eurovision.tv/

A conversation in my head

While I was staring into the abyss of my closet this morning, I had the following imaginary conversation between myself and an account director I work with:

"Katie, what do you want to do with your life?"

"I wanna rock." [followed by loud guitar chord]

Not kidding. I actually thought the guitar chord.

Hitler and the pigeon

Disturbing events at Eerste jan van der Heijdenstraat 41 last evening.

I was sitting on my couch, when I saw a flash of movement in the garden. A pigeon had flown across the yard and was perched against the boards of the fence on the right side, flapping his wings and gripping the wood tightly with his feet. "Not normal behaviour for a pigeon," I thought. It then flapped down to the table and onto the garden chair when, suddenly, there was a burst of white coming from the ground. A cat! The pigeon then flew directly, and loudly, into my glass back door. I got up and ran to the doors to check and see if it was ok, but Hitler the cat was already there. EEEEWWWW!

I ran back to the couch and hid until I saw Hitler carry the pigeon up and over the fence on the left side of the yard. Before I went to investigate the carnage left behind, I called Tom on Skype and carried my laptop with me, talking into the speakers, as I inched toward the door. Gross smudge on window...checking for a head or feathers...checking...checking. Nothing. Not a single drop of blood. Not a single feather. Hitler the cat had killed the bird and carried him away without any sign of struggle. Disturbing.

It's like I live in a nature reserve and saw the harsh side of wildlife last night. I am back to being a vegetarian.

Frank rules Amsterdam

Today was Queen's Day, the one day a year where people are allowed to sell whatever they want on the street. It is the biggest garage sale in the world, with everything imaginable on display and throngs (throngs!) of people wandering around the streets. There are bands playing in every neighborhood and a veritable sea of orange clothing on men, women, children and the occasional dog. I wandered around from 7:30 this morning (after two hours of sleep) until 6 at night and brought home some real treasures, including a beautiful sterling bracelet, set of knives with Bakelite handles and stand, an English pitcher with a squirrel on it, a brand new pair of Nike sneakers and a doll I have named Frank.

Frank came along with me all day and was the subject of quite the photo essay. Since I wanted to caption the photos, I saved them in Flickr. There are some other photo sets in there as well, if you care to take a look. Enjoy!

Sister update

For those of you who have been checking in for a update about LeeAnne, apologies for the delay. To be honest, I don't understand enough of what is happening to be able to write about it with any semblance of authority. Perhaps the best place to get information is at her blog: http://theroadbump.blogspot.com/. She is funny and positive and a very good writer. I am amazingly proud of her.

I am not going to go back to Portland until the end of June because she doesn't want me there in the early stages of chemo. I had a few weeks of picturing myself as Clara Barton -- the great nurse/mother figure from American Red Cross fame -- I'd get to swoop in and offer the best care ever and we'd have poignant moments and cry a lot but it would be good. Alas, life is not a movie of the week. Even though I'm not a mother, I know I can be a good caregiver. I know I can. But you don't necessarily get to choose when other people want you around or need you. June will be good and I will still be able to help and I will also get to spend some time with my gloriously fabulous friends. Can't wait.

Happy birthday Taurus!

It just keeps getting better and better.

Those French have a different word for EVERYTHING!

Just returned from a weekend in Paris with my friend Jonna. It was everything I had hoped, remembered and wished for it to be. The shopping was excellent and some glamour made its way back with me in the form of many parcels.
Highlights:
- An older woman approached us as we were looking at our map, trying to find Saint-Germain-des-Pres (wait, I thought we were ON Saint-Germain-des-Pres ...how did we end up here?) and first corrected my pronunciation of the street name, then corrected my use of just part of the street name, and then gave us directions completely in French. Because I could speak it so well? The funny part was that I actually understood parts of what she was saying, as did Jonna, who was the one who finally got us there. One of my favorite things was the instances of people speaking many many words to you in French even though they know you probably don't understand. Perhaps they mean it to be difficult or snotty, but it made me feel like I was in a special club of some sort. Like my general demeanor admitted me into Frenchy land.

- Having a sort of emotional catharsis in the Chanel store.

- Muscat after a lovely meal.

- After a 17 year absence, the sight of the Eiffel Tower made my heart skip again.

- Walking up and down Rue Vieille du Temple (not Rue du Temple - doh!) looking for the restaurant we were planning on eating at on Saturday night. It wasn't there and the man at the tabac told me the restaurant shut and the owner went to the beach (or that is what I think he said -- it was in French) a few months ago, which is strange because we made reservations on Thursday. For what, we aren't certain. So we made the best of it and had tapas at a restaurant down the road that had seating. Not great but not terrible either and the waitress set the menu across from our table against a car, which was funny.

- The beautiful Art Nouveau glass dome with Phillip Stark designed furnishings in the Le Printemps restaurant where we had a very ladylike lunch.

- Coming up the escalator on floor five of Le Printemps and realizing that the entire floor sells only shoes. And fabulous French shoes. Zout alors!

- Spending precious time with my dear friend Jonna. It was a treasure. She is a treasure.

and yes, I got my hair cut.

Night out photos

Taken on Monday night over mellow glasses of wine, Bitterballen and some great stories with Amy and Karen.

Virginia Tech

What a terrible reminder that, while I fret and fear about bad things that may happen, some maniac with a gun is, in the very real present, capable of instantaneous horror. Oh, how my heart hurts for those families and those kids.

Claiming the Medusa within

In my life, I have only had one majorly derisive nickname: Medusa. I am unsure why the kids in fourth grade thought this was a good name for me (this was prior to the release of "Clash of the Titans," so I can't blame the odd Saturday matinee), but it had the desired affect. I would cry at recess and then the next day put on a brave face (after a stiff upper lip talk from my mother or father) and act like it didn't bother me, which it did. A LOT. My sister, in an act of pure teenage cluelessness, gave me a card on my 10th birthday that said, "Happy Birthday, Medusa!" which was amazingly mean. It was one thing if kids tease you on the playground, but it's another when it's your family mimicing them.

The entire Medusa period probably didn't last long, and certainly didn't cause any After School Special-type drama, but it has stuck with me as the first time other people made me feel bad about who I was just because I was being who I was. As a nickname though, it was quite impressive for Salem, a town known for its cops and criminals, not its intellectual prowess.

So. Cut to many, many years and some art history classes later when we meet our heroine walking with furrowed brow through the last hallways of the Ufitzi Gallery in Florence. I was quite sick that day and couldn't handle the crowds, so I left my mother to wander and quickly made my way outside. The Caravaggio room in the gallery is toward the exit and impossible to miss. I walked inside, saw "Bacchus" went, "Cool!", and then turned around and came face to severed head with my namesake. "Medusa" is fabulous and horrible and really, really (I'll say it again) cool. I sort of giggled and did an invisible salute because I realized I had a special connection with that painting. I know it sounds cheesy, but it is true.

The next day, when mom and I were in the gift shop at the Academia, I found a Swatch-type watch with the Medusa painting printed on the face and nifty snake patterns on the band. Without a second thought, I bought it and have been looking at it with glee ever since.

How did I miss the good side of being called Medusa? I thought it was all about having stringy, snake-like hair, but actually it is about having power and the will to use it. OK, so it isn't a sexy, Siren-type power, but it is power none the less. Instead of being called "stinky" or "big nose," I was compared to one of the classic villains of Greek mythology. How freaking cool is that? I mean, come on, if you are going to be insulted by children, wouldn't you prefer a literary reference over a comment on your physical attributes or being teased because your name rhymes with a bodily function?

So bring it on. Medusa is in the haaaaaa-oooooo-wwwwww-ssssss.
I am so white.

Cheese may save your life

In typical Katie behaviour, I have channeled my fear into action and read up on cancer-fighting diets. I am a big fan of using food to treat illness and had some good results when I increased the amount of sweet potatoes and other orange vegetables when I had sciatica seven years ago.

So, imagine my delight when I read about new studies that link cancer prevention with vitamin D because vitamin D is in cheese (as well as other foods, but I don't care so much about them). Cheese! Cheese! Cheese! Love! Love! Love!

If I was in Portland and had free reign over my sister's kitchen I would be pushing the:
Mangoes
Strawberries
Tuna
Avocados
Beets
Blueberries
Dark Chocolate
Sweet Potatoes
Salmon
Broccoli
Grapefruit
Turkey
And of course the cheese.

Not bad, huh?
This information comes from here: http://www.wholehealthmd.com/ME2/Default.asp

Happy Easter

Baa haa haa.
This blog was in desperate need of some levity and chocolate bunnies were just the way to do it.

hope

My sister was diagnosed with breast cancer on Tuesday.
Period. Insert stoic, blank face, vacant eye stare here.

She met with a surgeon yesterday and will, apparently, get a lumpectomy as soon as possible. Once that happens, she will know what she is dealing with. At this point there are a million questions and no answers, but that will change soon enough. Patience and optimism are the magic words right now, and I am trying to stay open to both.

Tom arrived Wednesday morning. I left mom being mellow on the fold-out bed in my apartment and rode to Central Station to take an early train to Schiphol so I could meet him at the gate. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we rode back to Amsterdam being all goofy and in love. I walked him to the #16 tram, got on my bike and rode to work to start the day. And when I opened my email and saw the subject line, "Bad news" from my sister, my feet turned cold.

How lucky was I to have my mom here! Being able to process the initial shock and emotions while having her next to me was a gift. She went back home yesterday morning, but Tom is here for another week, so, again, I am amazingly lucky.

I am trying not to be scared. I am trying to think about all the women who are breast cancer survivors -- the vast majority!!! I am trying not to curl into a ball and go to the dark place. I am trying to hold on tight to hope. I am trying not to be a drama queen. I am trying to stop crying.

The irony is that all I want to do is smoke cigarettes and drink myself into a coma, when what I know I should be doing is going for purifying runs and eating raw vegetables. At this point I am doing neither. Yea emotional paralysis!

Last night Tom and I went to see The Shins at Paradiso. I wavered whether or not to go, but was really happy that we went because they are amazing. Just amazing. They, like Bob Mould, are a good soundtrack to hope to. Because hope isn't blindly optimistic -- it isn't Pollyanna, but more like an army on the Risk board -- it fights against the bad forces of life. And it is life. Bad things happen without an apparent reason to people who you love and need. That bad force army can never be conquered (sort of like mold spores), but it can be battled. That's why I plan on listening to lots and lots of the aforementioned artists. Their lyrics acknowledge the bad, but their melodies fight for the good. And that is what I have to do too.

Fortitude

There was a time when, if a woman was said to have fortitude, it would be taken as a complement: a strong-willed dame who could look gorgeous in an evening gown and talk smack with the boys while always staying true to herself. Now it means Barbara Woodhouse in support hose.

But it shouldn't. Allow me to quote the great Homer Simpson when he was talking to John (Waters) in episode #168 "Homers Phobia": "I resent you people using that word. That’s our word for making fun of you! We need it!" And with that I take back fortitude from substantial women and I give it back to women of substance. Because we need it.

Women who tough it out while doing great work. Women who can't help but be funny and smart in spite of (or because of?) spending the previous three hours laying prone on the couch crying and eating cheese. Women who know what works for them and what is best left alone. Women who simultaneously endure hardship and cultivate joy. These are women with fortitude.

Meet Xander Bolt Helfrey. Xander's mom is Stacy -- fortitude in great shoes personified. She and Dave have been waiting for Xander for a very long time and now they have him. Through a long journey of excruciating ups and downs, Stacy has remained strong, funny, smart and kind. She is a credit to dames everywhere and will be a fantastic mother. This is a hard fought and well deserved happy ending that sort of renews my faith that good things do happen to good people, despite the occasional season seven.

Room with a view

I got quite sick and my mom arrived in the middle of it all. Like crazy, consumptive characters in novels of yore, I was taken to the sunny climate of Italy to dry my lungs out and recover. No matter how high my fever is, I will always remember to pack the turban.

The tone for the trip was set when we got to our hotel room and I opened the drapes and squeaked, "We have a view! We have a view! A room with a view!!!" And we did. A view of the Duomo, which took my breath away each time I saw it.

Mom and I had a wonderful time. We drank some lovely wine, ate some lovely food, saw an abundance of art (it would be a mistake to miss seeing the "David" in person. It gave me goosebumps and a new appreciation for sculpture.), walked and walked, talked and talked, never got too lost, never spent too much, and soaked in as much of Florence as we could in three days. It is a beautiful place and was a treat to share it with such a beautiful lady.

Pinkie Swear

Last night Demelza and I had a joint birthday celebration at her new flat. The theme was "Pink" and it was a great gathering of people both from work and outside of it. A highlight was the lighting of the "Intellectual Candle" -- a pink plastic lotus flower that came out of the box as a closed-up bud. I was given explicit instructions to use the provided incense stick to light the wick inside the flower. Each petal had a wax birthday candles on the end of it, so when the fuse light up, the candles did too and the flower slowly opened to the strains of digital "Happy Birthday." The photo above shows it in action. Also pictured is Elisa (behind the pink curtain), Nick, Dagmar and yours truly. The dress came from a thrift store in Haarlem that I thoroughly enjoyed and the champagne came from a generous party guest. I thoroughly enjoyed it too.

On love.

I have had one perfect mixed tape made for me in my life...and I think that is something rare and amazing in itself. Not to get all Nick Hornby about it, but to be the recipient of so much thought, joy and winking humor during the heady flirting days of infatuation is a divine gift.

The power of music is obvious when you are away from the sources of your memories. I heard one of the songs from that epic mixed tape when I was out tonight (done with a Euro-dance beat, of course) and I was instantly transported back to the sunny streets of South Pasadena. Then, when I sat down to write and iTunes started shuffling, a T. Rex song that is all top hats and husbands was the first song to play. And I was sent back to Friday nights with many cocktails and impromptu dance parties in the living room.

But the second song that played was my own: discovered while I was here, with the help of a musical pied piper at work who sends out weekly suggestions with excellent commentary to accompany them. I feel like this song belongs to me. Years from now, when I hear it again, I will think of Sunday mornings in the black and white chair, views from train windows on the way to somewhere new and bike rides home in foggy air.

Which brings me to love. I have been thinking about love a lot lately -- shouting about it loudly inside my head. Mr. Epic Mix Tape was the first man I ever loved without reservation or protection. He brought chaos and destruction along with laughter and that indescribable feeling of being, not only seen, but celebrated for being exactly me. ["Rebel Girl" is playing right now -- featured on another great mixed tape I received many years ago from a manboy with blue hair. Irony. Love that.] When he left, I emotionally packed up because I was sure I would never feel that way about anyone ever again and I was certainly never going to open myself up to that kind of hurt. I became a Jean-Val-Jean disciple -- better to have loved and lost...blah blah blah.

There were a few years of searching and failure after that [see Blue Hair], and then I met Mr. T. Rex on a blind date. I won't write about my marriage or what went wrong, except to say that I spent 10 years loving a man as best I could, and I know he did the same. Our collective best, unfortunately, wasn't enough to elevate either one of us, which I think love should do. There are happy memories and many regrets. I wish I could talk to him sometimes.

And then I was given the greatest gift ever. I got Tom. As I said, I never thought I could be unprotected ever again, but with him, I am. All the warts, all the doubts, all the geeky enthusiasm. He lifts me up without even trying and is the most secure, patient, funny man I have ever known. And he loves me. The biggest difference of this love and old loves? I know how lucky I am, I know how lucky he is, I know that love should be balls out and exuberant. There has never been a moment where he made me feel less than amazing -- in fact, he sees someone in me who is a far better person than I see.

I wonder, sometimes, if Tom is a reward, ala Maria and the Captain ("Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good."). Perhaps he is. Or perhaps this type of love is our birthright -- the Manifest Destiny of emotions. I don't know. Regardless, it is good and affirming in a myriad of ways. And I close this post listening to "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen. Again. Irony.

Happy Birthday Aries

"I am, I am the ram" has now become my new bike riding mantra.

Mannny kisses

It is Sunday morning and I am performing my favorite weekly ritual: sitting on my black and white chair, drinking coffee, reading my book and, every once in a while, absently staring at the world out of my back windows. And feeling smug. Oh so very smug.

A few minutes ago, I got up to refill my coffee cup, carrying my open book with me, with my fingers marking the spot where I left off. Mid-pour, a piece of paper dropped out of the book and fluttered to the floor.** This is what it says:
I send you manny
kisses
Love Annie***

And smack! I am crying. As life gets more comfortable here, the time I mentally spend back home diminishes. Which is a good thing since, if I live by the quote featured on the greeting card I have been carrying with me for years and years ("If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I will tell you, I came to live out loud. -- Emile Zola"), then I have to be intentional here. I have to actually be here. And apparently I have to write incredibly long sentences that are so self-referential I feel dirty.

I don't want to be away from any of you. I want you here with me every second of every day. I miss you so much and each time I carve out some comfort or feel that wave of wonder that makes me smile like a fool, I celebrate for me and for you as well. But I can't pick up the phone and tell you what I am seeing. Or feeling. And this blog isn't any substitution for spontaneous emails that say, "Are you doing anything tonight?" Just by virtue of being far away, I am missing things -- tiny changes, bad days, good days, gossip, ennui, the lead up to major decisions, mood swings, first warm Saturdays, the introduction of cotton to our collective wardrobes, etc.

And that sucks. I can't be two places at once, nor can I live in two spaces at once, and I have to be here, finding a space that you would all fit seamlessly into as my friends. I send you manny kisses and will try harder to be in touch.

**fluttered -- too precious to use as an adjective? It describes the action, but is not the way I talk. Thoughts? Opinions?

***Annie. My neice whose previous note, "You are the best ant!!!!" is taped next to my desk at work.

Cheese carnage

Gentle readers. You may have thought that my love of cheese has waned in the past months because I have been so lax in documenting new discoveries. I assure you, and my waistline will back me up on this, that my total and complete adoration of all things curd-based is intact and flourishing.

I had a Sunday lunch today that culminated in the all important cheeseboard coarse. Beautiful. The meal was amazing, if I do say so myself: salad of sweet Chevre, endive, tomatoes, avocado and a seed assortment for texture, risotto with young asparagus, lemon zest, Parmesan and fresh mint, main course of rare steak on top of white beans and leeks with roasted rosemary potatoes on the side. Melanie brought desert of Cognac-infused straw, blue and rasp berries that she served with sour yogurt and mango sorbet, and then after 10 bottles of wine and as many packs of cigarettes, came the cheese. Brie, Port Salut, Manchego and the best Stilton I have ever had in my life. Deeee-licous.

The company was sterling: Peter, Martin, Mel and Maya (from Portland!). It lasted for more than six hours and I performed "Wig in a Box" on my coffee table, which I doubted I would ever do here. It went over big. Huge even. And so the cheese lives on in many ways -- dairy and non.

As for the rest of the trip

You would think that the wedding was the pinnacle of greatness for the trip to NYC, but it wasn't. It did yield the most entertaining anecdotes...I'll give you that.

Saturday night I managed to get Tom to go into the city and to Old Town Bar on East 18th under the guise of meeting my friends Linda and Chris. When we walked through the door, his friends were there to give him an early birthday surprise and it was great. He had no idea it was coming and the expression on his face was beautiful. I love his friends and they clearly love him.

Sunday we went to Point Pleasant Beach on the Jersey shore to wander down the boardwalk and along the beach. We went to the arcade where I cleaned up on video poker (me and the old ladies) and won many, many tickets worth over 2,000 points. And what could I "buy" with my winnings? A New Jersey shot glass and a disturbing plastic clown. I took some photos, gathered sea glass and had such a lovely day. I made Tom turn his back to me and wrote what I was giving him for his birthday in the sand: "I am giving you a trip to Thailand." Exciting! Let the planning commence! We will probably go in January of next year since there are lots of things up in the air for the rest of this year. Sunday night I sat and read the New York Times in Tom's comfy chair. Perfect.

Monday I went to MOMA and visited my favorite Rothko and Motherwell paintings and had a lovely few hours wandering through the new building. Tommy and I had lunch together and he drove me to the airport where I jetted home to my bike and some beautiful warm weather. And that is all.

Wedding wonderfulness and the WWF

Preface: Everything I am about to write comes from an affectionate place. I do not intend to sound superior, condescending or judgmental, but I probably will.

Friday was Johnny Lyman's wedding to Alice English in lovely Rockland County, New York. The ceremony took place in the Church of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, a small chapel where Alice's brothers were all married (which they mentioned during the service) and Johnny's father was memorialized (which they didn't). Tom looked fabulous in his tuxedo, and I, having inadvertently sat on the bride's side, had a perfect view of him as he sat on the dais carefully avoiding any genuflecting. I think he managed an, "And also with you." at some point, but I can't be certain, as I was concentrating on not giving away my Presbyterian-ness and was repeating, "Forgive us our trespasses, not debts, trespasses...and stop after deliver us from evil because you DON"T want to be that one Protestant in the audience who goes into the power and glory line again." A friend of Alice's read the "Love is patient," speech from Corinthians. She introduced it by saying, "...from the gospel of St. Paul," only it sounded like, "...from the gospel of Saint Puwall," at which point Tom's eyes popped out of his head with surprise. He apparently didn't know that there would be communion, as at one point he looked at his family and mouthed, "Is there communion? Communion? No one told me. Told me. No. Told me. Communion. Yea. No."

So Johnny and Alice got hitched up. I went out to the parking lot to wait for the receiving line to finish and met some of Tom and John's friends from childhood. Apparently they all played on the CoOLotSH basketball team and practiced at the gym next to the chapel when they were 8 or 9. Patty (Tom and John's oldest sister) told me how all the families that they grew up with had originally come from the Bronx and moved to Rockland County in one mass exodus in the mid to late 60s, so not only did the kids all know each other from childhood, but their parents often did too.

Cut to reception at the Florentine Gardens in River Vale, New Jersey..."Where we invite you to live the dream of your most magical day in classic elegance and romantic seclusion." If you can read that sentence in your best Tony Soprano voice, that would be great. The place was beautiful -- many ubiquitous columns -- but very nice and tricked out for events such as the Lyman-English wedding reception. There was an ice sculpture of swans at the cocktail hour. Nice. It ends up that the sculpture could have been anything and it wasn't until after Alice picked the swans that Johnny said they should have got an ice sculpture done of their dog, which actually would have been really cool, but, unfortunately, it was too late. Food was abundant at the cocktail hour and I, being from casual wedding land of the Northwest, thought it was actually dinner. Everything was divided by stations -- the seafood station, the crudites station, the cheese station (yea!), the prime rib station -- and there were three people with headset walkie talkies walking amidst the guests and directing the food and drink flow, "Can we get a glass sweep at table seven. More Fontana at station four." And these same three people were responsible for getting the families and bridal party to their special, undisclosed location before dinner. That was great. "We have a sister at 3 o'clock and we have locked the mothers at the champagne station. Missing the nephew. Has anyone located the nephew?"

The dinner was in the Grand Ballroom. Our place card read, "Mr. Thomas Lyman and guest." Even though the invitation came to both of us. Got to respect a woman who can get that little jab in so skillfully. Well played Alice. Well played. I went to Table B and was standing there alone when the lights fell and a booming World Wrestling Federation-type announcer came over the loudspeaker saying, "Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Florentine Gardens. We want you to put your hands together for some very special people. Introducing.......the father and mother of the bride, Mr. and Mrs. ---- English!!!" and then these double doors opened and three blue spotlights swung from the ceiling to shine on Alice's parents as they walked out onto the dance floor accompanied by, "Are You Ready for This," (heard at sporting events throughout the world) and having the walk projected onto a giant video screen. Their entrance was followed by Mrs. Lyman ("accompanied by her nephew..."), the sisters and brothers with their families, the best man and maid of honor and finally, the moment we've all been waiting for, Mr. and Mrs. John Lyman!!!!! And the crowd went wild. It really did.

Tom's speech was lovely: funny, heartfelt and personal. When Kenny Malaguchi yelled, "Wrap it up!" as Tom was starting the final tearjerker part, I shot a look of pure venom his direction and frightened Tom's other friends with my wrath. Not that Tom needs defending, but no one is going to heckle my boy unless he wants them to. Word.

Other details: the food was fabulous, we danced a lot, including "Living on a Prayer" but the DJ stopped the song after the first chorus because Tom and I were the only ones on the dance floor and we were sort of acting the lyrics out. Apparently no one pokes fun at JBJ in the state of NJ. I loved my French frock, Tom's family and friends are very fun and my date was the best looking one there.

NYC girl

I am flying to NY today for a five day stay, and instead of feeling giddy, I am feeling a little sick because when I got home from work at 10pm last night, I thought it would be a great idea to watch the Oscar telecast on DVD while drinking half a bottle of Cava and eating chocolate for dinner. Yea. Great. Packing? Wasn't really a priority and still clearly isn't since I am writing my blog instead of bustling around my room trying to gather things together. No matter. Tom said he'd prefer it if I showed up with an empty suitcase anyway. Baby might get his wish.

Tom's brother is getting married on Friday, and while we discussed me walking into the church late, with a burning cigarette in hand and a Euro sneer and giant sunglasses on my face, I will behave. It isn't that we aren't excited for the wedding, but when you travel across an ocean to be a + 1 sort of guest, it is tempting to bring on the drama just for fun.

I'll keep you posted...

Google Earth

I have been sitting in front of my computer for two hours, eating chocolate mini-eggs in my bathrobe and saying, "Wow man." over and over like Dennis Hopper in Sunday morning drag.

If you haven't downloaded Google Earth to your computer yet, you should. It is free and one of the coolest things I have ever seen -- truly using the internet to show how tiny and interconnected we are. You can map locations all over the globe and "fly" from one location to another. I went from my apartment in Amsterdam (I could see the bike racks two buildings aways, so I knew right were it was) to Tom's apartment in New Jersey (the Galaxy Towers had been mapped about 6 times already, so I went right there). That is what makes this so great -- when you add a location -- say, The Green Kitchen Diner in Guttenberg, NJ, the global map stores it for everyone else to see and use. So this map of the globe is getting compartmentalized on several levels: landmarks, cities, businesses, homes, parks, etc. I even found mom and dad's house at Black Butte. It makes my brain hurt and buzz all at the same time.

And this brings up an interesting point about privacy. When I can sit at my kitchen table and zoom all over the planet, looking at specific places belonging to specific people, how private can any one of us be? Do the Muslim women who live behind me and who cover their faces just to change the laundry hanging out their windows know that they are being photographed by satellites? That the top of their head may show up in a future map?

Anyway. Download the program and dream about travel. Even if you can't get on a plane, you can fly around and see just how amazing this tiny planet is.

Raclette

How I managed to get to this point in my life without experiencing the deliciousness that is Raclette baffles me. Raclette is a cheese, but it is also dish that depends on cheese so much that the pans have special compartments just for the proper melting of said cheese. And there are special scrapers for getting the melted cheese out. The cheese has accessories. Like a dairy dream car.

At this point you might be thinking, "Sounds like fondue. I don't understand what the big deal is (I just typed that in a snooty accent)." Well Mister Doubty vanDoubterson, let me tell you what else is involved in eating Raclette. Meat. Yes. And not dipped in hot oil meat, but individually grilled pieces of meat that you get to cook yourself on the pan that sits over the mini cheese saunas.

And this brings me to the most wonderful part of all. Since each guest is responsible for cooking their own meat, everyone has the perfect reason to disengage from the conversation and stare at the chicken when they need to. I am a huge fan of any meal that helps cover up moments of social awkwardness through the act of grilling. This is why barbeques are so popular.

It was a great night at Dario and Marika's last evening. The food, obviously, was a hit, and the company was good fun.

Oh. And did I mention that you POUR THE MELTED CHEESE OVER LITTLE POTATOES? C'mon.

Happy Birthday Pisces

Oh the funny. The very, very funny. Thank you Mr. Theo Alto for introducing me to Mr. Harvey Sid Fisher -- you have enriched my life once again.

Geeking out

I may well have reached the height of geekiness last night when I saw The Decemberists at Paradiso. What makes a concert experience truly geeky?
1. You are part of the huddled masses at the doors when they open.
2. You strategically place yourself in the optimal seat for band view, sound quality and minimum interference by tall people in front of you.
3. You see people you know, but are so scared of losing your seat that you don't go say hi.
4. You sing loudly and with great enthusiasm to every song. And clap. And chair dance.
7. You give an audible, "WOO HOO" when the band mentions Portland.
5. You buy the t-shirt.
6. You tell the bass player, "Great show man" as you pass him by while riding your bike home.

It was a great show. A great show. I think it cracked my top 5 of all time concerts, but I can't be certain yet. Next up? The Shins on 5 April. If their new album is any indication, this show should be epic. "Wincing the Night Away" makes me grin like an idiot every time I hear it.

What else. Work has been nuts. I made popcorn tonight -- the old fashioned way with oil over the stove. I managed not to burn anything or set off the smoke alarm. It was delicious. I have missed popcorn. Thinking about bringing an air popper back with me in my suitcase.

Gung Hai Fat Choi

I am celebrating Chinese New Year night watching a repeat telecast of the Grammy Awards and eating green curry. Note to self: use half the amount of green curry paste that is called for on the conveniently translated instruction sticker. My lips are burning. What is Kanye West wearing? You are at the Grammys and you are wearing a hoody? A hoody? Pul-ese.

Today I went up to the Buddhist temple in Chinatown and bought a candle to burn on the alter (alter? I might have made a giant cultural mistake right there...) for good luck. There were tons of people up there today and many fireworks going off. I then discovered a proper Asian grocery store, "Oriental World" where you can find a vast array of delights, including the green curry paste mentioned above.

It has been in the 50s for a week and definitely feels like early spring. I rode around the town a bit and took some photos of random things. I was charmed by this city once again and taken aback by how familiar it is becoming. I officially reached 8 months of living here and am beginning to look forward to doing things again -- can't wait for summer.

Oh my. Rascal Flatts should never be allowed to play, "Life in the Fast Lane." I love the Grammys for the odd pairings. It is like Snow White dancing with Rob Lowe every single year.

13 years!

It is my nephew's 13th birthday tomorrow and I can't quite believe it. I can remember the day he was born amazingly vividly, despite waking up that Sunday morning on Stacy's couch after a pre-Valentine's day pink wine-in-a-box night where I played, "Desire" by U2 over and over on her record player. I called my answering machine from her kitchen and heard my brother say, "Congratulations Aunt Katie. You have a new nephew." I went home, brushed my Jane Mancini (thank you season three of Melrose Place) haircut and drove the Ford Escort Pony to the hospital where I met this little tiny baby boy who has grown into a charming, funny, talented young man. Time flew.

News from the Dam: Tom was here for over a week and it was great. We went out a bit, bowled with people before the Superbowl, played some pool, ate some food, saw some friends, laughed a whole bunch and enjoyed being together again. It snowed on Thursday and that was completely cool. Very pretty to see the city covered in white. It melted after a few hours, so it never got a chance to get slushy and dirty. Work is very busy, as usual, but good. I go to New York in two weeks for Tom's brother's wedding, so I don't have many days to get through before I get to see him again. Then I get back and have just a few weeks before going to Florence with my mom and then just a few more weeks before Paris with Jonna. And then it will be spring!

Oh. And speaking of. Tulips are ridiculously cheap here already. I bought 50 tulips for 5 euros! And then spent 6 euros on a vase large enough to hold 50 tulips. I imagine that by April they will be throwing tulips at you, begging you to take them away.

And the last tidbit: Big Balls the Cat and I have been establishing quite the relationship. He sits on the fence and we chatter back and forth, and then I give him food. Hitler the Cat is a little threatened.

Here is a piece of graffiti that is showing up all over town. Cool, no?

Strong Legs

The moment you discover that you have girlfriends in your corner in a brilliant moment indeed. Not a, "I love you sooooo much" sort of moment, but more of an, "Ah ha. Wow. Cool" sort of moment. That happened to me tonight when I got calls and notes left by girls I work with when they thought I was caught in a tough meeting at the same time we were all supposed to be going to dinner. I wasn't in a meeting and I was fine, but they were concerned. It surprised me and made me feel all sorts of good inside (and a little Sally Field -- You like me, you really like me!)

When I finally got to dinner and had my glass of champagne in hand, I proposed a toast to "strong ladies", but they thought I said, "strong legs." Huh?

After laughing (at me and with me), they raised their glasses and we collectively decided that toasting to strong legs is a good code for being willing to stand up for yourself and defending what is right and what is fair and not being afraid to say it (to be honest, this was an unspoken collective decision -- they might think "strong legs" is code for being brave enough to wear plaid stockings, but it is my blog, so my interpretation rules). Perhaps I discovered my Amsterdam legacy tonight. Years from now, project managers will be toasting to strong legs and not even know why.

And speaking of strong ladies...one of them lost her dad yesterday after a long battle with Parkinson's. If you get a chance, please raise a glass to my dear HotGirl, and take a moment to treasure your steady hands, good balance and clear mind. STRONG LEGS everybody!

“It looks like sloth, but it feels like war”

This is a quote from a very well written essay on depression that my friend sent me today. I think this may be the best description of living through it that I have ever read. Though I have been off meds for years now, and made intense choices and kept moving forward without their help, the thought of going back on...or needing to...is never that far away. Sometimes I wonder if my Sundays spent alone in my apartment or on solitary walks through the city are a sign that I am receding into myself too much. Perhaps yes. Perhaps no. I tend to think no. It feels vastly different to be alive in my skin now than it did then. It actually feels quite good.

People around me are living through some seriously brutal chapters right now and I wish I could help them with their pain. It has to be ok for people to shut down when they need to and it has to be ok for people to find help in whatever form works for them. There is no weakness in feeling fragile or lost -- this is the cost of being human. It is sometimes hard to remember what it was like to just get through the days and keep breathing.

If you are interested in reading the essay, here is the link: http://www.dervala.net/archives/000873.html

Look mom, I'm wearing your hat!

My mom gave me this hat to wear in cold weather. And it is. Cold. Especially on a bike, but it is also sort of an adventure -- I'd never imagined myself as Sir Edmund Hillary before the ride in to work this morning.

Windy days

Check this out! This tree fell onto a houseboat one canal from where I work. There are bits of roof flying around and broken glass scattered on the street where windows broke from debris.

The pigeons are being blown across the street!

There will be no bike ride home tonight.

Psych!

These are the things I bought to combat my week's worth of insomnia:

• Valerian capsules
• Sleepytime tea
• Extra-strength herbal sleep pills with Valerian, Passionflower and Melatonin
• Whisky
• Ny-Quill
• Sounds for Meditation, Relaxation and Sleep album from iTunes
• Advil

Before you think, "That Katie sure believes in treating insomnia in a healthy, natural way," don't. You can not buy any sort of sleep aid over the counter. Not Tylenol PM, not even Ny-Quill (I had brought that back from the US). It is herbal or nothing here. So if you don't finish your prescriptions for muscle relaxants, pain killers or sleeping pills, please remember your friend Katie and save them for me.

The insomnia cured itself (though the soothing sounds of rain, waves and whales on the CD didn't hurt) and I am back on track. Only I'm not. Because it is 4:00am and I am STILL AT WORK! Sweet Jesus. It hurts my head. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Stuck between places

Last night was the first night since I have been back where I slept more hours than I was awake. It has been a bizzarre trip to function without sleep. I began to feel, and look, vaguely vampire-like (and not in a hot Drusilla from "Buffy" kind of way, but instead a Paul Reubens from the other "Buffy" kind of way), and I didn't like it much. But it was amazing how easily things snapped back to normal today. Apparently I even had color in my cheeks.

It has been strange to be back. I think a lot about the friends I have in Portland and struggle with being here without them. Life is short...perhaps too short to live without your people. But on the other hand, there are weekends in Florence with my mom (who is coming over on her own in March) and going to Luxembourg just to see the new modern art museum. I am between a golden rock and a diamond hard place.

Sleep! Please give me sleep!

Jet lag has kicked my butt this week. I have only slept three hours each night and spent countless hours staring at the ceiling and trying to picture happy places. I thought I had a foolproof plan for sleeping last night: go to bed at midnight, therefore fooling my body into sleeping later, and, if I wake up, smoke a little something and read a 35-page financial document.

I did both of these things with no luck. I have never stayed awake through a 35-page financial document before, and I wasn't so impressed when I finished it. Apparently the end of a financial document doesn't involve magic fairies or ponies. My economics professor lied! Bastard.

So I, in my crazed mental state, decided it was a great idea to take Nyquill at 4am. I put "Kinky Boots" in my computer and dozed for a while on the couch. After an hour or so, I decided it would be a good idea to go to bed. And I did. And then I woke up. At 10:45. Did I mention that I had a 10am meeting? Or that I am WAY too old to be sleeping through work? And I had to function while still in the Nyquill haze, which was just embarrassing. The bike ride in was interesting -- very fuzzy head and I am certain that my face was the picture of dazed and confused.

This weekend will be all about sleeping and restocking my larder. I don't like being awake at 4am -- the morning hours are the sad and lonely hours were I start to doubt myself and the choices I have made. But then I have a good moment at work, or see something cool on my bike ride in, and everything gets better.

The Portland highlight reel

Friday: Stacy picked me up at the airport and we drove to her house for champagne and cheese. And it snowed! LeeAnne came and fetched me, and, to be honest, it was a blur from that point on. There was more bubbly and pepperoni pizza and the comfortable couch island, where I fell asleep for a few hours and then woke up to "What Not to Wear." I didn't sleep at all for the rest of the night.

Saturday: Target, TJ Maxx, Marshalls and other frenzied shopping spots (it was a week before Christmas). I tried to drink a Starbucks Eggnog Latte and almost spit it out because it tasted like chemicals. Fortunately my tolerance for American additives and preservatives came back by the end of the trip...
I saw the brilliant and beautiful Jackie for my much needed brow harvest and a lovely facial. She has known me for many years and has listened to me through all my life changes. The perfect way to begin my stay.
That night I went to Amelia's 40th birthday party and saw many of my crafty bitches from the quarterly cabin trips. The love! The brilliance! They are such kick ass women. I would have stayed and drank and talked all night, but LeeAnne (wisely) took me home at a reasonable hour to get some much-needed rest.

Sunday: Crafty wonderland with Stacy and Marie at Doug Fir. Portlanders at that venue all looked like art students. It was very Bust magazine and a nice dose of home right away. After wandering amongst the crafts, we went upstairs to the bar for booze and food. Three hours later there was tipsy shoe shopping at Imeldas. So cheap compared with Amsterdam and soooo much better. Heavenly day.

Monday: Took the bus downtown to do some Christmas shopping. Wandered around a lot and loved the cold weather. Went to Wieden around 4 and visited people for a few hours. It was GREAT going back there and being reminded just how funny and kind people are. Went to leHappy with friends and wondered at their wit and smarts.

Tuesday: Met my friend Geoff for coffee and quickly remembered why he is one of my very favorite people. Got my hair done with the fabulous Theo and three hours later emerged sleek and very brunette. Went out to St. John's to see my friend Jake at his shop (Blue Moon Camera) and ran quickly back to the west side after realizing just how ugly St. John's really is. Went for sushi with the fabulous Mary Miller. She had just returned from a trip to Argentina, which sounded amazing. She is someone who I am constantly amazed by -- so smart and funny.

Wednesday: I wrapped presents and was a general sloth most of the day. LeeAnne and I went for tapas at Fernando's that night and reminisced about the trip to Spain.

Thursday: Amelia's actual 40th birthday! We went for Monte Carlo sandwiches at the Tillicum where she was resplendent in her birthday tiara. We were in awe of the hairdos on the regulars - very white and very high hair. After eating the fried wonders, we wandered Alberta street and went back to her house for celebratory champagne.
That night I went to Margo's going away drinks at a cool bar on Burnside. She is moving to SanFrancisco to take the city by storm with her writing prowess. It was so good to see her and she gave each of us the coolest thing: a book she made where she wrote about five of the new foods she discovered this year and used her photography to offset the story. She included some samples of the foods (fleur-de-sel carmels are my very favorite) all packaged in a pastry box. Very charming and unexpected. I can completely see her writing a cook book.

Friday: Picked up the gayest rental car ever: a cherry red PT Cruiser. Good god. Tom was disproportionately excited about riding in it. Went to lunch at McMennemins with Stacy and had the tater tots. Bliss! Then went downtown and met Lisa, Maya and Tracy from W+K for their celebratory "No work for a week" drinks. Those ladies are great and I am not just saying that because now I know they read the blog. LeeAnne got the kids that night and we went out for Mexican food at the local strip mall. Si senor.

Saturday: Long breakfast with Heidi savoring bloody mary's and reminiscence of Amsterdam. Bad news from Stacy and Dave about the baby made me very sad. Last minute shopping made me know without a doubt that I was back in the US.

Sunday: Christmas eve! Had the family over to LeeAnne's for dinner and presents. Very nice.

Monday: Christmas stockings and mimosas with LeeAnne. Then there was the traditional Christmas day hot tubbing. I think there may have been a nap in there somewhere. I went to dinner at Pete and Sheri's and then picked up my dear boyfriend at the airport that night.

Tuesday: Tom and I went to Black Butte and he met Mimi and Bill. All seemed charmed by each other. I am so glad that I took the time to go up there because it is so beautiful and peaceful there.

Wednesday: It snowed Tuesday night and most of Wednesday so Tom and I got to walk in the snow (check that off the list). Unfortunately it was too icy to drive to Bend and meet up with our friends, so we chilled at the house and I dominated Tom in Scrabble.

Thursday: We had a long and nerve wracking trip back to Portland on very icy roads, but made it back safely.

Friday: I had ten people over for dinner (that was the limit of seating and space in my sister's kitchen) and it was just amazing. Spanish food, loads of wine and great conversation. At one point I sat at the end of the table and just watched my friends interact with each other. I wish I could have invited three times the number this time, but that gives me something to look forward to (summer party on LeeAnne's deck). How great is my sister to open up her house to me...

Saturday: Tom went with me to run errands as I gathered things up to take back with me. Packing took a lot longer than I thought it would and I was exhausted by the time the Giants took the field for their "must-win" game to get to the playoffs. So it was a little anti climatic, but at the same time very normal.

Sunday: I took Tom to the airport in the morning and then returned there a few hours later for my own departure. It wasn't so sad because I realized, after this trip, that six months flies by. I will be back before I know it for more fun.