It's tradition

Was 2010 good for you? It was the best year in a long time!

What was your favorite moment of the year? When I picked up Yannick at the airport, opening night of the musical I was in, a certain kiss, when Sarah was waiting for me at the airport, when I picked up Gina Marie at the airport, the first note played on N2 MSG, Yannick's first day at school, when I met Lady Liberty, when we beat Brazil, and and and... etc.

What was your worst moment of the year? Some Thursday in August, when the Ex had forgotten to say his Serenity prayers.

Where were you when 2010 began? At home in The Hague

Who were you with? Ellis and the neighbors

Where were you when 2010 ended? Same setting!

Did you keep your new years resolution of 2010? I didn't have any. I think.

Do you have a new years resolution for 2010? I have a resolution for March. Sigh.

Did you fall in love in 2010? No

Did you breakup with anyone in 2010? No

Did you make any new friends in 2010? Yes!

What was your favorite month of 2010? November

Why this month? It was chuck full of shows and I went to New York.

Did you travel outside of the US (or your home country) in 2010? Belgium, England, the States

How many different places did you travel to in 2010? Noblesville, Nashville, Indianapolis, London, Antwerp, Manchester, Bruges, New York City. I stopped at a parking area in Louisville.

Did you miss anybody in the past year? I was very fortunate to see a lot of overseas friends, but I didn't see Whoops. And I miss him like whoa.

What was your favorite song from 2010? Hm. First thing that pops up is Love Hangover. God.

How many concerts or plays did you see in 2010? A lot more than 2009. I was even IN a play.

Did you have a favorite concert in 2010? Snow Patrol and N2 DMB @ MSG.

What was your favorite book in 2010? Honestly? Nothing sticks out.

Did you do anything you are ashamed of this year? Ashamed, no. Embarassed, yes.

What was the biggest lie you told in 2010? I'm not going to tell. It was a white lie, anyway.

Did you treat somebody badly in 2010? Nope.

Did somebody treat you badly in 2010? It's a given. The question is, how much will I let it affect me? Not so much (in the end), which I'm proud of.

What was your proudest moment of 2010? After the opening night of the musical. It was a feeling of accomplishment. I had done it!

What was your most embarrassing moment of 2010? Ah ha! Saying stupid things in English, mistaking Jenna Jameson for Joanna Newsome, sweating like a pig at MSG, getting hit on by someone I didn't want to get hit on by, asking Ellis if she made out with Erwin at the top of my lungs in a crowded bar, being seen at Eclipse, getting at the Johnny Flynn show just as he walked off stage, etc. etc. etc. Seems embarrassment is my goal in life.

If you could go back to any moment of 2010 and change something, what would it be? I'd have kissed that guy instead of backing out like a shy teenager.

Where did you work in 2010? Same place as before.

Favorite TV shows(s) of 2010? Big Bang Theory and Grey's.

Favorite Band(s) of 2010? The yoosh.

Favorite Food in 2010? The dinner at St. Elmo's in Indy.

Favorite Drink in 2010? Coffee, as always

Favorite Place in 2010?

Home and NYC

Favorite person(s) to be with in 2010? My incredible friends and Yannick

Favorite person(s) to talk to in 2010? My friends

Favorite trip in 2010? NYC, baby!

Favorite stores in 2010? The Bijenkorf.

Hardest thing you had to go through in 2010? The yoosh.

Most exciting moment(s) in 2010? #41 opening song at MSG N2, the storm(s) in Nashville and Indianapolis, every game we won in the world cup tournament, every time I see Yannick again after school, or when I pick him up.

Funniest moment(s) in 2010? I've laughed so much this year, I can't list them all... but some that come to mind: icing KT, the Jenna Jameson embarrassment, several moments during the bar hop with Gina Marie in Utrecht, my friend and co-worker Joyce and me doings skits in our office, when Yannick proudly announced he had made the best poo ever, "we don't get sick, we just get awesome", when Joshua told me "save yourself, we can take care of our own" when I tried to get everyone to their beds.

Ouch! I mean Yay!

Merry Christmas! I'm writing this on Christmas morning, with severe pain in my mouth (seriously - PAIN), but that's all I'm going to say about that little setback.

Just wanted to wish you all the best of times. I'm very grateful for this last year and my Christmas is already a million times better than the last one (even with the thing I'm not talking about).

LOVE!

How Esther got her groove back

I remember that at one point during the night of the first show, I walked into the bathroom of wherever I was and looked at myself in the mirror. I still saw a thirty-seven year old who accidently traded bad skin for bad joints, I still saw a tired mom with a shifted jaw caused by pregnancy hormones. But that's not what was most noticeable. The first thing I saw was that I was absolutely glowing. Sparkling eyes and a fixed smile and all other cliches. I was stunned. And then I realized: "I'm happy. Once more. Esther's back. I'm really here again".

Not to say that New York made that happen for me. I'm proud to say this was my own hard work. To get out of the funk and back into the groove. But the city and the setting of the weekend definitely gave me that final push in the right direction.

So this last post about my trip to New York is not about dirty deeds in the bathroom of Mustang Harry's or the backseat of a cab, if that's what the title above would imply. It is to say that I'll never be sorry about the not so sensible drinking on Friday, the more sensible rest I took on Saturday even though that meant missing out on some sight seeing, nor the insane pace we set on Sunday afternoon (The Rock, Lego store, Times Square, shopping, Strawberry Fields) to make up for that. Even though that pace combined with my arthritis resulted in a painful flight home.

There are only two things I am sorry about:

- almost knocking Becker's iPhone out of his hands, not entirely by accident

- not bringing tennis shoes

To top it off, my top five of the weekend (it's been a month and I still think about it regularly)

5. The apartment Robert got for us, because it was more than just a place to crash and the seven of us got along effortlessly. I guess you had to have been there, but there was a really nice vibe going on in there and the place had a lot to do with that.

4. The shows, the crowd in the back of the GA area, meeting a couple of more 'DMB legends' and finding out how nice they are, #41 #41 #41. And Christmas Song, which Sarah had to actually turn my attention to because I was too busy talking. I know!

3. Brunch with Sarah, Robert and Annelise. Because it was nice to finally be able to really talk to Robert and his girlfriend instead of random phrases in passing, and the food was great.

2. Sarah, Popejoy and Becker. We relied on each others tickets and this kind of forced us together. I could not have wished for better 'seat partners' though. Because we just get awesome.

1. Sarah & The City. I've already tried to explain the greatness of New York. I must have explained the awesomeness of Sarah somewhere in the past. The combination was just wonderful.

Can't wait to go back :).

Le Fabuleux Destin d'Esther

Saturday 13

It's the morning after and on the other side of the country, a beautiful baby girl with a beautiful name is about to be born (I secretly call her Molly Esther though) - but I don't know that yet.

What do I know?

I know there is no water in the apartment. At all. And that a very admirable kick ass girl is about to go for a run in Central Park. And that I'm definitely not jealous. And that jet lag + heavy medication + Rumplemintz = trouble.

So what do I do? I make a run too. To the nearest coffee place.

Coffee. So good. Don't know how my roommates for the weekend can go on without it. More for me though.

After a very long session on dmbalmanac.com for the boys, Morgan, Becker, Popejoy, Sarah and me are out for brunch. We need to take note here that Becker is in his too short sweatpants, wearing the beer stained t-shirt from last night, with bed hair. Truly a smashing appearance :).

We eat at the Carnegie Deli, a sandwich place with pictures of newer stars and absolute has-beens covering every inch of the walls. Pastrami on ryes are ordered, I opt for a turkey sandwich. Probably three pitchers of water are downed. I have to remove about half the meat from my sandwich. I really do not see the point of putting half an animal on two small slices of bread. That's not a sandwich; it's a carcas.

And that's it. That's pretty much all I do. Except for napping and having weird dreams where I make out with Carter. The message is pretty simple and drawn in neon letters.

NO MORE BOOZE, ESTHER.

Okay then.

But beer's not booze. Right? Right. Popejoy orders me another Yuengling at Sally's (seriously, spell check) and I'm backboneless. So I drink some, but take it very easy. "Proceed with caution" is my mantra for the evening. And thankfully enough, I ate some delicious carrot cake before said beers. Good foundation to pour some alcohol on.

We're back on the floor at MSG. I'm wearing my Nummer Eenenveertig shirt (Dutch translation of Number Fourty-One). Because I secretely think it works. I haven't worn that shirt without it working. That says something, right? Or maybe it says something about the set lists. Whatever. You will never, ever hear me complain about that song.

The band comes on. Dave is walking around with his guitar, putting his fingers in position on the strings. People suddenly get excited. "#41! Is that #41? Look at the way he's holding his hand!"

Needless to say, if it's not #41 - I'm going to kill them all.

Aah, but it is.



I'm so happy. Just so, so happy. Now all I need is a #41 closer and a #41 with Warren Hayes, and I can die completely content.

I'm probably making a spectacle of myself but I really don't care. I'm 6 feet tall - I'm always a spectacle in America. But spectacles make for one of my absolute favorite pictures of the entire weekend:



It's a short but insanely sweet version of The Best Song Ever, and Carter takes it right into Say Goodbye. Very, very awesome. I'm still grining from ear to ear while I type this.
All in all, I had a terrific show. The setlist kicks ass, the band kicks ass, the people I'm with kick even more ass. It's nice to be not drunk, it's fun to see others getting drunk (REAAAAAALLLYYYY drunk). Especially when drunk people attempt to eat pizza.

The cab driver who takes us back to the hotel is suicidal, we still make it in one piece. Because Popejoy is still at Sally's, I finally get to play some of my own music instead of effing Jason Derulo* and effing John Schmayer and effing Taylor whatsherface. Victorious end to a victorious night!

*For sentimal reasons, he's my new guilty pleasure. But please don't tell anyone.

CNYSOM

(Disclaimer - Sarah, I stole a bunch of your pictures (again). Hope it's okay. Let me know if it's not)

I have the worst case of post-trip blues. This after-fun-depression is only equal to the first time I had gone to California. Not 'kinda', but just as much. And that journey was a two week trip - this one lasted for only three days. So I'm going to blog about it. Gotta tell the story somewhere (again - my friends on this side of the pond are probably getting sick of it, by this point).

Am I crazy for hopping on an 8 hour flight, just to go to two DMB shows? Possibly. But am I deranged for putting myself through a double jet lag, a two hour waiting line at customs and another hour of training it and walking blocks and blocks with three bags hanging off me to visit New York City for a couple of days? Absolutely not.

I never really had the desire to visit NYC before, because in my mind that wasn't the Real America. I was right - it is not. Someone once told me it's like Amsterdam, only bigger and with sky scrapers. That, it is not either. This city is unparalleled and unique. Not American, not European, not Asian - and then again, it is. It's as relaxing as a summer breeze on a lazy afternoon and at the same time so energizing, it turns you into an ADHD patient instantly.

I realize I'm talking in cliches right now. It has all been said before and I guess with reason. Although I don't particularly enjoy being a rundown path (ha), I'll just say it in the most overused phrase ever put on a t-shirt: I love NY!

My favorite NY moments are touristy and not so touristy. I loved being on Top of the Rock. With only the sound of an occasional helicopter and the bending of the horizon, you feel like you're standing on top of the world. The city is literally at your feet - I even managed to shoot a picture of the streets. No small feat for someone with my case of vertigo. Another favorite was Times Square, which seems to be the center source of all the buzzing you can feel throughout the city.



But my favorite moments where this: whenever I was in Central Park, be it by myself, with Sarah, or with a whole bunch of us. Watching people, watching the scenery, watching myself be happy. Various times I was just walking down the streets, and I suddenly felt very much at place, like I belonged there. Riding the train, people unwilling to look at each other, half asleep for the most part - and then suddenly there's a look of understanding, a wordless communication of a shared feeling about a fellow traveller.

New York may not be Amsterdam, New Yorkers you can pretty much compare to inhabitants of larger cities in The Netherlands. Moody, aloof, unbothered, fast. No wonder I felt at home :)

Honesty dictates me to say that the city was only half the reason I enjoyed this trip so immensely. The other half is DMB and the group of people I hung out with. There were Sarah and Bobbo, lifelines in a setting of unfamiliar faces. There was Morgan, whom I'd never met before and who isn't a fraction of how intimidating he can look and there were Becker and Popejoy, hilarious and kind men, whom I'd only met once before but who immediately took me into the group like I'd been part of it for years. And there was Bobbo's girlfriend, a more quiet but straight up girl who nicely balanced out my big mouth.

So let's do a quick recap of the extended weekend.

Thursday 11
I had had quite a bad head cold for a couple of days, and still had a stuffy and sore head. In a very undutch fashion, I just popped a dozen pills instead of letting it work its own way out of my system. That helped a little, but of course didn't prevent my ears from exploding completely when we were descending towards JFK. Even a tiny vain popped. However, for the first time ever, a stewart took notice of my pain and educated me in the solution: two foam cups with wet towels in 'em, drinking water and blowing your nose simultaneously. I will be forever thankful to that man.

Customs was eventful; the line was so long, it went on outside the massive room. An old German man accused an orthodox jew of carrying a bomb. The customs officer was suspicious why I would travel two times to the US in a year "just for fun". After picking up my baggage I realized I had no idea where to go from there. I could just take a cab, but called Robert just in case. After giving me shit for my unprepared ways, he got me on the right track and an hour later, I was the first one to arrive at the hotel.

Bobbo had managed to get us some sort of an apartment within the Essex House Hotel on South Central Park. Needless to say, it was absolutely fabulous. We had a common room and two bedrooms and with an extra pullout couch and another nice wide coach, it was perfect for 7 people. It was more than just a place to crash - it was also a great place to hang out and just laugh and talk.

After maybe 20 minutes, Morgan knocks on the door. I open it and in front of me is standing a bald headed giant. Not exactly of average American height. Which was pretty nice - for once, the shorter kids would be the minority :). We headed out for a bar to meet up with some other group. Which is when the man with the hammer started pounding on my head and told me to get to bed. So I left them and went back to the hotel, where minutes later Bobbo, Annelise and Sarah arrived. After much missed hugs, they went out to the bar with Morgan and the other group and I fell into a blissful sleep in my awesome bed.

Friday 12
Next morning, Sarah and I got up at the crack of dawn to go to the Statue of Liberty. Yes, we went there. We were being tourists. Lady Liberty though is a symbol of hope for everyone in search of a new life in the United States - if you know me, you'll understand I have been wanting to meet her for quite some time. It was an awesome little trip. We were there early, which meant no waiting lines and no packed ferry. The tour at the Statue and Ellis Island were interesting and a tiny bit emotional. Chances are I'll never really move to the States. But my circumstances are not that set in stone (fortunately or unfortunately - depends on how you look at it) and the dream of living overseas is something I do not weep over, but cherish. Even if it all won't come true.

We accidently stumbled upon the landmark which tells the history of the founding of New Amsterdam and us (the Dutch) finally selling it (I do believe for 30 florines and Suriname). That was certainly not going to be the last time I came across little tangible pieces of proof that "We Were Here First - I Mean After The Natives".

We walked up to ground zero which had less of an impact than standing with Lady Liberty and looking at the skyline. Looking at that skyline you know two things: 1. It's absolutely gorgeous and I want that and 2. Something is missing. Something terrible has happened. This is f-ing real.



Back at the hotel I took a nap until the door to my room flies open and Popejoy is announcing his arrival loudly. Morgan, Sarah, Becker, Popejoy and me took a quick walk through the park and once again (I'm starting to sound like a broken record - see Deer Creek), everything with these people is just so laid back and relaxed. Absolutely effortless.



Before we go on to the next part of the day, I have to explain that I've been diagnosed with chronic rheumatoid arthritis. This means I get infections in my joints, mostly in my limbs, hands and feet. I have started small doses of chemo a couple of weeks ago. If all goes well, this will eventually start to suppress the symptoms - possibly almost completely. However, it's still heavy medication and the doctor warned me about alcohol.

You feel where I'm going with this, right?

We had some beers at the hotel. I wisely stuck to Miller Lite and did not partake into the finer beers Morgan had brought. We went to a bar called Mustang Sally's, because that's apparently where you pre-party before an MSG show. I had a Yuengling (spellcheck please). And then, Popejoy ordered Rumplemintz. Since I'm a stupid, irresponsible and immature cow, I had one too. Or two. And some more beer. And after some much needed, delicious pizza we went to the venue (kicks ass, btw) and had some more beers.



I am officially That Girl. The one you hate at shows. The one you're wondering about if she's going to remember the setlist tomorrow morning (I didn't; well, not completely). The one who keeps dancing from left to right and yells too loudly. I am that girl. Please do not hate me. Especially, since it was So. Much. Fun. I was walking the ledge, but managed to stay on the right side and I had so much unbridled FUN. I spent the rest of the weekend with a permanent smile fixed on my inner face. Fun! Fun! Fun!. Or rather, Beer! Beer! Beer!

After the show we went to Mustang Harry's, because that's apparently where you post-party after an MSG show. I got felt up by a dinosaur. Things were blurry. Suddenly everyone had left and dinosaur's hand was still on my ass. Fortunately, it wasn't dramatic as it seemed and turned out they were waiting outside for me. After an uncomfortable (won't get into that) cab ride back to the hotel, I got educated on pop music, had a furious discussion about Schmayer, discovered Popejoy's music (which is a current fixture in my CD player - I absolutely love that disc. Check out www.joshuapopejoy.com) and listened to men gushing over their women (it was cute). How I was the last one still standing - beats me. I could cry tears from joy though after I had helped everyone to bed. Finally, sleep!

Next up: Saturday and Sunday. The best opener I could ever have wished for. Frightening sandwiches. Why I'll never be sorry.

Will blog about it. At length.

But currently have about three wonderful infections in my right hand. Don't drink and jetlag, kids.

no more drama (for now)

Sarah inspired me to be thankful today. It definitely beats bitching all the time, thinking of things that bring me down (and consequently bring me down even more). So it's overdue, but today I'm thankful for

1. The Kid
You didn't see that coming, did ya? He's the reason I can't regret the last five years. He's so beautiful and smart and enthusiastic and last Friday when I dropped him off he suddenly hugged me and said: "I'm going to miss you so much, mama". Big deal for him. Big deal for me. Love him. Love him, love him, love him.

2. My neighbors
My support system is literally next door. You can't put a price on those people. They are always there for me and more importantly, they will go through fire for the kid.

3. (Lost) friends
I'm grateful for everyone who has been willing to be my friend, whether they are still in my life or not. I'm awesome because they are.

4. Music
No need to elaborate.

5. My job
Yeah... I at least have a job. That pays well. And keeps a roof over our heads. There are mothers in this world who sleep in the streets on a piece of cardboard with their baby beside them. They have for more reason to bitch about their 'work situation' than I do.

Disclaimer: sarcasm is not something I can turn off, ever. So my bitching will surface soon enough. Just not today.

sign 'o' the times

What?




Where?




How?




Hi, I'm you-know-who and I used to blog on this. And then one day I didn't. I have no idea where the time went. But I'm here, talking to myself in cyberspace. In a language that isn't my own. So in Benglish, I'm going to tell my audience (me) what happened in the last three months. I guess I rock.

July
This month was the Dutch summer. June was cold, everything went downhill in August, but July was pretty decent as far as the weather was concerned. I suffered from tremendous post-trip blues. On the other hand, we still didn't have a government and *funnily enough*, we all kept on living and breathing.

August
August was very interesting. First of all, the divine miss GM came over for a week long visit. I had a lot of stuff planned, she was beyond excited and the kid was curious. When we picked up GM at the airport, I got tears in my eyes. Because there are perks to friends being on different continents, but usually it just sucks.

Back at home, I immediately stuffed her face with poffertjes and I went to drop off Y at his dad's.

He was drunk. Like I said - everything went downhill in August.

It's not like it was a complete surprise, because there had been some signs. I just never thought he would do it in front of Y and I found the timing a little too conspicuous. My ex having a fun week with her overseas friends? Let's either pretend to be sick (Sarah's trip) or get wasted (GM's).

What happened next was a VERY long talk before he agreed to let me take Y back home. Him drunk, me stone cold sober. Imagine the hilarity, will you? Dad and son were supposed to go on a mini-trip together to Germany, so big disappointment for the kid all around. There was just no way I was a) going to let my kid stay there with a very drunk dad or b) drop off my kid the next day to go abroad on a trip with his clearly unstable dad.

We made the best of the week. I kept Y home for another day to let him feel I was still there. He stayed with the neighbors the next day, where he had blast. Thank sweet Jesus for my neighbors because they love him to bits and they are just there in times of crisis. GM and me went to Utrecht and got pretty shitfaced ourselves. Hypocrite? Sure.

I should mention I had a kissing opportunity in Utrecht. With a really, REALLY hot guy. And I completely chickened out. I have no idea why. End of story.

With some last minutes changes in our plans, we managed to visit Delft, Bruges and Amsterdam as well. We hung out with Doug back in Den Haag (funny guy).

I was very happy GM came to stay. I was not in the best mood that week for obvious reasons (of course, one day after the *incident*, the ex declared himself sober and demanded that I bring back his son - lovely phone calls, those were). I learned that next time, I'm just not going to tell him people are coming over, or that I'm going away (not until the last minute, anyway). In short, I had a blast during GM's first trip to Europe and the week has a big fat stain on it. I honestly don't know if that will ever fade on the list "Things I Cannot Forgive You Quite Yet".

The other half of August was dominated by Y starting school. Very exciting and very scary. We had about a week before his teacher called us in for a meeting. I think a LOL is appropriate. I was weary, but she turned out to be completely on our side of "Let's not put a label on him unless absolutely necessary". He's now getting physical therapy to help him with his posture, tension in his body and feeling his limits (he has no sense of boundaries). I'm just really, really happy I managed to get him in this school. He's making friends and getting a sense of security and even manages to sit still for longer periods of time.

Oh, and Ex started AA again and new meds which should help him in the non drinking. Me? I just think this: I'm happy for my son with whatever wholesome time he gets with both of his parents. I think it'll help him in a world where he's already feeling a little off. Yet, I am also always waiting for the next set back. I know it'll come. Maybe that sounds awful. I call it being realistic. The next time will come and although I'm always prepared, it also hurts like hell. But it's about Y.

September
Since Wrigley was completely out after Drunk Ex, I had a bit of a foul mood early September. What didn't help was work. It's been insane and there's no light at the end of the tunnel yet. Interesting is that my old boss from two jobs ago called and wanted to get together for lunch. Will keep you posted (lunch is due in October).

< uninteresting Dutch politics talk >

There's been a lot of shit going on which made me get acquainted with a lot of far left wing politicians. They are just as bad as the far right wing actors. If not worse, because it's all done in the name of "being social". And if you're not with them (sound familiar?), you are therefore anti-social. Thus sayeth Socrates. Don't get me near a tomato ever again because I literally see red before my eyes. Bunch of hypocrite, malicious, frightening fanatics. At least Wilders is SAYING what he thinks, however foul and scary. So yeah, I'll say it: if I have to choose between CDA/VVD/(PVV) or GroenLinks/SP/PvdA? I'll take the first option.

Whoah. Whoah.

I know - I wouldn't have thought it two weeks ago, either.

< /uninteresting Dutch politics talk >

General
Arthritis is kicking my behind. It's making me hurt, making me grumpy, making me old and worst of all: I can't exercise (yeah, another Never Thought). We're working on a remedy.

I'm going to New York in november. EEEEEEEEEEH!!! Of course, I wanted to go to DC and Cali as well and got thrown back to reality after my car had an inspection and my bike was due new tires and a check-up. Kaching.

Love you (me) all.

Addendum to Hot

I completely forgot about Rock Band.

Robert and Sarah and I played Beatles Rock Band. And it was awesome. And I sucked at it. And it was still awesome.

THE END.

Hot. Part Three. Indy.

Sunday
One of the best things about camping is of course the shower when you get home. So I wasn't home, but the shower at Robert's in Indianapolis was definitely great. He lives in a downtown apartment with a closed-off entresol, so to be fair, it deed feel familiar. Except he has two showers. Because this is, after all, America.

After we all (Katie, Matias, Jen, Sarah, Robert and I) took turns in the showers, it was time to say goodbye to the first three who were heading back to San Diego and Virginia. Sarah was spending another day in Indy. We kind of collapsed on the couch and watched some football.



My head crashed before my body even succumbed to sleep. I was officially gone. The arthritis in my joints was flaring, my thoughts were hazy and lifting my left pinky felt like an emotional and physical trial in the range of running a marathon. Robert and Sarah told me they wanted to go see Toy Story 3 that afternoon and I completely misread that and thought I wasn't invited (seriously Esther, are you five?). I pretty much realized then that I wasn't going anywhere anymore without some sleep first. So after they left, I crashed on the couch. When they got back to pick me up for dinner, I couldn't do that either. I just slept some more.

What did you do on your first day in Indy? I slept through it.

But apparently, I needed it like you wouldn't believe.

Monday
Needless to say, I woke up at the crack of dawn. So I went outside and fetched myself some Starbucks and watched the city come to life (starting with a very obese homeless person waking up on a bench just outside Robert's apartment building. Homeless and obese. How? I ask thee).

Indianapolis has a large obelisk-esque column in the center and this is where 'my' Starbucks was located.



I think this monument was some sort of military memorial because it had all these battles mentioned on it with the deaths on both sides and the outcome. It was very intricate and realistic in it's design - not my favorite style but whatever.



The whole thing fascinated me, because it seemed so grotesque and out of place in a city that otherwise has a certain modesty about it. I also wondered about the mention on one of the four sides, of the defeat of what I assume were the original habitants of the region; Indians. You'd think they'd want to just conveniently not mention anything about that, like the Dutch ignoring how we ever came to rule Indonesia (because we magically were just there one day. Right.). I concluded I found it the presentation not very tasteful, but at least historically aware.

After Sarah and Robert woke up, Robert bought us breakfast at a pretty cool place with great food and really bad coffee. After that, the three of us went to a brand new exhibition in a park next to the Museum of Art. It was called 100 Acres and contained various objects which were obviously designed to invite the visitors to interact and play with the art instead of just looking at it. One of my favorites was an iglo in the middle of the lake, which housed two artists. You could send messages to the them by sticking a note in a floatable mini iglo and set it in the water. All the notes were then posted on a website.



Mine read: home is not where my heart is, but where my soul walks. Needless to say, I get extremely cheesy when I'm tired and hot. Because it was hot, so hot. Again, with the hotness! I loved the setup of the whole exhibition but was also pretty ready to get back to the lavish air conditioning of Robert's car.







Sarah had to leave in the afternoon to get back on time in Nashville. Boo. Sarah needs to live next door. But I think we basically all agreed them coming over to Europe if Dave does a solo tour next year. Get on it, Dave.

(This was before I decided to come out to NYC in the fall and wanting to come out to Chicago end of summer - Chicago I won't be able to do, but I'll talk about that later. The reason is depressing and I'm not in the mood for that right now).

Back in the apartment, Robert and I discussed where to eat. He asked me if I was familiar with the term 'food coma'. Of course I was, because this is what you guys always talk about come Thanksgiving. We were still on the 'Esther's American Experience' tip, so this was our mission. Put Esther in a food coma. We went to a restaurant called St. Elmo.



Beware, because I'm going to talk about this dinner in length.

Now, an observation before I start talking food. Americans who have travelled to Europe know this: everything is the same, yet completely alienating. I entered the restaurant, and notice the hand carved wood work over the bar, the division into bar area and 'nicer' restaurant area, the waiters dressed in tuxedos, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. We are wearing kakis and shirts, and for a minute I'm worried I'm underdressed. And then I notice the baseball caps. So you're in a restaurant that isn't posh at all, but borderline 'someplace nice' (think Friends) all the same - and half the clientele is wearing a baseball cap. My mom would have a fit.

Anyway. I'm not my mom and I concentrate on my table manners (they differ in America - for example, one of your hands, the one not holding a utensil - apparently it's gauche to hold two at a time, stays under the table) and try not to look too stuck up European.

Our waiter is kissing my ass (keeps calling me young lady, which makes me feel 100 years old) and explains the specialty of the house, a shrimp cocktail. It's nothing like what I know and this is why I choose it as a starter. No Dutch grey shrimp, obviously, but bigger, pink ones. No orange cocktail sauce, but what you could almost call a vinaigrette made of young, fresh (because delivered every morning, right off the field) radish (Dutch: radijs). Robert advises me to take off as much of the sauce as I can before I take a bite. I follow it. And put a shrimp in my mouth.

It's delicious. I chew. Very delicious. I swallow. It's really delicious. And then my mouth is on f-ing fire. My sinuses opened wide. It's still delicious and I'll never want a Dutch shrimp cocktail again, it's just hot-t-t-t-t. Not hot enough to leave you with your head in your water glass. But you can bet I kept taking off as much sauce as I could with each bite.

Robert is studying the wine list and to my embarrassment, there's a couple on there made of a grape I'd never heard of: Malbec. Apparently, they'd tried to grow it in France in the past but it needs a far better climate. It does best in Argentina. So he orders an Argentinian Malbec, unfortunately neither of us can remember the name of the house. And it really was one of the better wines I've drunk. Full, but not too much tannine (no idea what the English word is).

Next up was the smallest beef I could find on the menu (10 oz - still thick as a horse) and jacked potato. The potato was the size of my car. It tasted great, but the goal was getting really full, not induce projectile vomiting, so I didn't finish it.

Desert was carrot cake for me and cheese cake for Robert. Again, I'm forever spoiled and will weep when I eat some now-second-class carrot cake over here. So good. So Effing Good. To complete the American Experience, I took home half in a box (gotta do the Doggy Bag, right?). I ate it for breakfast the next morning. Bliss.
Robert suggested I take a smoke outside while he took care of the bill - did I mention Robert is the most generous host ever? He won't take no for an answer either. In any case, as soon as I was out of the air conditioned restaurant and had my smoke in the stuffy night air, I suddenly felt it. The wine (which we had polished off, nicely followed by liqueur with coffee), the food, the great conversation - I was definitely not on solid ground. Didn't feel that way, at least.

So we walked off dinner with a stroll along a canal which I cannot remember the name of. We kept the walk medium length, the bloody arthritis was muted by the wine but I could tell I shouldn't overdo it if I wanted to go somewhere the next day. It really was a great night and if you're ever in Indy - try the St. Elmo shrimp cocktail. Seriously.

Back home we watched some Joanna Newsom (more about her later) on Youtube before calling it a night.

Tuesday
Woke up early of course, because my body doesn't know how to catch eight hours of sleep anymore and headed out for coffee. As I walk out, the doorman, whom I was on a first name basis on (I walked by him about 5 times a day for my smoke breaks), gave me his home made cookies. He baked them himself. Peanut butter chocolate chip I think. I didn't like it, but that's not the point. He gave me cookies. Cute.

As I sit on a bench on the sidewalk, a police officer approaches me. I'm a bit weary of U.S. police & custom officers (most of you know why by now). But this officer tells me he likes my shirt, where did I get it, where am I from, am I handling the heat well, have a great day and smiley smile goes on his way.

After collecting my Starbucks, I pass Robert in the hall who's on his way to work with his purple sneakers on (which I sent him - see how thoughtful this guy is?). I put the only stroopwafel I have left in a ziplock bag and bring it down to André, the doorman. His eyes get so big and his smile so wide, he really is adorable.

Today's mission is getting a little feel of the city and shop before Robert comes pick me up and drive me to the airport.

After walking around without a specific destination but with aim just the same, I hit the nearest mall. I bought A&F shirts in Nashville for a friend and now have to buy some more shirts for our mutual male friend - so he doesn't feel left out. I give myself a peptalk and walk in the dreadful, cheaply perfumed, deafening store. I know my friend's size, but the shirts look a little on the small side. While I'm examining them, I hear a voice ask "Can I help you?". I turn around and it's Edward. I'm staring in the eyes of a bad teen novel. Early twenties, fairly tall (almost my height), green eyes, 'chiseled jaw' and 'carefully disarrayed hair'. My inner girl swoons. My current self shouts "You're 37! Get a grip!", at me.

I explain that I'm worried the shirts are on the small side. He says they're a 'muscle fit'. I hate A&f a little bit more. So if you're not toned the F out, you can't wear them? Whatever. Sales model asks me what built my friend is. "Uh - kinda like you", I say. And Edward takes off his shirt and puts on the shirt I'm holding. We can now add 'perfect planes of his chest' to the fuckery. After André and his cookies and the cop and his interest in my shirt, it really is the epitome of friendliness of the American Heartland. Shirt is a perfect fit (as if) and I make the purchase. I accidently stumble into the dressing rooms in my endeavour to find the exit and sales god winks at me. Call me cougar. Or pathetic. Whatever.

We proceed to Banana Republic where I try on a mountain of clothes, all the while the sales lady keeps telling me that although it all fits, the clothes are just a little short on me. It's sweet. Because we all know what she carefully doesn't say: You Are Too Tall for Banana Republic, You Freak.

It's time to go back to Robert's and pack. And get another Starbucks. And say goodbye to André. And snap some more pictures. And dread going home. And I want to be there right now so I can kiss the Best Kid Ever.



On the way to the airport:
Me: "I looked up the tourdates for Jenna Jameson, but she played Amsterdam the end of May so I missed her. Sucks."
Robert: (blinks) "Who?"
Me: "Jenna Jameson! The harpist you were raving about last night."
Robert: "Uh..."
Me: "What?"
Robert: "You mean Joanna Newsom." (smirks)
Me: "Who's Jenna Jameson then?" (and I just know the answer just by looking at him)
Robert: (grins) "A pretty famous porn star. What the hell were you doing this morning, Esther?"

I want to die. Instead I snort. And mumble something about a probable mention on Friends. I can see Robert thinking "Sure, Es. Whatever you say". Thank god we're both laughing out loud now.

I do solemnly swear I have not ever seen a Jenna Jameson film. And yes, I would admit it if I had, because I'm Dutch. There.

It's time to say goodbye and get on the plane. Transfer at O'Hare, once again. And once again, I secretely think of running out and just stay. Get a feel of the Windy City. Good thing I've got the Best Kid Ever to get back to, or I might just do it. Instead, I have a reasonably comfortable flight back to NL. Amsterdam never seemed more glum.

Thus ends the tale of my latest visit Home. I'll be back. And am making arrangements for a... longer stay, if everything goes to shit back here. More on that later. Like I said, not in the mood right now.

95% of people I've hung out with on this trip don't have access to this blog, but I'm leaving a message in cyber space just the same: THANK YOU!!! It was great. Sigh.

When I see you online, my heart jumps - even though I never talk to you

I'm 12.

Fo' realz.

Hot. Part Two of Part Two: Deer Creek

The word of the day is: epic.

Night One - June 18
The Deer Creek experience apparently starts with a walk from the camping site to the venue. An epic walk, they called it. It was. Partly because I was completely not feeling okay. The lack of sleep, the time difference and the sweltering heat were really doing a number on me. Partly because the girls were chattering up a storm while the guys were goofing around, on a two inch wide patch of grass along the road. For a mile long. It wasn't scary or anything - I didn't realize then that we have take back that walk, in the dark.



The awesomeness that is Sarah K. Brown had managed to get us pit tickets (she told me this when we were in Nashville at which I belted out a very loud "HOLY FUCK". In the middle of the street.). We went down to the pit, where I proceeded to sweat my brains out. The pressure of the thick moist air was only getting heavier. After about half an hour of waiting, a guy came up on stage to tell us the show would be delayed because of a thunder storm approaching. There would be a complete set, but we had to wait until the weather would pass. The people on the lawn were allowed to hide in their cars and re-enter the venue after.

So we waited. And it got hotter. And we waited. And I was almost passing out. And we waited. And I had to sit down my tired behind before I'd really make a spectacle of myself. And we waited. And all hell broke lose.



It was a pretty amazing sight - probably because I was low and dry in the pit. Although... dry? The wind was blowing so hard, even we got sprayed with rain. I was standing on the side rail with some shirtless guy (Sarah had spilled her beer on him and this was apparently the moment he'd been waiting for to show off his abs), who kept yelling "God, I love this country. God bless America!". I had to laugh a little - I mean, that's pretty... funny, right? But then he looked at me all serious and told me not to laugh about that. He wasn't kidding. He almost got into a fight after that and that was my cue to get the hell out of there, back to where Sarah was.

After an hour and a half of waiting, the rain had almost disappeared and the band came on. I had a flash of regret that I would never be as wired as that very first time back in 2002. Until they kicked off with JTR.

Here's what I secretly love about not having seen 100 shows, and having to really work to get my fill of DMB: I'm still a virgin in some ways. And this was the first time I heard JTR. And they opened with it. Yeah, suck on that you hardcore tour whores ;).
Fine - I'm jealous as hell. But in a way, it is nice.

The setlist wasn't that spectacular, but because of the incredible storm and all the waiting, the vibe of the crowd was pretty amazing. And they played It. It was so good. It came as a big grin, arms open wide. It was a welcome Home. I felt an ease floating in my tummy. Until The Lines. I kinda broke. Again. But it caught me off guard. So I sobbed a little. Sarah understands, that made it less embarrassing.

(I'm so talking inside talk right now. The It song I'm referring to is #41, the song that did and continues to do me in. The Lines are "Why won't you run/In the rain and play/Let the tears splash all over you". I get epic - see picture below.)



I got a couple of more Firsts, got something to eat which made me feel much better, Sarah was nice and buzzed, we stumbled back to the camping site in the black dark where another thunder storm awaited us (see prior post).

Night Two - June 19
My turn to get nice and buzzed. After sporting an orange fan outfit the entire day (Japan vs. Holland; 0-2), it took little encouragement to bring my huge inflated orange thumbs-up to the venue. Every song I liked, I would put up the Thumb. Probably embarrassed the hell out of my seat partners, but I'm... Esther, I guess. Got a nice response from people around us, so I guess it wasn't too bad.

They started with Big Eyed Fish.
It segued into Bartender.
I got to hear Sweet Up And Down, live.
There was a surprisingly sweet Stand Up -> Cornbread -> Recently(!).
I got a Dancing Nancies, which I hadn't heard in a long time.
I rocked my Thumb during Why I Am, which I hate on the album but love live.

And then I decided to get beer and coke for me and my seat partners.

As I was standing at the booth, waiting for the guy to fix my order, I heard the notes. Of Warehouse. Passion Intro Warehouse. I. could. not. believe. my. ears. THIS, Esther, is why we don't get drinks during a show. Luckily, the guy sensed my discomfort and quickly finished preparing the drinks. I rushed back to my seat, threw drinks at Sarah and Cuong and grabbed my Thumb which I almost lifted up turned upside down in all my excitement, but fortunately, Cuong caught me just in time. Needless to say, I thumbed the hell out of that song.

Sarah said she would like them to proceed with Grey Street. Uhm - they did. Aaaaah - such a great night!

We again stumbled our way back to the campsite, even the super drunk managed not the get run over, a limousine with a giant rooster on it hit another car in the rear, I took a hit from a bowl (which scared the bejeezus out of me), life was pretty excellent. Oh, and I ate the infamous Fried Stuff. And I had an interesting encounter at the port-a-potties, but let's not dwell on that.

The next morning, our crew was packing up swiftly, but we were still last to leave. Apparently, that's part of the Freaks at Deer Creek tradition, too. In short - I hope I get to come back there, desperately.

Next up: Indianapolis. Showers! Hot art exhibitions. Good food, Greater wine.
I also added pictures to the post below.

Hot. Part One of Part Two: Dead Creek

When I really joined the human side of the interwebs (as in: when I joined nancies mailing list), I learned the hard way that online characters can severely differ from their real personalities. The lesson came for example in a stalker who wouldn't leave me alone for three years.

Meh.

Nancies mailing list was an entertaining, unkind, hilarious, fickle downward spiral of flaming, gossip, ass kissing and ass kicking. I loved it. I even managed to make friends on and off it, and they were the embodiment of 'looks can deceive', or rather 'the written word can deceive'.

Whoops - the clown whose posts 90% of the list couldn't even comprehend, turned out to be a provocative, intelligent but most of all incredibly loyal and fun friend.

Sarah - the quiet type who hardly ever posted, was in fact an incredibly determined, vocal and thoughtful lady, who trots the globe like she owns the thing (and most of the time, she does).

Sharon - the snarky sarcast, who was much more shy than I'd ever imagined and, although we've fallen in and out of touch, still reaches out when you most definitely need it.

I could go on and on, but I won't. nancies was crowded and after nancies I joined other media and the list of examples would grow out of proportion. The point is: arriving at Dead Creek, unofficial camping site of the venue Deer Creek and official 'Home of the DMB Freaks', I was once again baffled how I can be so right about 'online' people, yet at the same time so wrong. There's something pretty awesome about meeting people you've 'known' online for years - some for almost a decade - for the first time. Legends aren't so legendary, subdued becomes spontaneous, sharp as a razor purrs like a kitten in the sun. You see them as old friends you haven't laid eyes on in ages.

I loved it. I loved them. The familiar as well as the unfamiliar faces. I loved their dynamics. Their antics. Their inside jokes. Their differences and the mutual respect for it.

What can I say? Some watch birds, I watch people.

The camping site is situated on the fields of a farmer, who apparently pays his mortgage by renting out his property for about four concerts runs a year. You pay, you set up your tent. He provides port-a-potties and makes sure there's catering. If you can hold your breath and have strong thighs, the peeing situation is bearable. Staying away from catering is advised though, because I don't want to imagine what a daily dose of funnel cake, fried Oreos and candied apple will do for your bowels - without a decent toilet nearby.

There were four things, other than our group, which dominated the Dead Creek experience.

- IT WAS FECKING HOT. Hot. Hothothot. No weather for a Dutch person. Sweating my eyes out. So hot. God it was hot. No wind. Just humidity. Eff 30 Celcius and calling it a heat wave. Eff that. Try 35 and tangible, stifling, thick as grits air. And then walk a mile :).

- Five PM starts at about noon. I haven't drunk so much beer since my university years. You'd sweat it out immediately though, so it's all good.

- Hotness + humidity = storm. In the middle of the night. And nono - not a good old fashioned Dutch storm. Not some lightning, some thunder, a shit load of rain. Are you Dutch? You know our infamous October storms, right? Triple that and add another swimming pool of wet. Sarah, God bless her, had offered me the inflatable bed and slept on the camping mat herself. So she got the grunt of it. But yeah, even I was soaked. Our tent was very strategically placed between cars, so at least we didn't end up with a table in our foreheads.

- The food. 1. Let it be known that Cuong Vu can cook. Well. 2. Let it be known that part of 'Giving Esther the American Experience' entailed eating all of the fried stuff mentioned prior, Gripos (some sort of chips), pretzels (about 100 times the size of our pretzels and so much better) and an insane lack of good coffee. Yes, I eat lack of good coffee. I chew on it. It's hard to digest. I don't recommend it.

Needless to say, I had a blast. I'm sure you don't want to hear about flabongos, icing someone, team USA, monopoly money, the phrase 'That's what she said', high fives from lickables, a gambling game called LRC and how I had to text myself through Holland vs. Japan because of the storm.

I'll just say that once again, as in 2002, I thrust myself into a group of people who have known each other for years and I felt absolutely welcome. People were kind, considerate, interested, funny as hell and they made the experience for me.

I love America.

(will add pictures later)

(up next: the shows)

Hot. Part One.

Basically my trip started somewhere past midnight the day after the one which should have been my first day off work. You could say I left the Netherlands being stressed the F out. However, the major perks of my morning were

1. Joyce (my co-worker and friend) drove me to the airport, which definitely beats having to go by train
2. I could get myself through security with the new do-it-yourself passport check. Saved me about half an hour of waiting
3. Amsterdam will be Amsterdam and I could smoke in the pretty lounges while I waited for boarding to start
4. Thanks to my new phone, I could at least pass the time online

Less fun were the constant phone calls from work, which left me exclaiming "What the hell are you going to do when I'm up in the air?" What do we do when we are frustrated and stressed? Right, we shop. So shopping I went. Bought a new camera, and cigarettes, and nicotine pills for on the plane, and a magazine, and an orange Holland shirt for Jen & Matias' kid.

The flight was okay. Flying long distances is uncomfortable but there's nothing you can do about it. It sucked that the mediasystem crashed and now I won't ever know what the ending is of that wonderful movie called Valentine's Day (/sarcasm). My transfer was in New York, where I thought it was bloody hot (but what did I know). Descending towards Newark, it became painfully apparent that I really, REALLY need to visit NYC.

Got an hour delay on the flight to Nashville, my ears hurt like a mofo during landing, but it's all good, because at the end of the gate, there was Sarah! Dude, I ran. It was like a movie scene that wouldn't have been out of place in Valentine's Day. But I was just really happy to finally be there, that my ears weren't bleeding and to see Sarah.

Sarah had warned me that it was hot and humid in Nashville, but Oh My God. I was only wearing a legging, dress and a thin sweater but when I stepped out the doors and went outside, the heat hit me like a brick wall. Needless to say, the first priority was getting me into something cooler (after getting an iced coffee at Starbucks and a smoke or 10). It was already after 8 PM, so we only went out for something to eat at this hip & happenin' place called Burgers Up. I had a salad and tried some of Sarah's sweet potato fries. Damn, those are good! After that, I had been up for 24 hours with about two half hour naps crammed in, so I crashed on Sarah's couch. Where I managed to get six hours of sleep because I'm old and my body is annoyingly stubborn.

On Thursday, it was time to see the sights in Nashville. Nashville - as you should know - has recently been flooded and it was kind of eerie to see the signs of that disaster on the buildings. About up to a meter from the ground up, the paint on the houses was chaffing. It really made the concept of what had happened more real.

We opted for a backstage tour at the Ryman Auditorium, an 1892 building that currently serves as a concert hall. We had to wait a while before the tour would start and wandered down what I remember being called Broadway, towards Cumberland River (?). we could see huge dark clouds coming in, definitely a storm underway, and we made it back to the Ryman just in time - before the floodgates opened.

The tour was kind of fantastic. I'm not knowledgable at all when it comes to country music, but the tour guide was very good and you could feel the grandness of the things that had happened there. I loved being on the stage, sitting in Sarah's favorite seats, standing in Johnny Cash's dressing room. The balcony was a part of the building which they had added for a Confederation Army reunion, which the tour guide almost apologized for - felt bad about that. Really, what do I know? It's not like the Netherlands doesn't have some serious dark history, which makes something like the Confederacy pale in comparison.






























After the tour we went back on Broadway and stepped inside a poster shop called Hatch Show Print. They make the most awesome posters the old fashioned way; by cutting wooden boards and then have a few print rounds - so in true fashion, hand made posters. I bought a fantastic one with a nostalgic feel to it... of a coffee pot.






































We had lunch at Whiskey Kitchen, of course I had some sweet potato fries again, and watched France making an ass of itself on the big screen. We shopped.
- Baby Gap! I scored 15 dollar All Stars for Yannick which he actually wants to wear (not too big on new shoes, usually)
- Ugg's sandals for my neighbor for 60 dollars!
- A&F shirts for my new 17-year old BFF! God, I hate that store!
- And we bought groceries for our upcoming trip to Deer Creek.

We had dinner at Cheese Cake Factory (seriously, half the trip was about food) and although I like the Red Velvet White Chocolate cheese cake - it was too rich for me and I prefer the Dutch kind. Gasp! I know - not like me but honesty comes first. we finished the evening with drinks at a fancy but not posh place called Patterson House, which was actually in a house. It made the atmosphere that much more intimate. I met a couple of Sarah's friends who are funny as hell, so that evening was a success. Crashed on the couch again, getting maybe 5 hours of sleep. God, I hate me.







































That rounds up the Nashville part of my trip. To come: Deer Creek and Indianapolis.

Hey you, get off of my cloud

I just hung up with a clearly intoxicated ex-husband. Yannick is here with me, safe in his bed, by the way. That's not the issue. The issue is that he's an alcoholic and he's going down that slippery slope again (I recently learned that expression - it's dead on).

The part that worries me most, isn't that he's drinking on a night Yannick is not there with him. The part that worries me, is that he's in fucking denial again. Once again, the excessive drinking was the marriage's fault (also known as: it was your fault). Once again, I am to ask about his drinking when Yannick is there (he's not - I do believe him (and my mom having checked up on him), but I also know that this road might very well lead to: not yet), but not about what he does in his own time. Once again, he feels like throwing in he has a new girlfriend, all boasting. Once again, he's suggesting stupid stuff - this time that Yannick didn't miss me when I was away. And the best part: the stuff that put my son in danger when we were still married, the stuff that made me decide to walk away and keep walking, that stuff is once again labeled a minor incident.

Thanks so much, asshole. Because this time, again, you talking out of your ass is a sure sign that you cannot be trusted in your judgment. And now, I'm back balancing on that tight rope again, praying to god that it'll work out if I keep my cool and try and talk to him when he's sober and I don't have to act in a way that will hurt my son, no matter if it's in his best interest under these conditions. His best interest is for us to be as stable as possible - this world is going to be hard enough for him as it is.

I'm really going to blog about my trip. The damn world cup keeps getting in the way :)

gone fishing

Well, sailing. Report on USA trip to come!

Meanwhile - enjoy this...

No use crying over spilled milk

Crisis averted. My co-worker just told me to snap out of it and she would kick me on that plane if she had to.

And just because these make me happy:

I'm not the champion

I love my job. But right now, it's killing me. For once, I'd like to go on vacation without feeling like I can't. To be honest, I'm a little scared I won't even have a job when I get back. I know being stressed out doesn't help keeping reality in check. Anyway, Debby Downer over here.

In better news: Netherlands - Denmark: 2 - 0.

Because of the absolute ban on the game at the office, I didn't get to see it. But we had my co-worker's kid text us the updates.

I had so much fun yesterday. We recorded a kind of spoof of the musical. It was hilarious and creative and as silly as it may sound, it left me smiling throughout the day. Seems like a different universe.

Riiiiiiiiiiight. Get back to work, Debby.

High School Musical 1, 2 & 3

Act 1
Ah, I did it. I went and be in a musical.

Seriously - a musical. I don't even particularly like musicals.

My former class mate Jeroen wrote the score for a musical and my former teacher Ton wrote the script. They based the story on the Alexandre Dumas novel The Black Tulip and got together a cast. They wanted to put up a pilot and sell the thing to theater producers. It was all downhill from there.

Cue the "Especially after you joined"-joke.

So after six months of rehearsals, I got to hyperventilate on stage again. Me? Huge stage fright. Huge. I used (emphasis on the past tense) to get the leads in plays, probably because I was the bold kid and tend to not give a shit about making an ass of myself. Until after the fact. I mean, I tend to get my foot stuck in my mouth way too often to even entertain the idea that I can help it. But I digress. The point is, I developed a serious anxiety to getting on stage - and this is why I do it. Show them all! Mostly myself.

The cast was interesting. Ages varied from 15 to 75 year old. Former teachers and students, parents and current students. The common denominator should have been that they all could sing. SHOULD. I mean, I don't expect everyone to be bust out a high keyed "I will always love you" flawlessly, but you should at least be able to hold a key, right? God knows that I am no Barbra Streisand (I had to sing the men's part in two of the songs because my high pitch is shot - smoking is bad, kids), but I can carry a tune. It won't raise goose bumps - neither the good nor the bad kind. But that didn't matter, because I didn't have any solos. All of us being able to sing pretty reasonably, was what made the chorus line quite strong. With four notable exceptions.

Three of them could sing extraordinary. Not that all of them were equally well trained, they just had that voice. The kind of voice that moves you. Needless to say, one of them was the lead actor (a 17th century doctor/scientist) and the other two had big parts and solos.

The fourth exception? Was tone deaf. F-ing tone deaf. I had to stand next to her during a couple of rehearsals and it literally hurt. It wasn't even that her voice was awful, she just couldn't hit the notes right because she couldn't hear right. And they gave her the other lead.

Of course I flat out asked the director (same guy who wrote the script) about this (bold kid, remember) and his reasoning was the chemistry between the lead actors and her acting abilities. He said acting prevailed singing. Now, I love my former teacher. I worship him. He's the reason I didn't go insane in high school. But, dude - it's a musical. The singing part is pretty much essential, me thinks.

You can imagine this blew, right? Fortunately, she only had one solo and a couple of duets. They changed some parts to parlando (talking on music). She got singing classes and extra rehearsals. Things got a little better. But the solo, oh God help us all, the solo.... Somewhere down the road they offered her a way out, saying she could switch parts with one of the talents I just mentioned. She didn't take the offer. To be honest, in spite of best intentions, I think it was mostly cruel to her, to have her do it. She had to work with a co-star with a really great voice - how's she ever going to hold up to that?

Anyway, what started out as a weird, kind of scattered group of cast members, turned into one of the most fun crews I have been a part of during a production. In the end, I even befriended a 17-year old (B, probably the best singer in the crew). She's young of course, but was hilarious and just tremendously energizing. Not to mention I thrive on passion. And she had a drive you don't often see.

We all had so much fun. We knew that small parts of the show would be weak (see prior bitching), but everyone worked very hard and gave everything they had. I slipped on stage during a dance rehearsal, hurt my hand pretty badly but I'd be damned if it would keep me from practicing. And I've got to hand it to keyless girl - she got up there on opening night, sang her way through it all, through the hisses and gasps of the crowd and only cried about it once. And got up on stage the next night like nothing had happened.






























Act 2
The shows were the bomb. Like I said, I was in the chorus line for the most part and among other songs, we had to do two songs in which 'the people of Holland' first threaten and then actually kill two of our historical forefathers; Cornelis and Johan de Witt. Right. Up. My. Ally. Esther loves her some acting menacing. Oh, the people I imagined shoving my prop stick in... Therapy.

The crowd was enthusiastic, and honest. My friend Ellis worded it perfectly. She said she had a blast, she was impressed by the acting and singing skills of the cast and then "it all got shot to hell and I remembered I was watching amateurs", because of the female lead. Fortunately, Ellis managed to get back into it after the dreaded solo.

I had a small part as Judge. The male lead, R, continuously fucked up that scene during rehearsals either by purposefully making me laugh or messing up his lines so I had to alter my own, but it went smoothly when it counted. My mom especially raved about my 'silent play' as Judge in the final scene. Yeah, I don't know what to make of that. Me? I'd rather be vocal. Come to think of it, that's probably why she loved it so much.

The entire cast visibly had a blast on stage. We all had a blast off stage (me, R and B particularly). I cried a little after the last show. It's like post tour blues; you're sad, but it reminds you of the immense fun you've just had.


































































Act 3
The after party. Oh God, the after party. Questionable Italian food. Way too loud conversation and tons of laughs at the Grote Markt (downtown Den Haag). Teenagers and emotional fall-outs drinking too much. B didn't eat all day and started puking after chugging back three tequilas with beer chasers. Dragged B home (did I mention I love living downtown?), called her dad who picked her up in the middle of the night. He had hardly left when we got a call from Keyless Girl, who asked to pick her up at some really shady bar she didn't know the name of. Figured out where she was, picked up Keyless Girl, dragged her home. Ready to dubbing my casa to 'night care center'. Keyless Girl lost her purse with her phone in it. Biked back to shady bar. No purse. Keyless Girl starts passing out on my couch. Doesn't want to call her boyfriend (father to her two kids). Starts mumbling stuff about "You don't want me here, nobody wants me" and presto, passes out on my couch.

The night was saved with great conversation with R about psychology, politics and philosophy, followed by drunken conversation with R - we kept drinking really bad red wine. Brought R to the station at 5 in the morning (Keyless still sleeping on couch), crashed, and got up at 8 to go to my management meeting. Unsteady legs and everything.

What am I? 25?

That following day was filled with hysterical phone calls, mostly about Keyless, who's boyfriend didn't believe she had innocently slept on my couch. The drama proceeded into drama.

But it was worth it. So much. I want to do it again!



































Other news
I've realized that I'm pretty kick ass in all my imperfection. I think I was convinced that the fun, "younger" part of life was over and lost in the divorce, but somehow those shows and the conversation and the after party proved me dead wrong. Life's just beginning.

Y finally got into the school I really wanted him in. I'm so happy about that.

My brother was also in a play last week - Romeo & Juliet. He got a great, personal review by a well-known reviewer. I'm so incredibly happy for him. He deserved it and the timing is dead on.

I voted in the national elections today :(. Well, I always vote but I always vote blank (long story, it's something I firmly believe in). But today I actually voted for a party. So the other asshole won't win - if I can help it, which is a joke, I know. So I voted for the party with the least parental program because that's the only option holding a faint echo of my own beliefs. And the whole thing doesn't sit right with me - at all.

I'm leaving in a week :)