You wore blue again that night
In a shadow of black light
All the ends stay untied
With the letter you sent me, after
Time turns everything
Beautiful is ugly now
And what you once thought to be so hard
Is of no concern anymore
Are you going to let me go?
Unfinished it remains
You undo nothing
Blue noise
In my soul and in my ears
I don't want to listen anymore
But it never ends
Blue noise
What you had won't ever be lost
It only turns louder
And it never ends
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
old - how long has it been, anyway?
i'm actually very surprised how much leroi moore's death has affected me. this is not my family, i never officially met the man, until yesterday i didn't even know how old he was. i am not and never have been in the position to frequent a lot of dmb shows, i have always felt like an outsider in the dmb community (not in a bad way) and i do not suffer from teenage hormones.
so what is it that made my eyes watery throughout the day yesterday, what makes me want to roam the internet like i just discovered dmb all over again, what makes me want to catch a plane to the states just to be able to hug someone who will understand?
i just got it: it's the leroi moment. it's not a trandenscendent mourning over my lost youth or the closing of one of life's chapters or the fact that 'my' band isn't the same anymore (they haven't been for years to begin with). i'm just tremendously sad because i'll never have another leroi moment. the searing, swelling note that catches you by surprise, the stomp funk that makes you move involuntarily, the catch of my breath before he lets me release it.
#41 - isn't ironic that i now know that he hated that song?
so what is it that made my eyes watery throughout the day yesterday, what makes me want to roam the internet like i just discovered dmb all over again, what makes me want to catch a plane to the states just to be able to hug someone who will understand?
i just got it: it's the leroi moment. it's not a trandenscendent mourning over my lost youth or the closing of one of life's chapters or the fact that 'my' band isn't the same anymore (they haven't been for years to begin with). i'm just tremendously sad because i'll never have another leroi moment. the searing, swelling note that catches you by surprise, the stomp funk that makes you move involuntarily, the catch of my breath before he lets me release it.
#41 - isn't ironic that i now know that he hated that song?
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Idiom
I'm a pretty verbal person.
(In case you hadn't noticed)
I basically write for a living. Sure, there's strategy development and people management and negotiations and kicking suppliers' asses and giving feedback to people who don't want it - but in the end, it's about the words. How do I tell this? How do I validate our actions? How do I explain the past, the future, the present? What's the right tone of voice, the right phrasing, the right timing? How can I use what's been said to our advantage?
And you're right, it's boring. I should have become a YA novel writer.
Girl meets boy through intergalactic wormhole, girl turns out to be in a coma dreaming of boy wonder who came out of a wormhole, boy struggles with the side effects of being a celebrity in his own world, turns out boy made up girl in order to cope. Which reality is 'real'? And who is behind the control panel?
That kind of crap.
Or just any dystopia as a backdrop to blossoming teenage love. Ka-ching.
But I digress. Like I said - verbal.
I like people. I use words with people to get to know them. To find out what makes them tick. To find out how I feel about them. To see if I can catch them off guard. It gets awesome when they catch me off guard. Challenge me. When they are smarter than I am. Or when they present a perspective that I haven't seen yet.
I talk all day. To friends, because my friends are my salvation. To family, because I can't shake them. To co-workers, because I have to. To my son, because he is the most important person on the planet. And sometimes, I even listen. Give feedback. Use words to comfort them, put them at ease, give them new ideas, picture a mirror for them when they need it.
I like talking. In Dutch, I don't even suck at it. I am surrounded with people who are very willing and capable of talking with me. In conclusion, I am a blessed person.
Yet, I miss something. I miss crawling up to that person I can be absolutely non-verbal with. Not say anything. Be held. Hold in return. Shutting the hell up. Really, truly and thoroughly relax with. Breathing out without having to get enough oxygen back in for another sentence. Another story. Another explanation.
Be content. Be at peace. Just be.
I guess I don't miss that something, but I miss that someone. Never did before, but now I do.
In that absence, I'm choosing to talk about it.
Isn't that ironic?
(In case you hadn't noticed)
I basically write for a living. Sure, there's strategy development and people management and negotiations and kicking suppliers' asses and giving feedback to people who don't want it - but in the end, it's about the words. How do I tell this? How do I validate our actions? How do I explain the past, the future, the present? What's the right tone of voice, the right phrasing, the right timing? How can I use what's been said to our advantage?
And you're right, it's boring. I should have become a YA novel writer.
Girl meets boy through intergalactic wormhole, girl turns out to be in a coma dreaming of boy wonder who came out of a wormhole, boy struggles with the side effects of being a celebrity in his own world, turns out boy made up girl in order to cope. Which reality is 'real'? And who is behind the control panel?
That kind of crap.
Or just any dystopia as a backdrop to blossoming teenage love. Ka-ching.
But I digress. Like I said - verbal.
I like people. I use words with people to get to know them. To find out what makes them tick. To find out how I feel about them. To see if I can catch them off guard. It gets awesome when they catch me off guard. Challenge me. When they are smarter than I am. Or when they present a perspective that I haven't seen yet.
I talk all day. To friends, because my friends are my salvation. To family, because I can't shake them. To co-workers, because I have to. To my son, because he is the most important person on the planet. And sometimes, I even listen. Give feedback. Use words to comfort them, put them at ease, give them new ideas, picture a mirror for them when they need it.
I like talking. In Dutch, I don't even suck at it. I am surrounded with people who are very willing and capable of talking with me. In conclusion, I am a blessed person.
Yet, I miss something. I miss crawling up to that person I can be absolutely non-verbal with. Not say anything. Be held. Hold in return. Shutting the hell up. Really, truly and thoroughly relax with. Breathing out without having to get enough oxygen back in for another sentence. Another story. Another explanation.
Be content. Be at peace. Just be.
I guess I don't miss that something, but I miss that someone. Never did before, but now I do.
In that absence, I'm choosing to talk about it.
Isn't that ironic?
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Americana - part one.
Apparently, I only blog once a year. It's a pattern. Oh, and it's naturally another one in which I contemplate all things American, so feel free to close this window now.
I recently (end of June) made the annual trip to the U.S. A big part of this trip was a road trip I took, all by my lonesome. I didn't stop to make a lot of pictures, so I want to put my experiences and thoughts into words. That way I won't forget.
Often enough, my trips to the States mark sort of an epiphany or turning point for me. My first trip (to Miami), was sort of a test. I'd been fascinated with the country ever since I saw a couple of fifties oriented commercials when I was twelve. I had the chance to work for Domino's Pizza in America for a couple of months in my early twenties, but messed that up because one day my temper got the best of me and I literally threw my apron in my bosses face and quit.
Fortunately, the boss I had in my late twenties basically forced me to book a last minute trip after my mentioning the US for the umpteenth time. I got on the plane and that was it. Would it be everything I thought it would be (Answer: no)? Would it all be plastic and fake, bad food and Christian fat people carrying guns (Answer: snort)? Would I still love it, like I had been doing from afar (We all know the answer to that)?
In California I realized for the first time that I could actually live in the United States and be perfectly happy. It was also the place that taught me that every single U.S. stereotype I had subconsciously been taught, had far less to do with strength in numbers than with location and deviation from European norm. All humans are xenophobe.
Georgia and Tennessee taught me that the South holds such beauty, such grace. I was met with lot of courtesy and respect for history and manners. The Southerners I came to know were friendly, funny and mostly: calm and paced. I guess living somewhere with that kind of weather will make it like that.
New York City was a personal turning point. Nearly two years after I left the Ex, in a bathroom in a sports bar two blocks from Madison Square Garden, I found that I was happy again. That I could still be my own self. That life made the promise to have so much more in store for me. NYC itself was yet another city where I fit. The real me. As was Chicago.
It is fantastic that I know so many people in the States, who welcome me to their cities and into their homes. It makes my travels possible, even - hotel costs could easily be twice the airfare. I'm still weary of 'inviting myself' - that stereotype the Dutch have that Americans never really mean it when they invite you over still tends to stick with me. Even after Sarah, Robert, Jen & Matias, Don, Shayna, Gina Marie and her aunt, Marika, John and his grandmother and his aunt and Nikki offered me a place to sleep and made good on it. I think I have finally learned, though. 'Bout time.
However, although a lot of the cities I have visited I'll want to revisit over and over, I also want to cover those fifty states I have on my bucket list. I really can't imagine right now how I will ever end up in, say, Alaska, the Dakotas or Hawaii, but I felt it was time to cover at least a bit of unchartered territory.
And I wanted to experience some Americana.
Cities feel safe and at least somewhat familiar in structure and pace. I wanted to see the open road, the dull of small rural towns, the stereotype that movies, narrow-minded European news coverage and TV feed us. So I decided to drive from Washington D.C. through Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia and Ohio to Indiana. On interstates people warned me would bore me to tears. I myself envisioned fifties-styled diners with waitresses called Flo and rodent infested motels like we see in the TV show Supernatural.
It took me surprisingly little time to get used to driving a car with an automatic transmission on the American roads. I'll admit that I didn't relax for one second when I was still making my way through downtown D.C., struggling with the turning signal of my rental car and wondering what 'YIELD' meant. But as soon as I was on the interstate 66, I found myself settling into the back of my seat. Americans know how to relax while driving. Which makes the whole affair a breeze. Let's just keep it at that.
My first stop was Jen & Matias' house in VA, where I had left my luggage. After picking that up (and half a bottle of Long Island Iced Tea which Jen had graciously left for me on the top of my duffel bag), I just entered Cincinnati in the GPS as my next destination, and would see along the way where I would stop for the night.
(Disclaimer: I'm probably going to fuck up locations and states. Feel free to correct me if you do happen to read this and know better)
Maryland and West Virginia. So beautiful. Mud slidings, waterfalls, broad stone bridges, grand accumulations of rock, wide rivers (I got tears in my eyes when I crossed the Potomac), forests as far as my eyes could see. It's hard to explain the beauty of various sites in America to people who have never been there, but there's a pretty common denominator: The Dutch are tall and live in a tiny country, with tiny cars, tiny houses - basically tiny everything except for us, the giants. We're not often confronted with how insignificant and ant-like we are, set to the backdrop of the ever expanding universe.
America is the other way around. And that makes it impossible to photograph. The entire set of the widest horizon, endless sky and forever stretching land make you so aware of the pinpoint you are. You have to be in the middle of it, to really grasp it. I felt tiny. And trust me, with my 1.85 meters I don't experience that a lot.
After the grand, wild, spacious, broad etc. landscape turned into a softer, more modest green view, I stopped to stretch my legs. When I got back on the road, I tuned the radio to a classic rock station. The London Bach Choir version of You Can't Always Get What You Want by the Rolling Stones came on. Which was my dad's favorite RS song. The version with the choir was played at his funeral.
Excuse while I get some tissues. And this is going to sound immensely sentimental, but at that moment, I was sure my dad was reaching out to me. Sitting next to me in the car. Singing and screaming along with me. I felt so happy. Filled up with a sense of belonging on that road and destination in life. Tied strongly to both my past and my future. I wonder if the people in the other cars on the road have seen me, screaming and yelling and laughing. That must have been entertaining.
At one point I had to refuel the car and myself, and I looked for an exit with a gas station. And how can you not choose the one called 'Billy's Gas 'n' Grub'? Enter my slice of Americana. Flo and the Supernatural boys are now fictional characters. What I encountered was mostly... unremarkable, at first sight. Modest. Non-descript stores, gas stations and motels with giant cars parked next to it. People dressed in shorts and brand less t-shirts, wearing baseball hats. I'm not sure what I expected, but except for scale and landscape and hats, they could have been the inhabitants of the provincial Netherlands.
Except for one slight but important distinction: they weren't gloomy. It's not like all Americans aspire to go from paperboy to millionaire. Yet, there is a satisfaction and possibility in their eyes. Even when they complain about their favorite topics (the government, the price of gas and sports), they're not bitter about it. They don't expect other people to fix their problems for them. And they're not necessarily looking for change, but they believe change is still a possibility. 'This is my life. Even when I'm born into shit, I'm taking that fucker by the horns and make the best of it'. Americans are probably the least cynical people I have met.
As far as that price of gas goes: I laugh. Cheapest tank of gas I ever got.
(let's make this two installments, shall we? The kid demands some attention)
I recently (end of June) made the annual trip to the U.S. A big part of this trip was a road trip I took, all by my lonesome. I didn't stop to make a lot of pictures, so I want to put my experiences and thoughts into words. That way I won't forget.
Often enough, my trips to the States mark sort of an epiphany or turning point for me. My first trip (to Miami), was sort of a test. I'd been fascinated with the country ever since I saw a couple of fifties oriented commercials when I was twelve. I had the chance to work for Domino's Pizza in America for a couple of months in my early twenties, but messed that up because one day my temper got the best of me and I literally threw my apron in my bosses face and quit.
Fortunately, the boss I had in my late twenties basically forced me to book a last minute trip after my mentioning the US for the umpteenth time. I got on the plane and that was it. Would it be everything I thought it would be (Answer: no)? Would it all be plastic and fake, bad food and Christian fat people carrying guns (Answer: snort)? Would I still love it, like I had been doing from afar (We all know the answer to that)?
In California I realized for the first time that I could actually live in the United States and be perfectly happy. It was also the place that taught me that every single U.S. stereotype I had subconsciously been taught, had far less to do with strength in numbers than with location and deviation from European norm. All humans are xenophobe.
Georgia and Tennessee taught me that the South holds such beauty, such grace. I was met with lot of courtesy and respect for history and manners. The Southerners I came to know were friendly, funny and mostly: calm and paced. I guess living somewhere with that kind of weather will make it like that.
New York City was a personal turning point. Nearly two years after I left the Ex, in a bathroom in a sports bar two blocks from Madison Square Garden, I found that I was happy again. That I could still be my own self. That life made the promise to have so much more in store for me. NYC itself was yet another city where I fit. The real me. As was Chicago.
It is fantastic that I know so many people in the States, who welcome me to their cities and into their homes. It makes my travels possible, even - hotel costs could easily be twice the airfare. I'm still weary of 'inviting myself' - that stereotype the Dutch have that Americans never really mean it when they invite you over still tends to stick with me. Even after Sarah, Robert, Jen & Matias, Don, Shayna, Gina Marie and her aunt, Marika, John and his grandmother and his aunt and Nikki offered me a place to sleep and made good on it. I think I have finally learned, though. 'Bout time.
However, although a lot of the cities I have visited I'll want to revisit over and over, I also want to cover those fifty states I have on my bucket list. I really can't imagine right now how I will ever end up in, say, Alaska, the Dakotas or Hawaii, but I felt it was time to cover at least a bit of unchartered territory.
And I wanted to experience some Americana.
Cities feel safe and at least somewhat familiar in structure and pace. I wanted to see the open road, the dull of small rural towns, the stereotype that movies, narrow-minded European news coverage and TV feed us. So I decided to drive from Washington D.C. through Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia and Ohio to Indiana. On interstates people warned me would bore me to tears. I myself envisioned fifties-styled diners with waitresses called Flo and rodent infested motels like we see in the TV show Supernatural.
It took me surprisingly little time to get used to driving a car with an automatic transmission on the American roads. I'll admit that I didn't relax for one second when I was still making my way through downtown D.C., struggling with the turning signal of my rental car and wondering what 'YIELD' meant. But as soon as I was on the interstate 66, I found myself settling into the back of my seat. Americans know how to relax while driving. Which makes the whole affair a breeze. Let's just keep it at that.
My first stop was Jen & Matias' house in VA, where I had left my luggage. After picking that up (and half a bottle of Long Island Iced Tea which Jen had graciously left for me on the top of my duffel bag), I just entered Cincinnati in the GPS as my next destination, and would see along the way where I would stop for the night.
(Disclaimer: I'm probably going to fuck up locations and states. Feel free to correct me if you do happen to read this and know better)
Maryland and West Virginia. So beautiful. Mud slidings, waterfalls, broad stone bridges, grand accumulations of rock, wide rivers (I got tears in my eyes when I crossed the Potomac), forests as far as my eyes could see. It's hard to explain the beauty of various sites in America to people who have never been there, but there's a pretty common denominator: The Dutch are tall and live in a tiny country, with tiny cars, tiny houses - basically tiny everything except for us, the giants. We're not often confronted with how insignificant and ant-like we are, set to the backdrop of the ever expanding universe.
America is the other way around. And that makes it impossible to photograph. The entire set of the widest horizon, endless sky and forever stretching land make you so aware of the pinpoint you are. You have to be in the middle of it, to really grasp it. I felt tiny. And trust me, with my 1.85 meters I don't experience that a lot.
After the grand, wild, spacious, broad etc. landscape turned into a softer, more modest green view, I stopped to stretch my legs. When I got back on the road, I tuned the radio to a classic rock station. The London Bach Choir version of You Can't Always Get What You Want by the Rolling Stones came on. Which was my dad's favorite RS song. The version with the choir was played at his funeral.
Excuse while I get some tissues. And this is going to sound immensely sentimental, but at that moment, I was sure my dad was reaching out to me. Sitting next to me in the car. Singing and screaming along with me. I felt so happy. Filled up with a sense of belonging on that road and destination in life. Tied strongly to both my past and my future. I wonder if the people in the other cars on the road have seen me, screaming and yelling and laughing. That must have been entertaining.
At one point I had to refuel the car and myself, and I looked for an exit with a gas station. And how can you not choose the one called 'Billy's Gas 'n' Grub'? Enter my slice of Americana. Flo and the Supernatural boys are now fictional characters. What I encountered was mostly... unremarkable, at first sight. Modest. Non-descript stores, gas stations and motels with giant cars parked next to it. People dressed in shorts and brand less t-shirts, wearing baseball hats. I'm not sure what I expected, but except for scale and landscape and hats, they could have been the inhabitants of the provincial Netherlands.
Except for one slight but important distinction: they weren't gloomy. It's not like all Americans aspire to go from paperboy to millionaire. Yet, there is a satisfaction and possibility in their eyes. Even when they complain about their favorite topics (the government, the price of gas and sports), they're not bitter about it. They don't expect other people to fix their problems for them. And they're not necessarily looking for change, but they believe change is still a possibility. 'This is my life. Even when I'm born into shit, I'm taking that fucker by the horns and make the best of it'. Americans are probably the least cynical people I have met.
As far as that price of gas goes: I laugh. Cheapest tank of gas I ever got.
(let's make this two installments, shall we? The kid demands some attention)
Friday, July 11, 2014
I found something I never got around to posting.
Was 2009 good for you?
First reaction to this question: HAHAHAHAHAHA. Dude.
On second thought: yes, it was. Christmas 2008, I didn't recognize myself. I didn't know myself anymore. I was at the end of the world and didn't know which way to go for the life of me. Now? I've done everything with my life I was afraid of and swore I never would, but I'm still here and it's me again. I'm a sleep deprived single mom who has developed an unhealthy taste for trashy novels, but I'm laughing again. I'm typing this in a new home, looking at my completely content son who is playing with his alphabet puzzle and I don't have to worry about the moment being ruined in the wake of alcohol. In short, 2009 has been a complete bitch to me, but it also kicked my ass into gear. And god knows it needed that.
What was your favorite moment of the year?
When the kid said "I love you, mommy", for the first time.
What was your worst moment of the year?
February 7 I drove away from a dream that got drowned in liquor. It was the only choice left, but it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Ever.
Where were you when 2009 began?
In The Hague, with my friend Ellis.
Who were you with?
Like I said - my rock, Ellis.
Where were you when 2009 ended?
I'm going to be in The Hague again... with Ellis... and a couple of the best neighbors anyone could ever wish for.
Did you keep your new years resolution of 2009?
I
Do you have a new years resolution for 2010?
Did you fall in love in 2008?
I fell out of it.
Did you breakup with anyone in 2008?
Yeah, you could say that.
Did you make any new friends in 2008?
Yes, yet again! Friends rule all. I guess I'm not a complete failure after all.
What was your favorite month of 2008?
July
Why this month?
The Band.
Did you travel outside of the US (or your home country) in 2009?
France & Italy. I drove through Belgium. That all sounds boring as hell, but it really was not.
How many different places did you travel to in 2009?
Paris, Lucca, Florence, the airport in Pisa. I was supposed to go to Naples - but let's not dwell on that disaster.
Did you miss anybody in the past year?
My dad. My dad. My dad. Dad, I miss you so much. My foreign friends. Yannick whenever he's not here.
What was your favorite song from 2009?
Lost - Coldplay. Just because I'm losing, doesn't mean I'm lost. Thank you for that life saver, Chris.
How many concerts or plays did you see in 2009?
Uh... Lemme think. There were a couple of DMB shows, and Beth Hart, and Blof, and Coldplay, and Kings of Leon, and Milow. No plays.
Did you have a favorite concert in 2009?
It's a tie between Lucca and Amsterdam (DMB - as if you didn't know). I think Amsterdam might win. Especially in the category: Comfortable.
What was your favorite book in 2009?
I refuse to answer that.
Did you do anything you are ashamed of this year?
Yes.
What was the biggest lie you told in 2009?
"I'm fine".
Did you treat somebody badly in 2009?
Did somebody treat you badly in 2009?
let’s not go there.
What was your proudest moment of 2009?
Standing up for me. Like, really standing up for me. For once.
First reaction to this question: HAHAHAHAHAHA. Dude.
On second thought: yes, it was. Christmas 2008, I didn't recognize myself. I didn't know myself anymore. I was at the end of the world and didn't know which way to go for the life of me. Now? I've done everything with my life I was afraid of and swore I never would, but I'm still here and it's me again. I'm a sleep deprived single mom who has developed an unhealthy taste for trashy novels, but I'm laughing again. I'm typing this in a new home, looking at my completely content son who is playing with his alphabet puzzle and I don't have to worry about the moment being ruined in the wake of alcohol. In short, 2009 has been a complete bitch to me, but it also kicked my ass into gear. And god knows it needed that.
What was your favorite moment of the year?
When the kid said "I love you, mommy", for the first time.
What was your worst moment of the year?
February 7 I drove away from a dream that got drowned in liquor. It was the only choice left, but it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Ever.
Where were you when 2009 began?
In The Hague, with my friend Ellis.
Who were you with?
Like I said - my rock, Ellis.
Where were you when 2009 ended?
I'm going to be in The Hague again... with Ellis... and a couple of the best neighbors anyone could ever wish for.
Did you keep your new years resolution of 2009?
I
Do you have a new years resolution for 2010?
Did you fall in love in 2008?
I fell out of it.
Did you breakup with anyone in 2008?
Yeah, you could say that.
Did you make any new friends in 2008?
Yes, yet again! Friends rule all. I guess I'm not a complete failure after all.
What was your favorite month of 2008?
July
Why this month?
The Band.
Did you travel outside of the US (or your home country) in 2009?
France & Italy. I drove through Belgium. That all sounds boring as hell, but it really was not.
How many different places did you travel to in 2009?
Paris, Lucca, Florence, the airport in Pisa. I was supposed to go to Naples - but let's not dwell on that disaster.
Did you miss anybody in the past year?
My dad. My dad. My dad. Dad, I miss you so much. My foreign friends. Yannick whenever he's not here.
What was your favorite song from 2009?
Lost - Coldplay. Just because I'm losing, doesn't mean I'm lost. Thank you for that life saver, Chris.
How many concerts or plays did you see in 2009?
Uh... Lemme think. There were a couple of DMB shows, and Beth Hart, and Blof, and Coldplay, and Kings of Leon, and Milow. No plays.
Did you have a favorite concert in 2009?
It's a tie between Lucca and Amsterdam (DMB - as if you didn't know). I think Amsterdam might win. Especially in the category: Comfortable.
What was your favorite book in 2009?
I refuse to answer that.
Did you do anything you are ashamed of this year?
Yes.
What was the biggest lie you told in 2009?
"I'm fine".
Did you treat somebody badly in 2009?
Did somebody treat you badly in 2009?
let’s not go there.
What was your proudest moment of 2009?
Standing up for me. Like, really standing up for me. For once.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Keeping the Faith - a summer party in America
Oh, look at me, blogging for one and a half horse's head*. Blogging is out, blogging is so 1.0, blogging is for people too illiterate and emotional to express their feelers in 140 characters.
What the F ever. Blogging after my US trips is also cathartic. I always need some of that because of the post trip blues.
So please, move along further into the 21st century, while I lament about how much I want to live in the States and how awesome the awesomeness awesometh from all the awesomies around my own awesome self. Cause this here is my party and I'll cry if I want to.
But if you want to read along anyway, rest assured; I'm not going to list a blow by blow of this trip. Just some thoughts. On undutchables. And me, me, me of course. Because a pity party calls for some narcism.
Chicago
Thursday I was out for drinks with a friend whom just had returned from Chicago herself. We were trying to come up with a good way for us Dutch folk to describe the city and from an outsiders perspective, I think she nailed it. She said: "Chicago is a smaller, prettier, friendlier and most of all a lot more subdued version of New York".
NYC is still my favorite American city. How could it not be? However, whereas New York would surely attempt to swallow me whole, I could see myself actually living in Chicago. Easily. I'd get a bike and ride up and down the shoreline on weekends. Go to Cubs games. Have a job. Bask in Midwestern friendliness. Sit on the 'beach'. Go on hikes outside the city with Yannick. Make enemies with my Dutch cynism. Make friends in spite of that. So, on The List of Esther, Chicago is tied in second place with San Francisco.
Also, good job, Chicago, on the architecture. Blew me the fuck away, specifically because of the combination of modern, ecologically responsible construction with those typical midwestern feel brick buildings.
DMB
BEF opened [stay up your fucking tree]. I got my #41. There was a Captain. Spoon with Brandi Carlisle was mind blowing. There was a What Would You Say. Two Step was awesome. We managed to end up with a bigger group in a row both nights. No regrets here.
Creek
It wasn't until I got back home after a delayed flight, which meant I had to immediately go into a meeting that I thought: "Maybe I'm too old for this". And then immediately dismissed it.
My mom** accuses my travels to the US of being "just very expensive escapism". She's wrong - except for maybe Creek. It is in fact three days of drinking waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much, smoking (which I don't do anymore - but apparently I do at Creek), whining about my arthritis (at one point my ankles were wider than my feet), popping pills to fight off said arthritis and other hangovers, eating crap (although it wasn't that bad this year) and laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing. So much laughing. An escape? Yes. Do I care? No.
Friends
I completely dropped the ball on catching up with Sarah. I'm glad I got to hang out with her and we had fun, but because there were no car rides together to or from the campsite, or a couple of days of 'normalcy' in Nashville, we only managed to cram in just a couple of inquisitive questions. Unacceptable. Personally, I'm rooting for an MSG weekend with an extra Sarah & Esther day in NYC this fall, to make up for it :).
Once again I met some awesome new people this trip. And was so glad to hang out with the ones I'd already met. No matter what these relationships are to be called exactly - friendships, 'buddyships', it's wonderful to be able to just be yourself. Whether it's something Dutch or the limiting ties of everyday friendships, it's not that easy to just 'let loose' back home. I did some crazy stuff this trip (like kissing random - as in, I don't know their name - strangers), but I didn't feel judged for a second. I'll admit that I did feel embarassed on a couple occassions... Who knocks themself out on a slip 'n' slide? Not to mention kiss random, nameless strangers?
The group at Creek was the smallest I've been a part of thus far. In my opinion that didn't diminish the fun at all. If anything, we all camped and hung out together, in the shade of four easy-ups. Instead of the usual East and West situation going on there ;). And no matter how much fun was being made of me (Jennifer), I felt taken care of. Safe.
Special mention should be riding cars with boys from Chicago to Noblesville. I felt like I was in the back seat of an episode of An American Bromance. Oh, wait... All kidding aside, I felt blessed being a part of 120 hours of on going banter, music and hilarity, with room to spare for the occasional heartfelt talk. And beer. So. Much. Beer.
Conluding
- Chicago rules
- My American friends rule even more
- Maybe a little less beer, a bit more talk. And subsequently a little less kissing random strangers
- Don't drunk slip 'n slide
- Get back as soon as fucking possible
* Dutch expression, meaning: very few people
** Yes, I do still have mommy issues at 40
What the F ever. Blogging after my US trips is also cathartic. I always need some of that because of the post trip blues.
So please, move along further into the 21st century, while I lament about how much I want to live in the States and how awesome the awesomeness awesometh from all the awesomies around my own awesome self. Cause this here is my party and I'll cry if I want to.
But if you want to read along anyway, rest assured; I'm not going to list a blow by blow of this trip. Just some thoughts. On undutchables. And me, me, me of course. Because a pity party calls for some narcism.
Chicago
Thursday I was out for drinks with a friend whom just had returned from Chicago herself. We were trying to come up with a good way for us Dutch folk to describe the city and from an outsiders perspective, I think she nailed it. She said: "Chicago is a smaller, prettier, friendlier and most of all a lot more subdued version of New York".
NYC is still my favorite American city. How could it not be? However, whereas New York would surely attempt to swallow me whole, I could see myself actually living in Chicago. Easily. I'd get a bike and ride up and down the shoreline on weekends. Go to Cubs games. Have a job. Bask in Midwestern friendliness. Sit on the 'beach'. Go on hikes outside the city with Yannick. Make enemies with my Dutch cynism. Make friends in spite of that. So, on The List of Esther, Chicago is tied in second place with San Francisco.
Also, good job, Chicago, on the architecture. Blew me the fuck away, specifically because of the combination of modern, ecologically responsible construction with those typical midwestern feel brick buildings.
DMB
BEF opened [stay up your fucking tree]. I got my #41. There was a Captain. Spoon with Brandi Carlisle was mind blowing. There was a What Would You Say. Two Step was awesome. We managed to end up with a bigger group in a row both nights. No regrets here.
Creek
It wasn't until I got back home after a delayed flight, which meant I had to immediately go into a meeting that I thought: "Maybe I'm too old for this". And then immediately dismissed it.
My mom** accuses my travels to the US of being "just very expensive escapism". She's wrong - except for maybe Creek. It is in fact three days of drinking waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much, smoking (which I don't do anymore - but apparently I do at Creek), whining about my arthritis (at one point my ankles were wider than my feet), popping pills to fight off said arthritis and other hangovers, eating crap (although it wasn't that bad this year) and laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing. So much laughing. An escape? Yes. Do I care? No.
Friends
I completely dropped the ball on catching up with Sarah. I'm glad I got to hang out with her and we had fun, but because there were no car rides together to or from the campsite, or a couple of days of 'normalcy' in Nashville, we only managed to cram in just a couple of inquisitive questions. Unacceptable. Personally, I'm rooting for an MSG weekend with an extra Sarah & Esther day in NYC this fall, to make up for it :).
Once again I met some awesome new people this trip. And was so glad to hang out with the ones I'd already met. No matter what these relationships are to be called exactly - friendships, 'buddyships', it's wonderful to be able to just be yourself. Whether it's something Dutch or the limiting ties of everyday friendships, it's not that easy to just 'let loose' back home. I did some crazy stuff this trip (like kissing random - as in, I don't know their name - strangers), but I didn't feel judged for a second. I'll admit that I did feel embarassed on a couple occassions... Who knocks themself out on a slip 'n' slide? Not to mention kiss random, nameless strangers?
The group at Creek was the smallest I've been a part of thus far. In my opinion that didn't diminish the fun at all. If anything, we all camped and hung out together, in the shade of four easy-ups. Instead of the usual East and West situation going on there ;). And no matter how much fun was being made of me (Jennifer), I felt taken care of. Safe.
Special mention should be riding cars with boys from Chicago to Noblesville. I felt like I was in the back seat of an episode of An American Bromance. Oh, wait... All kidding aside, I felt blessed being a part of 120 hours of on going banter, music and hilarity, with room to spare for the occasional heartfelt talk. And beer. So. Much. Beer.
Conluding
- Chicago rules
- My American friends rule even more
- Maybe a little less beer, a bit more talk. And subsequently a little less kissing random strangers
- Don't drunk slip 'n slide
- Get back as soon as fucking possible
* Dutch expression, meaning: very few people
** Yes, I do still have mommy issues at 40
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Beer Week
Texts I sent Becker in the past week:
- I'm here!!! F it's hot! Yes, beer!!!
- I'll wave at you[r office] with the beer I'm about to have in 45 minutes
- I feel like this train is about to take a nose dive
- You're already the best host ever
- I'm near Fullerton. Biertje?
- Train kaput. Yay!
Texts I sent Sarah in the past week:
- MISS YOUR FACE
- I caved and bought an American blow drier. I'm officially pathetic
- Are you bringing any beer?
- Chicago is prettier than New York. Omg did I just say that?
- Bier! Bier! Bier! Bier!
- I'm sitting here with four guys who just talk beer
- Are you almost here?
- [After she went to sit in her car during a thunder storm] Bring the fireball whiskey when you get back
- [Back in the NL] I took a nap at work today. It was glorious and necessary. This week has worn me out!
- Could you bring 24 Kraft singles?
- Zoning out
Texts Popejoy sent me in the past week:
- Where r u
- Come back where y were
- Hurry up
Saturday, January 26, 2013
The diagnosis
When there's a lot going on around him, the kid gets excited. He'll flap his arms. He'll make guttural noises.
We had just moved to our new place, he was still adjusting to living down town. A very busy neighborhood with lots of activity going on 24/7. One day we were walking down the shopping strip when a woman came walking towards us. The kid was flapping and grunting and the woman just... stared at him. Not very subtle, either. Her mouth was hanging open. Her eyes were popping.
I could just see it in them: "Retard".
As she was coming nearer, she just kept on staring. I was shooting daggers at her, but she was too busy gaping at my kid to notice.
But he certainly notice her. Looked right at her. Stopped in his tracks. Stopped flapping. Found his voice. And exclaimed: "You don't get to look at me".
My kid has classical autism.
And in case you didn't know yet: he's awesome.
The diagnosis wasn't a surprise. The surprise was the way the outside world dealt with it.
I don't get it. He's very sociable for someone with autism. His IQ is way above average. That's not me talking - that's the report drawn up by a bunch of psychologists who studied this shit. My own diagnosis? He's Y. He's funny. And adorkable. And cute. And stubborn. And everything.
Sure - sometimes I want to strangle him. When he wants to watch the same movie for the 1000th time. On the other hand - how many moms can say that their six year old cleans up after himself?
Some nights, I can't sleep. I don't know how all this will end. How he'll end up. If he'll make it in 'the real world'. There's no use though. All I have is now. And right now, he's doing great.
And I know I can't make the world stop judging him. I can only make him feel good about himself.
We had just moved to our new place, he was still adjusting to living down town. A very busy neighborhood with lots of activity going on 24/7. One day we were walking down the shopping strip when a woman came walking towards us. The kid was flapping and grunting and the woman just... stared at him. Not very subtle, either. Her mouth was hanging open. Her eyes were popping.
I could just see it in them: "Retard".
As she was coming nearer, she just kept on staring. I was shooting daggers at her, but she was too busy gaping at my kid to notice.
But he certainly notice her. Looked right at her. Stopped in his tracks. Stopped flapping. Found his voice. And exclaimed: "You don't get to look at me".
My kid has classical autism.
And in case you didn't know yet: he's awesome.
The diagnosis wasn't a surprise. The surprise was the way the outside world dealt with it.
I don't get it. He's very sociable for someone with autism. His IQ is way above average. That's not me talking - that's the report drawn up by a bunch of psychologists who studied this shit. My own diagnosis? He's Y. He's funny. And adorkable. And cute. And stubborn. And everything.
Sure - sometimes I want to strangle him. When he wants to watch the same movie for the 1000th time. On the other hand - how many moms can say that their six year old cleans up after himself?
Some nights, I can't sleep. I don't know how all this will end. How he'll end up. If he'll make it in 'the real world'. There's no use though. All I have is now. And right now, he's doing great.
And I know I can't make the world stop judging him. I can only make him feel good about himself.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy
Miss you.
Miss you.
Miss you so fucking much.
(I'll write something not so attention whorish soon. Like a blog about the Label. Will do. Just hungering right now.)
(And how are you?)
Miss you.
Miss you so fucking much.
(I'll write something not so attention whorish soon. Like a blog about the Label. Will do. Just hungering right now.)
(And how are you?)
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Behold my wisdom
Lochte = Stalone
(I cannot believe no one else (that I know of) has noticed this yet)
(I cannot believe no one else (that I know of) has noticed this yet)
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Redundant, boring and deceitful
This blog is so dull and meaningless.
Yes - I am in that state. Run while you still can.
Anyhoo.
Yes - I just said that.
I never blogged about the latest installment of 'Deer Creek Debauchery', nor 'Nashville - The Musical'. Which both happened in June. The reason I didn't blog the usual stuff I tend to write about, isn't that I didn't have time. That's bullshit - writing a blog takes about 5 to 10 minutes. I think the main reason is that I treat this blog like it's my journal - and no matter how much I love you, I don't want you to know everything. So when shit is going on inside my head I don't want you to know about - I don't see the point of blogging at all. I'm not very good at whipping up half truths. Or maybe I'm really good at it and didn't feel like doing it here.
Yeah, that sounds more like me.
I guess today though, today I'm comfortable with spouting only half of what I want to say. So here I am.
Needless to say, I had a great time back Home. I always do. I really can't think of a trip that was only so-so. Sometimes I regret that I'm not seeing anything else in the world because of my sold heart. Sure, I'd like to visit South America or Australia and New Zealand and maybe, and that's with an emphasis on 'may' - not 'be', I'd even want to explore Japan and/or China. The reality is that the mere idea of such a trip would mean missing out on 2 to 3 trips to the States is enough to quickly dismiss such fantasies. I thank the deities I at least got to travel to India and South Africa - besides most of Europe. Before I got hooked.
Why?
Truth is: I don't know. Yes, the country is beautiful. Yes, the people are friendly and unknowingly innocent and optimistic. Yes, I haven't even begun to fully explore it. But that's not it. The reason is that I feel at home. It is Home. And although that doesn't make sense because I'm incredibly Dutch and rude and freakishly tall, I've never been anywhere else where I feel so much like me.
That doesn't mean I can't be uncomfortable. God knows I was uncomfortable during my last trip. I wanted to crawl out of my skin and hide from my body. Pain had a great deal to do with that. Even though I love the south, it's not easy on me. The humidity fucks up my system.
Truth be told, I wasn't just uncomfortable because of my body hurting - I was even more uncomfortable because I realized it's just not my disease hurting it. It's not some new realization of course. And I'll never be a herbal tea shooting, tofu snorting runnerexic. But after two years of mostly sitting on my ass because I was completely floored with the knowledge my body was betraying me and I had to learn to deal with pain daily, it's time to man the fuck up and treat what is left of my physical side with some goddamn respect.
So I started yoga again. I know, it's for pussies. But it's the most practical thing because I can do it at home. As long as I don't have a pool right outside my house, this is the thing I can do. This is the thing I can do to be a little less uncomfortable.
And I'm in the process of breaking up with the toxic love of my life: smoking. This will be my fifth try, so yeah - I'm not quitting cold turkey on a whim. I might be forced to go cold turkey because shit doesn't sit well with my regular meds. But that doesn't matter - I need to prepare the mind, yo. I have about 1,000 reasons to quit and only 1 to not quit. The one reason? Weight gain. That's it. VANITY. And trust me - it's enough to cower and hide in my hazy shithole called Denial and pretend I'm not killing myself. Or the mother of my kid.
Sure, my kid will appreciate a fat mom more than a dead one, but he's not the one having to look in the mirror and see the bigger picture (I just made a joke). I don't expect you to understand it, but going back to that is not something I'm looking forward to.
That's it kids. That's my short term commitment right there.
One more thing though - just because I feel like being nice to myself and trips down memory lane are still my favorite, my top 5-s of Nashville and what came after:
Nashville
Yes - I am in that state. Run while you still can.
Anyhoo.
Yes - I just said that.
I never blogged about the latest installment of 'Deer Creek Debauchery', nor 'Nashville - The Musical'. Which both happened in June. The reason I didn't blog the usual stuff I tend to write about, isn't that I didn't have time. That's bullshit - writing a blog takes about 5 to 10 minutes. I think the main reason is that I treat this blog like it's my journal - and no matter how much I love you, I don't want you to know everything. So when shit is going on inside my head I don't want you to know about - I don't see the point of blogging at all. I'm not very good at whipping up half truths. Or maybe I'm really good at it and didn't feel like doing it here.
Yeah, that sounds more like me.
I guess today though, today I'm comfortable with spouting only half of what I want to say. So here I am.
Needless to say, I had a great time back Home. I always do. I really can't think of a trip that was only so-so. Sometimes I regret that I'm not seeing anything else in the world because of my sold heart. Sure, I'd like to visit South America or Australia and New Zealand and maybe, and that's with an emphasis on 'may' - not 'be', I'd even want to explore Japan and/or China. The reality is that the mere idea of such a trip would mean missing out on 2 to 3 trips to the States is enough to quickly dismiss such fantasies. I thank the deities I at least got to travel to India and South Africa - besides most of Europe. Before I got hooked.
Why?
Truth is: I don't know. Yes, the country is beautiful. Yes, the people are friendly and unknowingly innocent and optimistic. Yes, I haven't even begun to fully explore it. But that's not it. The reason is that I feel at home. It is Home. And although that doesn't make sense because I'm incredibly Dutch and rude and freakishly tall, I've never been anywhere else where I feel so much like me.
That doesn't mean I can't be uncomfortable. God knows I was uncomfortable during my last trip. I wanted to crawl out of my skin and hide from my body. Pain had a great deal to do with that. Even though I love the south, it's not easy on me. The humidity fucks up my system.
Truth be told, I wasn't just uncomfortable because of my body hurting - I was even more uncomfortable because I realized it's just not my disease hurting it. It's not some new realization of course. And I'll never be a herbal tea shooting, tofu snorting runnerexic. But after two years of mostly sitting on my ass because I was completely floored with the knowledge my body was betraying me and I had to learn to deal with pain daily, it's time to man the fuck up and treat what is left of my physical side with some goddamn respect.
So I started yoga again. I know, it's for pussies. But it's the most practical thing because I can do it at home. As long as I don't have a pool right outside my house, this is the thing I can do. This is the thing I can do to be a little less uncomfortable.
And I'm in the process of breaking up with the toxic love of my life: smoking. This will be my fifth try, so yeah - I'm not quitting cold turkey on a whim. I might be forced to go cold turkey because shit doesn't sit well with my regular meds. But that doesn't matter - I need to prepare the mind, yo. I have about 1,000 reasons to quit and only 1 to not quit. The one reason? Weight gain. That's it. VANITY. And trust me - it's enough to cower and hide in my hazy shithole called Denial and pretend I'm not killing myself. Or the mother of my kid.
Sure, my kid will appreciate a fat mom more than a dead one, but he's not the one having to look in the mirror and see the bigger picture (I just made a joke). I don't expect you to understand it, but going back to that is not something I'm looking forward to.
That's it kids. That's my short term commitment right there.
One more thing though - just because I feel like being nice to myself and trips down memory lane are still my favorite, my top 5-s of Nashville and what came after:
Nashville
- The weather (doesn't make sense after the rant above, but you don't know what it's been like in the NL. So trust me on this).
- Getting complimented on my 20 Euro HEMA jeans by the snobby girl at 7 for All Mankind.
- Chuys and margaritas. I don't need to explain that, do I?
- Robert's. I finally got to experience a honky tonk bar. And it's NOTHING what I expected. I need to go back there.
- Sarah. Because over the years, she's become a very well treasured friend.
What came after
- Robert and Annelise. Robert came first, but it still applies; these people are the oasis in a desert of too much alcohol, being confused and dealing with my foot being lodged in my mouth. Bless them.
- Rocking out to Call me, Maybe. Don't give me shit. That song is the bomb. Dancing to it is the bomb. Even when you're sitting down in a car on a five hour drive.
- Spending 4 hours at Philadelphia airport. Because it gave me time to figure out everything I was confused about. And even provided time for me to conclude I will remain confused because I'm just emotionally crippled. It's okay to not be okay. I'm just a product of my life and still happy most of the time. It's okay that I'm still 12 years old in some respect. At least I can see that it's all in my head and not real. Wow - vague much? I guess teenagers just are.
- Halloween. I may have embarrassed my seat partner and I apologize. But it was what the teenager needed.
- Team USA. And I don't have enough history to know who's a member and who's not. To me, it's just Team USA. The people I shared 48 hours of the finest escapism with.
Love. Oh - August 23 we'll get the profile on Yannick from the Autism Center. I might blog about that. Maybe :).
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Wow - that was one angry post...
Just to make something clear - I don't mind when people talk about what sets Y apart or when they call it autism. Hell, I've called it 'probably autism' plenty of times.
What I can't handle is the way some people tend to focus on just that. Forget how smart he is, how cheerful and even how social.
But I make it my mission to not let them forget all that other stuff. I won't.
Hear me roar!!
Just to make something clear - I don't mind when people talk about what sets Y apart or when they call it autism. Hell, I've called it 'probably autism' plenty of times.
What I can't handle is the way some people tend to focus on just that. Forget how smart he is, how cheerful and even how social.
But I make it my mission to not let them forget all that other stuff. I won't.
Hear me roar!!
Typical
I sent in the application for tests at the autism center today. Which means Y will be tested for autism (in case the first sentence didn't explain that already). Because we need LABELS, people. What on earth would we do without LABELS to DEFINE others? God forbid he's just Y. No, we need to be able to call him Y-with-whatever. Because that will enable us to let loose all kinds of programs on him. Screw taking the time to see what he needs - I've got my prefab treatment packages right here.
Why are you different?
Why are you that way?
Suffice to say, I cave under pressure. Or, I choose my battles meticulously. You want a label? You can have your label. You're already judging him anyway. I'll be fighting the rest of my life to open you eyes and make you see him for the awesomeness that he is.
A label won't change that.
Why are you different?
Why are you that way?
Suffice to say, I cave under pressure. Or, I choose my battles meticulously. You want a label? You can have your label. You're already judging him anyway. I'll be fighting the rest of my life to open you eyes and make you see him for the awesomeness that he is.
A label won't change that.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
It's official
I just came back from a meeting with tenants who have been living in a pile of shit (quite literally), so forgive me for not writing an extensive blog. I'm done talking about shit, I guess. But I just wanted to share my relief that I got custody of Y.
RELIEF.
JOY.
SADNESS - that it had to be done.
In other news: I'm going to bed.
Night!
Friday, March 9, 2012
Dread
The Ex is coming home tomorrow. So - if you read this, say a prayer for me. Or something. I need some strength here.
Kay thanx.
Kay thanx.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Oops
Is it unethical to hire someone who's so unbelievably attractive you can't even really look them in the eye, afraid they'll see it in yours right away?
I know, it's the first update in a month and this is what I post.
Crazy day though. Crazy weird.
I know, it's the first update in a month and this is what I post.
Crazy day though. Crazy weird.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Hi. It's December.
Let's get past the "Oh my god where has the time gone I haven't updated in ages bla bla", shall we? In short: I didn't blog.
Digests are fun, so here we go:
1. The ex admitted himself to a rehab clinic in Scotland for half a year.
2. Y has been living with me full time and although I've never been this busy EVER (I think), it's actually a better life than before. Not stressing over the dad makes me more relaxed and consequently Y.
3. I was asked to handle some of the PR for an up and coming local band (www.wootmusic.nl) and it has been loads of fun. They won a very big (the biggest award we have here) last weekend, so things have been kind of crazy. It's very rewarding though.
4. Y had to get circumcised (for medical reasons) and we have been at home for the past three days. It's been... interesting. He's in a lot of pain and he can't really move around a lot, so it's been drawing and tv and drawing. I'm bored silly, so is he. We haven't really slept either. I'm ready to pass out right now.
5. Christmas and NYE should be fun - Sarah is coming over with her brother, Ellis will be here, Y will spend NY's at grandma. Mommy will drink.
I hope to have more intelligent and interesting things to say - but I guess I can't really promise when... And I'm too tired to be intelligent and interesting right now.
Digests are fun, so here we go:
1. The ex admitted himself to a rehab clinic in Scotland for half a year.
2. Y has been living with me full time and although I've never been this busy EVER (I think), it's actually a better life than before. Not stressing over the dad makes me more relaxed and consequently Y.
3. I was asked to handle some of the PR for an up and coming local band (www.wootmusic.nl) and it has been loads of fun. They won a very big (the biggest award we have here) last weekend, so things have been kind of crazy. It's very rewarding though.
4. Y had to get circumcised (for medical reasons) and we have been at home for the past three days. It's been... interesting. He's in a lot of pain and he can't really move around a lot, so it's been drawing and tv and drawing. I'm bored silly, so is he. We haven't really slept either. I'm ready to pass out right now.
5. Christmas and NYE should be fun - Sarah is coming over with her brother, Ellis will be here, Y will spend NY's at grandma. Mommy will drink.
I hope to have more intelligent and interesting things to say - but I guess I can't really promise when... And I'm too tired to be intelligent and interesting right now.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
I remember
Whenever I'm watching TV and I come across a movie, flashback or documentary about 9/11, I always feel uneasy. Not (just) because it's hard to watch - even though I always tear up, without fail - but because part of me feels like a peeping Tom, looking in on someone else's pain. I feel like an intruder. Although the events on September 11, 2001 and the years after that have had an impact on the entire world and not just America, no-one attacked my family, my home or my country that day. In a way, it's none of my business.
When Sarah and I were at Ground Zero last year, there were some people trying to sell photo books and other memorabilia of the attacks. Our reaction to them were opposite and illustrating to the difference in nationality: Sarah just basically told them "No", when they came up to us with a particularly horrific photo held out and they tried to start a conversation on it. I stopped walking and engaged in the conversation initially (until Sarah helped me out). Sarah was absolutely right to politely keep them at distance; they were trying to make a profit on something that shouldn't be capitalized. But me? I felt such a disaster tourist already, like it wasn't my place to be on the corner of that black day in history anyway, I couldn't ignore them. Like it would be rude to immediately tell them "No", like that would be equal to ignoring the entire thing. When in fact, looking back... Saying 'No' would have been the most respectful thing.
So it's with humility and that same sense of embarrassment that I write down my own September 11, 2001. A day that was pretty ordinary until 3.15 PM (9.15 EST) and didn't get anywhere past "things that make you go hm" until 5 PM (11 EST), and that had no effect whatsoever on my life compared to millions of others on the other side of that great big pond. But still, here it goes:
Half a year earlier I had finally made my first trip to the country I had always been so curious about. I was supposed to go to South Carolina to visit my American crush, but after he had ended things by telling me to download Say Goodbye by some band I had never heard of ("It'll tell you how I feel about you"), I had just told him where he could put it and booked a flight to Miami instead. As soon as I got off the plane, I fell in love and knew I had found a second home. Yes, even in Miami.
Following the Say Goodbye download, I had purchased Live @ Luther College in Utrecht, raided the music store in Miami and subsequently had subscribed to the nancies e-mail list, in search of people I could talk to about this band that apparently had created the song to end all songs, among an incredible catalogue of other cool stuff.
So my life was this: get up early in my old dorm-room in Utrecht, check e-mail on my monster of a laptop hooked up to an ISDN connection, supposedly for work but mostly to goof around with the late night nancies, get to work, worked very hard while dreaming of boys, an apartment and the States, get home late and either watch TV while keeping an eye on nancies and dl-ing new music or hang out with friends. My rent was laughable, and I was saving up quickly for all the other trips I was dying to make - the plan to visit all the states had already been born.
It was just another Tuesday morning in that routine when I drove down to the south of the Netherlands, to the city Maastricht to be exact. I had a long meeting about things that I can't remember for the life of me now. I had a job as Business Development Executive at an international ICT company, which had come with a new best friend: Black Betty. Black Betty was a black 2000 Alfa Romeo 2.0 Twin Spark and I loved driving long distances, just because of her.
It must have been about 2.30 PM when I got out of the meeting, into my car and started the drive back. And immediately got stuck in the traffic jam from hell. We were in a complete stand still. So I pulled my CD case from under the passenger seat and popped in a "new" find (probably Before These Crowded Streets) and effectively turned off the radio. Shortly after 3.15 PM, people started to get out of their cars and talked to each other. Me? I honestly thought that they must know each other and had only just noticed the other. But when more people abandoned their vehicles, I gathered people in the south must be used to these infamous traffic jams and this was their way to pass the time. Only for a short minute I figured something must have happened, and I turned on the radio. Coincidently, they were playing a song just then and I turned back to the CD I was playing. As soon as the traffic jam started to thin out and we were driving again, I forgot the whole thing. Sometimes, I wonder how dense I really am. Seriously.
When I came home, it was nearly 5 PM. I was exhausted and cranky and quickly made something to eat. Turned on the old laptop and worked through my e-mail, starting with nancies of course. This is how I finally found out something was terribly wrong:
--------------------
Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2001 09:36:47
who else thought:
a man
drives a plane
into the
chrysler building
when they heard about what went on this morning?
yeah, it's sad, but that's the first thing that popped into my head.
----------------------
Next there was an off list message asking me "Where the hell are you? I need you to check your local news and tell me about the reaction in the rest of the world". And finally, I turned on the TV.
You know how different it is when a disaster, no matter how horrible, takes place far away instead of 'right here', right? So, I wasn't immediately scared and the one person I knew in New York had already posted so I didn't worry about him. I just sat there, slack jawed. Until they showed the collapse of the towers. Then, I started to cry. Maybe because I had already fallen in love with the country. Maybe because I was interacting with many cool Americans daily, and had befriended a few already. Maybe because the image of 110 floors filled with people crashing down was just overwhelming in general. Maybe because I kept thinking how my boss was always telling me it was impossible to get lost in New York because there were always these two huge landmarks to guide you and now they were gone. Probably all of the above.
When they showed the jumpers, I got pissed. When they started giving details on the attack and the word Jihad got thrown into the mix, I got a faint feeling. Meanwhile, I kept e-mailing back and forth with my off-list American friend and contributed minimally to the list; after all - this wasn't my terror, it was theirs.
I guess that urge to keep a respectful distance stayed with me over the weeks, no matter how absolutely horrified I was myself. I saw the list turn into a religious debate (including a girl who was convinced that 'this is America's punishment for doing wrong by the Palestinians'), posers turn into scared children, goofs turn absolutely quiet back to painfully 'funny'. My former American crush suddenly contacted me to let me know I could forget all about his past passionate rants about how he could never understand how that idiot Bush got elected; now, he was standing firmly behind the man, behind his country. Me? I just figured that I didn't and hoped that I would never need to know what my reaction would be like.
On 9/12, I had an early weekly meeting at the office. My co-workers wanted to have a discussion on what would be the right way to pay our respect to one of our clients that used to have an office in the WTC. Not because they wanted to do right by their fellow human beings, but because they wanted to close a new sale. It was then and there that I suddenly knew I had to get out of sales. I was beyond disgusted.
So where I was silent towards my American friends and 'online acquaintances', I got pretty loud whenever some ignorant bastard would dare to start a debate on the whole thing over here. Because trust me, it got bad. Up to the point where people claimed it was a good thing 'those trigger happy retards finally got their asses kicked'. I know there was a lot of rhetoric bullshit to be heard in the States in that time (anyone remember Rev. Falwell?), but I have never heard so many seemingly intelligent Europeans crap out the most profound stupidities in my life.
In the year following 9/11, I went back to the States three times. The first time, the thing I noticed most were the flags. They were everywhere. It made me feel like the outsider I was. I kept my mouth shut whenever 'the topic' was graced and stayed shy about it. The second time, I met some Freaks (another DMB mailing list) for the first time - both liberals and conservatives, jammed into one camp site. Their debates were interesting and polite. I just kept quiet. Even when the only other non-Freak started yelling at me that he was proud of his country after I uneasily tried to answer his question if 'Europe' was 'against' the USA. Everyone else that was present apologized for his behavior (except for that one twit who will not be named, for other reasons). Again, I didn't say anything. Not my place
The third time, I went to the Gorge '02 run for my first DMB experience. After, I flew down to San Francisco. Where I still was on 9/11/02. And I witnessed again why I love Americans so much. There was no hoorah, no bombastic display of righteousness, no false sentiment. Sure, the TV was covering the memorial at Ground Zero, rightfully so. But on the streets, the overabundance of American pride 'Europe' had warned me I would encounter on that day, was missing. I went down to Golden Gate Park and sat in the grass and watched people throw frisbees, walk their dogs, read, play guitar and throw footballs. A preppy college guy came up to me and talked to me for a bit. I hesitantly asked how he felt on and about this day. He casually lifted his shoulders and told me that for him, this was his best way to remember those who had died the year prior: by living life.
My preppy stranger had just summed up why I love the United States.
It was there and then that I followed his example and became my big mouthed, opinionated self again, on both sides of the pond.
Just ask Coluzzi ;).
When Sarah and I were at Ground Zero last year, there were some people trying to sell photo books and other memorabilia of the attacks. Our reaction to them were opposite and illustrating to the difference in nationality: Sarah just basically told them "No", when they came up to us with a particularly horrific photo held out and they tried to start a conversation on it. I stopped walking and engaged in the conversation initially (until Sarah helped me out). Sarah was absolutely right to politely keep them at distance; they were trying to make a profit on something that shouldn't be capitalized. But me? I felt such a disaster tourist already, like it wasn't my place to be on the corner of that black day in history anyway, I couldn't ignore them. Like it would be rude to immediately tell them "No", like that would be equal to ignoring the entire thing. When in fact, looking back... Saying 'No' would have been the most respectful thing.
So it's with humility and that same sense of embarrassment that I write down my own September 11, 2001. A day that was pretty ordinary until 3.15 PM (9.15 EST) and didn't get anywhere past "things that make you go hm" until 5 PM (11 EST), and that had no effect whatsoever on my life compared to millions of others on the other side of that great big pond. But still, here it goes:
Half a year earlier I had finally made my first trip to the country I had always been so curious about. I was supposed to go to South Carolina to visit my American crush, but after he had ended things by telling me to download Say Goodbye by some band I had never heard of ("It'll tell you how I feel about you"), I had just told him where he could put it and booked a flight to Miami instead. As soon as I got off the plane, I fell in love and knew I had found a second home. Yes, even in Miami.
Following the Say Goodbye download, I had purchased Live @ Luther College in Utrecht, raided the music store in Miami and subsequently had subscribed to the nancies e-mail list, in search of people I could talk to about this band that apparently had created the song to end all songs, among an incredible catalogue of other cool stuff.
So my life was this: get up early in my old dorm-room in Utrecht, check e-mail on my monster of a laptop hooked up to an ISDN connection, supposedly for work but mostly to goof around with the late night nancies, get to work, worked very hard while dreaming of boys, an apartment and the States, get home late and either watch TV while keeping an eye on nancies and dl-ing new music or hang out with friends. My rent was laughable, and I was saving up quickly for all the other trips I was dying to make - the plan to visit all the states had already been born.
It was just another Tuesday morning in that routine when I drove down to the south of the Netherlands, to the city Maastricht to be exact. I had a long meeting about things that I can't remember for the life of me now. I had a job as Business Development Executive at an international ICT company, which had come with a new best friend: Black Betty. Black Betty was a black 2000 Alfa Romeo 2.0 Twin Spark and I loved driving long distances, just because of her.
It must have been about 2.30 PM when I got out of the meeting, into my car and started the drive back. And immediately got stuck in the traffic jam from hell. We were in a complete stand still. So I pulled my CD case from under the passenger seat and popped in a "new" find (probably Before These Crowded Streets) and effectively turned off the radio. Shortly after 3.15 PM, people started to get out of their cars and talked to each other. Me? I honestly thought that they must know each other and had only just noticed the other. But when more people abandoned their vehicles, I gathered people in the south must be used to these infamous traffic jams and this was their way to pass the time. Only for a short minute I figured something must have happened, and I turned on the radio. Coincidently, they were playing a song just then and I turned back to the CD I was playing. As soon as the traffic jam started to thin out and we were driving again, I forgot the whole thing. Sometimes, I wonder how dense I really am. Seriously.
When I came home, it was nearly 5 PM. I was exhausted and cranky and quickly made something to eat. Turned on the old laptop and worked through my e-mail, starting with nancies of course. This is how I finally found out something was terribly wrong:
--------------------
Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2001 09:36:47
who else thought:
a man
drives a plane
into the
chrysler building
when they heard about what went on this morning?
yeah, it's sad, but that's the first thing that popped into my head.
----------------------
Next there was an off list message asking me "Where the hell are you? I need you to check your local news and tell me about the reaction in the rest of the world". And finally, I turned on the TV.
You know how different it is when a disaster, no matter how horrible, takes place far away instead of 'right here', right? So, I wasn't immediately scared and the one person I knew in New York had already posted so I didn't worry about him. I just sat there, slack jawed. Until they showed the collapse of the towers. Then, I started to cry. Maybe because I had already fallen in love with the country. Maybe because I was interacting with many cool Americans daily, and had befriended a few already. Maybe because the image of 110 floors filled with people crashing down was just overwhelming in general. Maybe because I kept thinking how my boss was always telling me it was impossible to get lost in New York because there were always these two huge landmarks to guide you and now they were gone. Probably all of the above.
When they showed the jumpers, I got pissed. When they started giving details on the attack and the word Jihad got thrown into the mix, I got a faint feeling. Meanwhile, I kept e-mailing back and forth with my off-list American friend and contributed minimally to the list; after all - this wasn't my terror, it was theirs.
I guess that urge to keep a respectful distance stayed with me over the weeks, no matter how absolutely horrified I was myself. I saw the list turn into a religious debate (including a girl who was convinced that 'this is America's punishment for doing wrong by the Palestinians'), posers turn into scared children, goofs turn absolutely quiet back to painfully 'funny'. My former American crush suddenly contacted me to let me know I could forget all about his past passionate rants about how he could never understand how that idiot Bush got elected; now, he was standing firmly behind the man, behind his country. Me? I just figured that I didn't and hoped that I would never need to know what my reaction would be like.
On 9/12, I had an early weekly meeting at the office. My co-workers wanted to have a discussion on what would be the right way to pay our respect to one of our clients that used to have an office in the WTC. Not because they wanted to do right by their fellow human beings, but because they wanted to close a new sale. It was then and there that I suddenly knew I had to get out of sales. I was beyond disgusted.
So where I was silent towards my American friends and 'online acquaintances', I got pretty loud whenever some ignorant bastard would dare to start a debate on the whole thing over here. Because trust me, it got bad. Up to the point where people claimed it was a good thing 'those trigger happy retards finally got their asses kicked'. I know there was a lot of rhetoric bullshit to be heard in the States in that time (anyone remember Rev. Falwell?), but I have never heard so many seemingly intelligent Europeans crap out the most profound stupidities in my life.
In the year following 9/11, I went back to the States three times. The first time, the thing I noticed most were the flags. They were everywhere. It made me feel like the outsider I was. I kept my mouth shut whenever 'the topic' was graced and stayed shy about it. The second time, I met some Freaks (another DMB mailing list) for the first time - both liberals and conservatives, jammed into one camp site. Their debates were interesting and polite. I just kept quiet. Even when the only other non-Freak started yelling at me that he was proud of his country after I uneasily tried to answer his question if 'Europe' was 'against' the USA. Everyone else that was present apologized for his behavior (except for that one twit who will not be named, for other reasons). Again, I didn't say anything. Not my place
The third time, I went to the Gorge '02 run for my first DMB experience. After, I flew down to San Francisco. Where I still was on 9/11/02. And I witnessed again why I love Americans so much. There was no hoorah, no bombastic display of righteousness, no false sentiment. Sure, the TV was covering the memorial at Ground Zero, rightfully so. But on the streets, the overabundance of American pride 'Europe' had warned me I would encounter on that day, was missing. I went down to Golden Gate Park and sat in the grass and watched people throw frisbees, walk their dogs, read, play guitar and throw footballs. A preppy college guy came up to me and talked to me for a bit. I hesitantly asked how he felt on and about this day. He casually lifted his shoulders and told me that for him, this was his best way to remember those who had died the year prior: by living life.
My preppy stranger had just summed up why I love the United States.
It was there and then that I followed his example and became my big mouthed, opinionated self again, on both sides of the pond.
Just ask Coluzzi ;).
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Come and see
My new travel gear arrived today. It's a huge Eastpak duffel bag on wheels. Huge to my drives-a-tiny-car standards anyway.
I ordered said bag under the influence of the siren call Chicago has become. After too many cigarettes on the curb of O'Hare, waiting for my transfer, after not going to Wrigley - which I shouldn't have missed, after not going to the DMB Caravan - which a phone call this week told me I should be glad I missed and after reading three interesting articles on the city, which mysteriously had found my desk in the last couple of weeks, I'm feeling this pull to make Chicago my next destination in the US. And bring enough clothes to survive this (so I've been told) unpredictable city. Hence duffel bag.
So I planned to fly out in October, the same weekend miss Sarah will be running her marathon there (a round of applause for her, please). See Sarah, see Chicago - successful trip guaranteed. But like with Wrigley, the Ex decided to put a stop to this much fun. You see, the Ex is down the drain. The Ex is unemployed. The Ex is drinking. The Ex is broke. The Ex refuses to sell his (MY) car, but will gladly take my money instead. The Ex basically still has a huge hold over my life. Isn't it wonderful?
So the Ex will be going to Scotland for six months, in rehab. Apparently, Scotch country is where you should find sobriety. But enough of my sarcasm. It's great that the Ex is doing this. That he will willingly flee all his responsibilities under the pretense of sacrifice, to the benefit of his son. Wait, I was quitting the sarcasm. Of course, he graciously gives me two weeks notice that I will be a full time working full time single mom for half a year. Quit. Sarcasm. Oh - and did I mention Y will have to transfer schools during this time? He'll be in special ed for a year so we (ME) and "them" can figure out what kind of education will be best for him (he's "too smart for special ed but too hypersensitive to cope in a class with 30+ kids" - just love that "they" always label him with the pretty negative adjective "too". End sarcasm Esther). In short, I can't leave Y right now. Not even for an extended weekend (sorry, Sarah). Security is key. Or so I think, anyway.
Okay, enough.
I've brought this on myself. I know. I should have seen the signs before I got pregnant. Not that I would have had an abortion after I got pregnant and he started drinking and showing (or me finally seeing) full blown borderline. And no, I can't even regret it, because it brought me Y. So yeah, it's all on me. But before you judge me - sometimes, no matter my own responsibility in this mess, it's kinda hard, you know? I want my kid to have a father. Even if his father is an expletive deleted. Even if this is mostly my fault. I'm so mature...
The thing with love is, you can rationalize it all you want - you still can hardly help who you fall in love with. I fall for mannish boys. Or boyish men. Whatever. Basically men who will stay young at heart. Or who are just plain young. Not that young, you perve. But certainly young-er. Peter Pans, is my latest theory (Y is obsessed with the Pan). I don't think it's very smart, but it's what I'm attracted to. I like silly, I like clean shaves or bristle out of not caring. I like boisterous, but not in a serious way. I like blue and green eyes and mischievous grins and laughter and just a pinch of arrogance. Zest. God Esther, go get some, will you?
There's one thing I've left behind me though. I don't want complicated anymore. I've done that too many times. Please, no more brooding and hardships and tough tough tough relationships. I think I finally feel I deserve more than that. I want to fly and keep my own at the same time. Which basically leaves me with longing for the completely unattainable. Or backing away from the not so unattainable. Because I'm scared shitless. SHIT-LESS. Conquer me, will you? Because I don't have the guts anymore to do it myself. I might tentatively feel like I deserve you, but it's such an unknown territory, I need someone to guide me through it. So yeah, high standards anyone?
Right.
Anyway.
Where was I?
Single mom, working full time, energy of a 90-year old (let's hear it for arthritis). Still, mother of the Best Kid Ever, a nice career, brave, persevering, nice sense of humor, great eyes (behind the glasses). I can't run on the outside anymore, but I still do in my head. I'm smart, I'm educated (to an extent), I have an enormous curiosity and I'm awesome on my good days.
I've got great stuff ahead of me the coming six months. Y and I will be going to Barcelona in November to visit his aunt. The Ex's family is completely in my corner and helps me out wherever they can. I can count on my mom, even if she drives me insane half of the time. My friends are the bestest a girl could ask for. I will have a week vacation after Christmas and Y will spend most of that time with his grandparents (and trust me, I'll probably need to reload by then). I'm planning to ring in the third and final year of partner alimony with a bang and a huge bottle of champagne.
In March, the Ex will come back. And I'll be prepared. I'm not going for full custody - being a child of a broken marriage myself, things would even have to get worse for it to come to that. But logs are kept updated, witnesses are standing in the wings. This is the NL and stuff is not that cut and dry over here. But enough's enough. This co-parenting thing is not working anymore. The Best Kid Ever deserves much better, too.
Love you all. And yes, I know I should get it over with and go get some. Not that I will tell the interwebs when I do. I just might get overly chipper. Grins.
I ordered said bag under the influence of the siren call Chicago has become. After too many cigarettes on the curb of O'Hare, waiting for my transfer, after not going to Wrigley - which I shouldn't have missed, after not going to the DMB Caravan - which a phone call this week told me I should be glad I missed and after reading three interesting articles on the city, which mysteriously had found my desk in the last couple of weeks, I'm feeling this pull to make Chicago my next destination in the US. And bring enough clothes to survive this (so I've been told) unpredictable city. Hence duffel bag.
So I planned to fly out in October, the same weekend miss Sarah will be running her marathon there (a round of applause for her, please). See Sarah, see Chicago - successful trip guaranteed. But like with Wrigley, the Ex decided to put a stop to this much fun. You see, the Ex is down the drain. The Ex is unemployed. The Ex is drinking. The Ex is broke. The Ex refuses to sell his (MY) car, but will gladly take my money instead. The Ex basically still has a huge hold over my life. Isn't it wonderful?
So the Ex will be going to Scotland for six months, in rehab. Apparently, Scotch country is where you should find sobriety. But enough of my sarcasm. It's great that the Ex is doing this. That he will willingly flee all his responsibilities under the pretense of sacrifice, to the benefit of his son. Wait, I was quitting the sarcasm. Of course, he graciously gives me two weeks notice that I will be a full time working full time single mom for half a year. Quit. Sarcasm. Oh - and did I mention Y will have to transfer schools during this time? He'll be in special ed for a year so we (ME) and "them" can figure out what kind of education will be best for him (he's "too smart for special ed but too hypersensitive to cope in a class with 30+ kids" - just love that "they" always label him with the pretty negative adjective "too". End sarcasm Esther). In short, I can't leave Y right now. Not even for an extended weekend (sorry, Sarah). Security is key. Or so I think, anyway.
Okay, enough.
I've brought this on myself. I know. I should have seen the signs before I got pregnant. Not that I would have had an abortion after I got pregnant and he started drinking and showing (or me finally seeing) full blown borderline. And no, I can't even regret it, because it brought me Y. So yeah, it's all on me. But before you judge me - sometimes, no matter my own responsibility in this mess, it's kinda hard, you know? I want my kid to have a father. Even if his father is an expletive deleted. Even if this is mostly my fault. I'm so mature...
The thing with love is, you can rationalize it all you want - you still can hardly help who you fall in love with. I fall for mannish boys. Or boyish men. Whatever. Basically men who will stay young at heart. Or who are just plain young. Not that young, you perve. But certainly young-er. Peter Pans, is my latest theory (Y is obsessed with the Pan). I don't think it's very smart, but it's what I'm attracted to. I like silly, I like clean shaves or bristle out of not caring. I like boisterous, but not in a serious way. I like blue and green eyes and mischievous grins and laughter and just a pinch of arrogance. Zest. God Esther, go get some, will you?
There's one thing I've left behind me though. I don't want complicated anymore. I've done that too many times. Please, no more brooding and hardships and tough tough tough relationships. I think I finally feel I deserve more than that. I want to fly and keep my own at the same time. Which basically leaves me with longing for the completely unattainable. Or backing away from the not so unattainable. Because I'm scared shitless. SHIT-LESS. Conquer me, will you? Because I don't have the guts anymore to do it myself. I might tentatively feel like I deserve you, but it's such an unknown territory, I need someone to guide me through it. So yeah, high standards anyone?
Right.
Anyway.
Where was I?
Single mom, working full time, energy of a 90-year old (let's hear it for arthritis). Still, mother of the Best Kid Ever, a nice career, brave, persevering, nice sense of humor, great eyes (behind the glasses). I can't run on the outside anymore, but I still do in my head. I'm smart, I'm educated (to an extent), I have an enormous curiosity and I'm awesome on my good days.
I've got great stuff ahead of me the coming six months. Y and I will be going to Barcelona in November to visit his aunt. The Ex's family is completely in my corner and helps me out wherever they can. I can count on my mom, even if she drives me insane half of the time. My friends are the bestest a girl could ask for. I will have a week vacation after Christmas and Y will spend most of that time with his grandparents (and trust me, I'll probably need to reload by then). I'm planning to ring in the third and final year of partner alimony with a bang and a huge bottle of champagne.
In March, the Ex will come back. And I'll be prepared. I'm not going for full custody - being a child of a broken marriage myself, things would even have to get worse for it to come to that. But logs are kept updated, witnesses are standing in the wings. This is the NL and stuff is not that cut and dry over here. But enough's enough. This co-parenting thing is not working anymore. The Best Kid Ever deserves much better, too.
Love you all. And yes, I know I should get it over with and go get some. Not that I will tell the interwebs when I do. I just might get overly chipper. Grins.
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