December 2002 Archives
New Year's Eve. I tend to get a tad sentimental. I had imagined today to end with a gathering of our little group. Alas, whether by fate or by choice, we're not even in the same country, the harshest evidence of how one person's absence can change the fortune of many. If there be beauty in cruelty, life doth win the pageant. Which is a load of nonsense I've just made up, but I'm sure you catch my drift. Have a safe night, everybody.
Note to self: when burning important files to disc, remember where disc is stored to save self from having to turn house upside down at 2 AM on a school night. And no luck either. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Arrived at work earlier than ever because tired brain doesn't compute the alarm goes off an hour early. Door closed. Wait for colleague to arrive with key. Start up computer. Check schedule. Find out I have this week off. Stay anyway cause there's too few people. Arse.
Estuary English. In-trusting. Mussread. When have time.
New Years Eve on the Web 2003: a list of webcasters and webcams that will usher in the New Year 2003.
I'm evil. (via Somnolent.org)
Sunday evening end of free flutters. Paralysed by the back to the grind syndrome.
Tom lured me into this trap: Friendster, which is for singletons like myself and it scares the fuck out of me. And now I've got to invite my friends but I'm too wimpy to send them anything spam-like. So if you're a friend of mine, and you're single, and you wouldn't mind joining this thing which seems to be free and without advertising or pictures of dangly bits, then let me know and I'll send you an invite... which will made my profile look a little less glaringly friendless. (oh wait, you can also join if you just want to 'help' i.e. connect circles of friends with each other)
Best of 2002! Song of the Year! That was the year that was! Lists! More Lists! Even more lists! Easy filler end of year post!
If I had to sum up 2002 in one word, it would be: "ouch".
For anyone who's kept track of this site it will be abundantly clear that we've had our fair share of strife around these parts, none of which we would like to see repeated in the coming year. I'd like to keep the job I have and I'd also like to keep the friends I have, thank you very much.
Let's focus on the positive.
The biggest thrills this year were: Driving along the Thames at night. Taking acting classes. Building WHEDONesque.com. (Thank you, Milo, for your skills and help in setting this up.) It was the best remedy for my commercial web building-blues. And, though I continue to be ambivalent about it, reconnecting with the long lost part of my scattered relatives was also a pleasure.
I hated, absolutely detested losing control over my destiny when I was made redundant, but in hindsight it was probably a good thing to happen. The new job's a blessing. I'm writing, actually putting words together, for a living.
Musically, I got the biggest kicks out of seeing Arno at the Melkweg in Amsterdam and Sinead O'Connor in London. I enjoyed mash up bootlegs (has that trend fizzled out a bit?), The Streets, Bowie's Heathen, Kid Loco, Peter Gabriel's Up, Futurism, Soulwax, Kylie and Boy George's U can never b2 straight. I'll have to single out U2's Electrical Storm, probably not the "best" single, but I'll forever link it to my Summer of Discontent.
I continued my Buffy/Angel obsession and discovered The West Wing and Six Feet Under. Sadly, I got a little hooked on BBC's Fame Academy. Most of my TV viewing was done 'on line'. I added Joss Whedon's Firefly to my essential viewing list. All these shows offered distraction as well as involvement. I was mainlining this stuff when I was unemployed. I always did go for the least harmful drugs.
Unfortunately, I spent very little time reading, but I enjoyed reading bits and pieces of Ursula LeGuinn's new Earthsea stories. I don't remember a lot of the films I saw, but Monster's Ball made an impression.
Friendship made a difference. I cried, laughed and cry-laughed with my off line friends as we clung to each other for dear life. The Dutch Minimeeters crew expanded my people-horizon. Chat sessions with Stuart and Gavin's phone calls would lift my spirit, boost my confidence in the wake of loss and sadness. I remain, forever, their faithful minion.
Goodbye 2002. Farewell PJ, farewell John, may our lives be a little prayer to you both.
Bring on 2003, it can't be bad, sure I'm only turning 40.
Lovely "widescreen" presentation of Ladytron's "Jet Age" in quicktime: neumu [ twinklepop ]
Things I want for 2003: 1. to make my deadline 2. for it to be March 31st pretty soon 3. for my health to improve 4. for his health to improve even more 5. time with friends 6. time with my cousin 7. a new wardrobe 8. Mr F. on stage 9. Mr F. on stage some more 10. no casualties, please
Phrases I no longer want to hear people say/write in 2003: "You owe me a keyboard!" (or: "I didn't know you could snort milk through your nose!") and "... he hit that out of the park" and "...that's comedy gold!"
'Course, if this bloke has an iBook, then I really wouldn't want one.
Merelroze.com has a good chance of winning a "best blog" competition and get a lovely iBook. If I tell you it's the best "blog" in my country, would you go and vote for her? (tick off the radiobutton next to "10", then hit "stem".
Subterfuge. A word I often read, but never use. Haven't yet grasped the finer points of its meaning.
While everybody else is enjoying their superlong Christmas break, I'm on call today. And, being the responsible woman I am, the first thing I do this morning is 1. oversleep by two hours 2. be unable to login so I have to bother my boss on his day off. Applause!
I keep telling people, well mainly myself, I think Ricky Gervais (The Office) looks like David Bowie's less succesful brother. Tonight I was watching 'Before they were famous' (the welcome return of Angus Deayton) and they showed clips of a very young Gervais, totally New Romantic, singing in a band called Seona Dancing. Plus he managed Suede. Ha!
The best thing about Christmas day is the silence, which lasts till very late in the day. There is no other day in the year that has this kind of peace. Boxing Day is different, people start milling about and driving their cars to get to their in laws for coffee time. The first of January doesn't come near with its usual rude awakening to left over firework blasts and the godawful champagne hangover. No, Christmas day is it.
It feels like the first day of real peace I've had since... well, since before Very Bad Things happened. Everything after that has been fraught. I feel it in my body, the first three days of my Christmas break I spent absolutely exhausted. I cancelled the Paris trip for various reasons, some practical, some personal and made a promise to travel there in April. The back up plan cancelled itself to my great relief. The fact is, I need this holiday time to work on the book. There really is no time to play, not until the deadline, March 31st.
I tottered about for most of the morning and part of the afternoon and then made use of this tranquility to dive head first into work without any distraction. Up till now all I'd done was collect information and transcribe concerts. This Christmas day, I wrote the text for the first 8 concerts, working steadily from 2 till 10pm. I was delighted to discover the writing came easily. A quick calculation reveals I need around 25+ eight hour working days to write the rest of the text. It can be done. (update: must revise calculation as did 18 shows today in the same time)
Gawker's a new "weblog magazine" (see the blog ain't "dead", folks, it still is a great medium to reach and entertain niche markets.) for the New York elite. (I wonder if NY is the only city in America to dig irony?) I'd really like reading this if I knew NY well, or lived there - but I don't, so I won't be spending a whole lot of time with Gawker. Not my niche. Still, someone should do something like this for my own city, Amsterdam. I'd read that.
And on this Christmas Day I'll link to this lovely article: Men, give up pornography as a present to your wife. I think any woman who reacts the way they do in this article probably needs to get out more.
From the Whedonesque stats: Cliff Muskiet's Stewardess Uniform Collection. Eh?
The only person to buy me Christmas presents tends to talk about it more than actually get round to business. A few years ago it was a case of wine, which I had to go buy myself because really, on Christmas Eve, no shop was going to ship a case overseas, dontchaknow. Last year, the present was announced and discussed three times before the end of the year, and once or twice after - but never actually materialised. This year, it was announced and possibly acquired last Sunday ("if the shop's open"). I was also informed it would probably not arrive in time for Christmas. It is, of course, the thought that counts and in all honesty, that thought warms the cockles of my heart. But now I want my present, dammit.
The heart is willing, but the flesh is weak... I had to do grocery shopping and there just happened a "Free Records" next to the supermarket and they just happened to have the 4-disc extended version of The Fellowship of the Ring. Brill!
Twelve Days Of Buffy Christmas: "On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a watcher in a library."
I got rather angry with someone today and I haven't quite figured out why. This person was convinced that all of South America speaks "Brazilian Portuguese" and "Spanish is only spoken in Spain". I thought he was pulling my leg, playing dumb. I started laughing, asked him what kind of school he went to. He asked what I thought people spoke in South America. When I told him "my" version of the facts he laughed and said "you're so very wrong" and "you really are wrong about this". Then he said: "So, explain to me why you think it's the other way around." For some reason I lost my cool, told him I thought this was a ridiculous conversation and we had better end it. I still think he was pulling my leg.
Lift up the receiver. He makes me a believer. Someone to hear my prayers. Someone to care. Someone who's there.
Like Jason I was a little disappointed with The Two Towers. I kept thinking "huh, that's not like it was in the book, is it?". Now that middle part of the book is probably the hardest to film, I know I never read it as thoroughly as the rest, with all the battles being fought. I was particularly disappointed with the scenes with Merry, Pippin and Treebeard. In the book it is weighty, with deep sense of "old" and "rooted". The film Ents were just a little too comic to take seriously - the eyes didn't work. Also, Gollum seems a little too sweet, too E.T., too George Lucas in an "oh this'll tie in with some merchandising" way. Same with Legolas bloody skateboarding down the stairs. Come on! Wormtongue was straight out of Gormenghast, deliciously evil. All in all an entertaining three hours, but not as rousing as the first film.
If you haven't seen Johnny Cash's cover of Nine Inch Nails' 'Hurt' then watch it now (realplayer, scroll to end of show)
We were given bits and pieces to build a scene. A cartoon, a painting, text. All my partner and I got was a very dull husband/wife/Í'm leaving you dialogue of about 20 sentences. I decided to Pinter-ise it, adding very long pauses and a little surreality to our action (domineering husband doesn't want wife to leave him, but gets up to help her close overly full suitcase). I felt a thrill while we were playing it and almost made myself cry when I told her there really was no reason for her to leave me. At the end of the scene there was silence and some quiet wow-ing. Then big applause and big praise. I could get addicted to this. Then we had to do it again and it was technically better... once more with less feeling.
"Did you read the book?" Ofcourse. "And you saw the film TWICE?" Yes. "Are you a FAN or something?"
New issue of 2 8 M M . O R G, showcasing Traditional, Digital, and Lo-Tech photography by amateur, hobbyist, and professional photographers.
I'm Robbie Williams, this is my band, and we have come to please you. The Rob, live in the Netherlands. (real audio) A "secret" concert.
Zeldman quits smoking. Indoors: "America is a free country. I’m free to buy cigarettes as long as I don’t smoke them in restaurants. Or pubs. Or elevators. Or airplanes. Or airports. Or subway cars. Or taxis. Or offices. Or train stations. Or hospitals. Or other people’s apartments. Or their cars. Or movie theaters while watching the actors puff away onscreen."
So you think you're a blogaholic quiz by troubled diva. I only know the answer to one question. Hangs head in shame.
" ...you look out the window and you're looking back at the most beautiful star in the heavens- the most beautiful because it's the one we understand, and we know- it's our home, it's humanity, it's people, family, love, life- and besides that it is beautiful- you can see from pole to pole and across oceans, and you can watch it turn, and there's no strings holding it up, and it's moving in a blackness that is almost beyond conception." Eugene Cernan, last man to walk on the moon.
Alone, i gaze into the glistening street
the distant thunder echoing my hearbeat
urging me on to a secret goal
away from the light from this lamp on a pole. Found an MC 900ft Jesus site. Must dig up that album.
Not having to design websites for toilet paper manufacturers does wonders for ones enjoyment of the medium. I'm rediscovering what first attracted me to the net - niche communities helping each other out, for love - not profit. I currently have people scattered around the world doing (my) work for me. Hopelessly behind in doing research for the U2 book, I asked for help and other fans are now transcribing shows and sending their stuff to me daily. Others offer source material. Everything I need is up for download from private ftp sites, or burnt to data DVD and dropped in the mail by very kind folks. I'm burning VCDs of unaired U2 promo shows after a night's worth of downloading - when before we'd have to wait weeks for someone to dub a blurry video with borrowed VCRs.This is what I liked, the cut and paste culture, the 'we can rebuild, we have the technology' state of mind. I'm finding peace in a niche, sound in the underground. Cutting edge? Not the latest Flashturbation.
Radiohead is doing "something" on their website today. You need Realplayer and then tune in around 10pm GMT. Sorry folks, but that's bedtime for me.
Coudal Partners: "In sixty characters or less, tell us what you really, really, really want."
I'm going to Paris. I'm not going to Paris. No, I AM going to Paris. No, I'm not going to Paris for Christmas. I may be going to Paris later. Or maybe... *bangs head against wall* One thing I'm sure of. I'm seeing the Two Towers this Saturday.
Welcome to the world, 3.42kg, 49.5cm niece of mine who doesn't have a name yet. Don't mind the awful ruckus around you, they're your family. They're 500km away and they keep ME awake at night. So, not to worry, lille ven.
I'm going to quote from tomorrow night's episode of Buffy, so close your eyes if you are anal about Buffy spoilers. "If we survive this, I promise" he says. "Good, 'cause I miss you." She says emotionally. "I miss you too" he responds.
Wherever he is, I hope he’s getting it up the ass. A smile on a busy day.
Prol keels over in shock. 3FM just played a Billy MacKenzie tune.
I'm not too handy with the needle and thread. I can't knit, sew, needlepoint or any of that sort of thing. But at 5'1'', I've always had to shorten my pants legs. My stepmum's sewing machine wasn't up to the task (neither was she), so I've always had to do it by hand. Can you imagine I have a friend who used to ask me to shorten/sew her pants for her when we were in school, cause she was even worse? Well, she's now a mother of three. And I'm still shortening my own pants legs.
Someone's posting Star Trek: Nemesis (the new Star Trek film, not yet released) to Usenet. It's. so. tempting.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, in our bookshop on the fourth floor, author D. will be signing his latest book between 2 and 3pm..." Surprised, I strained my ears to hear the full announcement. Today?
I had read about the signing session in a magazine a week before. I had even jotted it down, just in case. Sunday, I thought. Not Saturday.
A trip to the fourth floor confirmed 'today'. No excuses then, I thought. Do your shopping, return and get the book, say hello and get it signed.
It had been over a decade since I last met D. in a similar situation. His books sit on my shelves, most of them signed, most of them personalised, some of them gifts from the author.
When I was around 20 and in my first or second year of college he made his debut on TV, hosting a literary talk show. He was a tall, striking, unusual figure in expensive suits, with a big head of greying, curly hair on him. Very educated, very well spoken, slightly posh, slightly queer.
He was different and it struck... something, in many, many women around the country. He sold a lot of other people's books, and eventually - when his first book came out - a lot of his own.
My best friend at the time, let's call her E., had got it into her head that she should try and get me his autograph for Christmas. I couldn't believe it when I opened up the gift. She had gone to his house, had rung the bell and had apparently overwhelmed our man, as he later wrote to her in his rather old fashioned, formal style: "'t Was you, wasn't it, that Sunday afternoon? I won't forget you."
I was rather jealous of my friend, but thrilled to be part of the adventure.
When he lost his mail in a fire, he made his producers air a request for us to get in touch. We nearly died of shock. I have this on tape somewhere, as we had a recorder running to catch the sound of the TV show. We didn't have a VCR.
We all met not too long after at the recording of his TV show. He sat down at our table for a few minutes, asked who 'the other one' was.
My friendship with E. imploded a few years later. We had worn out our relationship and lived in eachother's pockets for too long. It was a painful break up.
I 'kept in touch' with D., occasionally exhanging postcards and short letters. He'd send me his latest books, or a souvenir from his travels. I dragged most of my friends along to the TV recordings once every few years and one time he stopped talking mid-take to greet me when he spotted me sitting in the audience. I've never had so many women glare at me that jealously.
The last time I saw him was sometime after I'd published my own book. He came up to me said "I just HAVE to kiss you." I think he was proud in some way that I'd pursued my dream. He asked me to write my new address on a piece of paper which he slipped into his pocket. I gained a couple more odd looks from bystanders.
He sent his latest book. After that I suppose I grew up, or found other things to obsess about.
On Saturday afternoon, for old times' sake, I queued up once more to get his work signed. It is another treatise on relationships within a post colonial family. He recognised me immediately, "Long time no see!", but called me by E.'s name. It stung a little, an almost forgotten rivalry playing up. But he got everything else right. "Utrecht," he said. "It's Amsterdam now, I answered, but he wasn't listening. "U2," he said and, "How very nice to meet you again."
He scribbled in my copy and closed it, handed it to me. We shook hands and I left, somewhat disappointed that he hadn't asked me for my address again.
Walking to the escalators, I opened up the book and had a look at the inscription. His distinctive handwriting read:
"For Caroline, part of the family."
End of year is "lists" time. What in what was surely the worst year of my adult life could be called "the best"? I have to think about it.
EW's David Browne names 2002's 5 worst music moments: "And on the seventh day, the Lord rested and decided to listen to the latest Creed album. Then He heard its preening ballads, apocalypse-now sermonizing, and tuneless attempts at headbanging, and He became really incensed."
Big day in prol-land. I went "shopping" for the first time in... hmm a long, long while. I mean, I "shop", but to go "shopping" as in "going to various clothing stores to pick and choose fashionable wear"? I've been wearing the same old shit for years, occasionally buying same-ish tops (plain t-shirts, sportswear, hoodies). Casual? Too nice a word. Call me an aging tomboy. Call me slob. That's who I am. But I went to places like De Bijenkorf (pricy department store) and Vero Moda. I thought "fuck getting a new computer... wait till the old one breaks down, treat yerself to something nicer than that." And get this: for what must be the first time ever, I bought girl pants in a girl shop. Two pair. And they're NOT black, and they ARE patterned. And they close over the hips, not the belly. Plus a girlie type of top. I really don't know what got into me. Perhaps I've seen one too many episodes of "What not to wear". I almost bought a pair of grey flannel slacks but they didn't fit me well enough. I also got a new Esprit watch. Well someone's got to treat me like it's Christmas!
I've started re-reading Zelazny's Amber series. Because I hafta. Every single year. All ten books. Eventhough I don't like the ones featuring Merle. Meanwhile, I'm also reading J.J. Voskuil's new book "Requiem voor een vriend". It has its moments. Probably won't re-read.
Anneloes and Ruben keep a weblog in Dutch, English and Portuguese: "It's Babelfish translating English to Portuguese. I've created an application that automatically calls the Altavista service to translate the English text. Why? Well, first of all my mother has bought a piece of land in Portugal so she's learning the language now, and besides it's a gesture towards my Brazilian friend Eduardo."
(Is it ok if I call Bryan Ferry a product?) Anyway. Ferry. On Jonathan Ross. Doing... that thing. That Ferry thing. I like how that man's shaped. An absolute pleasure to watch.
I pick winners.
My new favourite show, Firefly, got cancelled yesterday. I think there aren't enough people who want smart TV in the world. See how I'm not saying 'smart people'? I understand most people just want simple entertainment on their box, and Whedon's series are requiring more and more of your braincells in action as the years progress, but surely are there so few of us that good televison, really good televison, gets canned while Enterprise (ugh) is allowed to continue? While The West Wing - which is a good series that I enjoy, but still... formulaic, and 7th shitey heaven and god knows what other crap fills your screens... sorry, lost track of what I wanted to say. Farewell Firefly...
I'm listening to some Sigur Rós for the first time. It's like Bjork fronting the Cowboy Junkies trying to be the Virgin Prunes if they'd gone to music classes. Someone give 'em some double espressos. Hurry.
Just got myself two tickets for LOTR II for the 21st and a whole week to look forward to it.
... like horses over the hill.
Twinings are doing new flavoured black teas and I'm trying out Apple, Cinnamon and Raisin. Very Christmassy.
I've never been able to figure out my bag fetish other than that it seems to be a woman thing, but I tend to go for the sports type bags rather than the elegant leather handbags. I can drool over Case Logic products for ages, but there's never much reason to buy any of their gear. Today I stocked up on some CD wallets... having a burner is having its expected effect.
So I wrote this long intro to Dutch singer and 60s idol Ramses Shaffy and hit the wrong button. So here's the song (he's singing about Amsterdam), I'll add more info later.
Christmas 2002 - sing-a-long. Interactive Jingle Bells.
From the U2log.com comments "People of USA: HELP TO SAVE VENEZUELA FROM CHAVEZ, PLEASE!! US ARMY, INVADE US, PLEASE!!"
I've got chills, they're multiplying. Feel a case of the flu coming on.
Well, I think it's funny.
R.E.M. will be touring Europe next summer and North America next fall. I'm placing bets on them cancelling their Dutch show due to insect bites, stomach flu or cold feet. Oh wait. There is no Dutch show. (They haven't played here since 1989!)
With a 45 minute overall delay on my train journey today (which more than doubled the time my daily commute usually takes) and temperatures below zero (add in the wind chill factor.... brr), I huddled with the other travelers in the small waiting room on platform 2 at Weesp station. Next to me two school kids discussed the state of Dutch Rail. Said the one: "Holland has the WORST railway in the WORLD". Said the other: "Well... maybe Indonesia is worse. You know... where they have people hanging off and riding on top of trains?" "I think you mean India, son." I would have said if my teeth had stopped chattering. The intercom crackled. People hushed and listened. The announcer said: "The 9:05 to Hilversum and Utrecht will be delayed by 15 minutes." A group of kids on the other side of the waiting room started laughing hysterically. It's all you can do these days with Dutch Rail.
But in more uplifting news thanks to being made redundant, social services getting their act together, doing a better job on my tax form and landing a new job last month, for the first time since 1991 I will be out of debt. Cool that. Life begins at 40, doesn't it?
I have mixed feelings about meeting up with my family. Much as I love them, they are the most infuriating, interfering people. Not having seen me in 20 years, they still treat me like I'm their kid niece and believe they deserve my everlasting respect and obedience just because they're older than me - it's that bloody Asian thing. I'm supposed to honour my elders. Absolutely, I say, but hey - to coin a modern phrase, they're not the boss of me. I wasn't raised that way, I'm not obliged to follow their bloody adat? What gives them the right not having been (and making no effort to be) in my life for the better part of the 70's, 80s and 90s to ask me questions such as 'What have you done with your mother's money' and 'Please explain why you don't believe in God'. I have felt very very angry since the weekend. Funny, that. The anger you can feel towards your family... There should be a separate word for it. Kin-isitus. I feel the need to run and not get involved.
I just did my Secret Santa duty and chose a present off someone's Amazon wish list. There was nothing on this list that I either had or would consider buying, which is interesting. How different can this person be from me?
Leefbaar Nederland. No less than four employees of the newsagent cum post office in my street were shouting abuse at an elderly Moroccan man for not understanding that they couldn't tell him how much money he had in his account. "GO CHECK OUTSIDE." He didn't understand, because they never explained. They just started shouting. When he left they laughed about it. Minutes later they were cracking risque jokes with an English builder who came in for a copy of The Sun. Most of the native Amsterdam shopkeepers in this neighbourhood are grumpy and rude to their non-regular customers. I wish they'd fuck off to Almere.
Underground History - Disused Stations on London's Underground... something to check out when I have time. In 2004.
I like Greeking. I use it a lot when I do web design (which I do a lot less than before, which is goooooood), but the clients usually say: "what the hell is that?" (yes, some people actually don't recognise Latin) or "please use real content". Heathens. Lorem Ipsum - All the facts - Lipsum generator. Link swiped from Zeldman who I sadly stopped reading regularly when I lost my job. Which felt like treason because he'd been a daily fix since, oh, 96?. But not having to see the acronyms CSS, HTML, XML for a while was really good. Still who'd want to miss stuff like: "Challenge and uncertainty—virtues in art—are vices in our sad and beautiful world of clearly labeled menus and trouble-free shopping carts."
Since spending some time in train stations this weekend, I have been wondering if there is an English equivalent of "hockey meisjes". Closest I can think of would be Sloanies... only a despicably healthy, blond haired & pony tailed variant.
Oh Outlook, Outlook, how could I hate you more? Easy.
not.so.soft : mayfly project 2002 Born. Eat. Shag. Die."
Utrecht Central Station, today:
New: nickcaveandthebadseeds.com. Cave's new album's out February 3. Check out the song "There is a town". My favourite so far, but also quite like the single "Bring it On", a radio friendly duet with The Saints' Chris Bailey.
I bet you didn't know I used to be a model. I vaguely remember the shoot for this. The ads appeared in magazines, newspapers and around the country. ( in giant fly poster format.) Click to enlarge. 
Disagree completely. Ainslie is an incredible poseur and he feels fake. He can't sing and I have no idea how he ever got into the show. Much prefer David.
They got onto the metro at A.J. Ernststraat and took the seats opposite me. A woman with a kid by her side. A boy around 7 or 8 years old. He was really quite adorable, munching on a slice of bread, crumbs all over his face. Caramel coloured skin, big black eyes. Ok, I thought, a kid like that - I wouldn't really mind having.
He sat down and accidently kicked my leg. He didn't apologise. For once, I didn't mind. He chattered away to his mum and made me smile a couple of times. I was feeling generous. Even when he started keening in a really high pitched voice, moaning about having to stay with his dad in the afternoon.
He was testing his mum, putting a little sob in his voice. She couldn't see, but all the while, I could tell he was faking it, from the scheming look in his pretty eyes. He didn't look sad, there weren't any tears.
Kids are anything but innocent. Still... cute.
"Who's fat then?" he said all of a sudden.
His mother asked what he was on about. "Spot the fat one!" he said. She looked around and told him she didn't see anything. The boy then pointed at me. His mother, quite shocked, started telling him off for being rude.
"I really don't want you to do that. You have to stop talking about other people in public like that, because one of these days someone will get really, really angry with you."
I was really, really angry with him. I really, really wanted to ram my fist through his cute little head.
So much for feeling generous.
I just entered Whedonesque.com in the 2003 SXSW Website Competition. Last time I did that was with U2log.com, but it wasn't selected - god knows why, I think the site was hot and original at the time. But its then almost exclusively Brit/Aussie sense of humour would go right by... a lot of people (to put it in a diplomatic way). Misunderstood and dismissed. Whedonesque.com is more derivative - it really is 'MeFi with demons'. Easier to 'get', I'm sure. We'll see. I don't think it deserves an award though, it's not orginal, and it hasn't it hit its stride yet - though it's in the proces of finding a life of its own now.
Stenga mati! I love my family, but - hello - overkill, I need a bit of a time out now. Still, the Gulai Kambing was delicious and I tried something new - a Manadonese "sambal" (chili paste) with as a main component a dried flying fish! I think it was called Sambal Doah. Tasty and not too "pedis", which suits me.
Just read that my ISP will be upping my download speed by 50% in February, at no extra cost (was: 1024/256 will be: 1536/256). Which for nerds-like-us is a big "yay". But how about my upload speed, eh? EH?
"One Phad See Iuw Kai, please," I told the handsome Thai lad at the take away in the neighbourhood.
"Huh?"
"One Phad See Iuw Kai, please," I said, more clearly.
"What?"
I grabbed the menu off the counter and pointed out the noodle dish in the listing, accepting the fact that I had obviously got the pronunciation wrong.
"Ah, Phad See Iuw Kai," he said.
"That's what I said," I muttered to myself, because I'd got it spot on. Really. I ordered a Chicken Satay on the side.
Around me, people arrived to pick up their orders.
"77!" The nice looking Thai lad said, and a tall Dutchman took the white plastic bag from his hands, walking away without a word.
"I'd like a 43," another man said.
Disgusted by this barbarism, I watched the young men and women cook the food in large woks, same as my own. After every order cooked they would hand them to their colleague on wash up duty, eventhough the pans seemed barely soiled.
The lovely lad was taking orders from the phone in fluent Dutch. I imagined him a student, working evenings in his uncle's shop, the smell of fish sauce permeating his comfortable fleece sweater.
I spotted my dinner as it was handled by the pretty girl doing the wrapping up shift.
"77?" She looked around the counter.
"That IS the Phad See Iuw Kai, I take it?" I said smugly.
It was.
With my hot dinner tucked under my arm I faced the short walk home all the while muttering to myself:
"My dinner is NOT a number. My food is NOT a number. I am NOT a number. You must treat food with RESPECT. Do NOT bow to the big dumb European. MAKE them say the words. It is NOT difficult. Phad See Iuw FUCKING Kai. Kai is CHICKEN. EVERYBODY knows that."
At home, I wielded my chopsticks with fury.
"Food is HOLY. Language is EASY."
The noodles were tasty. The satay stunk.
Really not much of a cat person... but this is cute: BBC - BBC's kitten cam. (warning, embedded real player ahead)
Good week, fun at work and after, a big cheque from my favourite client, a cool new gadget in my pocket and the luxury of a three day weekend only one of which was going to be dominated by rellos. Or so I thought. Because the insane side of the family forgot to mention last week that my aunt (pictured on the left) will be arriving at Schiphol airport tomorrow morning from Jakarta, which means I will spend another day basking in the attention of people I haven't seen since the early 80's. Which is nice, like, but I had other plans, really. When it rains, it pours.
The Irish actor Glenn Quinn who played Francis Doyle on Angel and was probably better known for his role as Becky's boyfriend on Roseanne, passed away on Dec 2. From glenn-quinn.com, confirmed by Tim Minear on alt.tv.angel.
My cousin's a man who won't take no for an answer. Maybe that's what makes him a good salesman. He insists you haven't lived, or won't know about life if you haven't been to Asia. He insists I should go to Indonesia. Says it's part of me and I need to know. Never mind I'm not interested. Never mind I couldn't care less.
He idealises his world as much as I'm aware of the complacency of mine. He'd be persuasive if I didn't have that family streak that hates to be told what to do. Honestly, any suggestion of 'must' and I rebel.
If I had plenty of dosh I suppose I would go. But never mind the disinterest, I'm also bound by a thousand what-if's. For the last 15 years my life's been dictated by music: "What if so and so tours, I need to be ready." And I've lived by it, flying off to Dublin or London, or going to Germany, Belgium, France, at a drop of a hat. That's where I get my happy.
Am I wrong to hold on to that, the trusted, sure-fire instant fix and forego the sweaty discovery of my so-called roots in the tropics?
{ The photo features myself, my aunt and two cousins in Indonesia, 1975. Eating, natch. }
My iRiver IFP-180T arrived. Dank u Sinterklaasje...
Saint Nicholas. We celebrate on the eve of his death. But we tell the little children it was his birthday. Cause, you know, you don't want to scare kids.
We'd like to send the judges for the Literary Review Bad Sex Prize 2002 some excerpts from really bad fanfic. Or they could join 'No cookie for you', the bad Buffy fanfic mailing list.
Not sure if foreign press are picking up on this but there have been bomb alerts in Holland other than at Dutch Ikea stores. One device found in an undisclosed place was dismantled at the police station 500 metres down the road from my house.
Finally ordered Gary Oldman's Nil By Mouth [1998], recommended by many. Did you know Eastenders' Big Mo is Oldman's sister? Her first acting job was in this film.
French Christmas. Not too different from us, then. Except for the Pere Noel stuff.
No I haven't gone all Christmassy yet, because we Dutch first have another holiday to celebrate: Sinterklaas. My colleagues are doing the trad thing tonight (a day early): surprise presents and rhymes. I'm not participating (ie. no present) because I came after everything was arranged, but I will be joining them. Cause, it's, you know, gezellig. I wonder what French Christmas is like (as I'll be in Paris then.)
Ancient sex: "The prize for the oldest known example of sexual reproduction goes not to some horny beast, but to a simple form of plant-life."
Craziest "foiler" of the week (faux spoiler): Jack Ryder to be cast as Dawn's Watcher in BtVS.
I've been using the minidisc player to keep me sane on the trains, while I await arrival of my luvly mp3player and so I rediscovered an album recorded for me by Mr Hoppy: UNKLE: Psyence Fiction. Coming back from a good, productive day at work, in the half dark evening chill, with my hands in my pocket waiting for the tram with these beats on my head, I felt very urban for a minute. Good stuff, get it if you haven't got it yet.
Naked Blog: 100 greatest gay britons. "Heterosexuality is not a barrier to consideration." Heh. Vote now. It's hard... do I vote for my favourites or do I vote for people who I think have actually made some contribution? My votes: Francis Bacon, Quentin Crisp, Stephen Fry, Eddie Izzard, Ian McKellen, Derek Jarman, Oscar Wilde and Alan Hollinghurst and Ivan Massow. Those I chose because I think they've contributed to "the cause". I added Graham Chapman, Dirk Bogarde, George Michael, Freddie Mercury, Piers Gaveston, John Sessions, David Bowie, Boy George, Marc Almond, Nigel Hawthorne, Noel Coward for other reasons. I should probably have added Morrissey, but I don't like 'im much.
I have never had an Advent calendar. Is it strictly Catholic? That would explain it. Hoopla's Advent Calendar 2002.
Old news for the cloggies, perhaps it's new to you. The city of Amsterdam has redesigned and rethought its website, making it a little bit more commercial (as in selling the city's features) . I rather like its neat design, but it's a little neutral - neither highlighting the city's heritage nor its more modern aspects. I also think it's become a little harder to find subsites like the 'Gemeentearchief' (city archives).
{...and that's the only time you'll see me wearing a skirt}
Apologies for this burst of nostalgia. I restored these photos from tiny inch-sized prints and am just enjoying the full picture, so to say. Wasn't everything just perfect in the 60's...