August 2004 Archives

Last season I noticed my (Fila) tennis shoes were getting a bit tight. As you grow older, your feet keep growing. Whether they actually grow, or just get flatter and thus longer and wider, I don't know.

I'd never been keen on them anyway, these 'modern' tennis shoes are higher around the ankle and heel. The faux leather edge feels uncomfortable.

I had looked around for a new pair, but they all had the same modern cut. Again and again I'd walk into shops to see if there was any shoe I liked. But I'd come out empty handed, or with a pair of yet another pair of sneakers for everyday use. Oh, how I yearned for a pair of old fashioned Adidas Stan Smith tennis shoes.

Stan Smith tennis shoes were the norm in the late 70s and 80s when I played tennis regularly. Adidas were big. Brands like Fila and Tacchini were starting to become popular, but Nike had only just become known in our country. Kappa was cool, but not for tennis. Diadora, of course, was for girls. Asics' design was just too 'busy' with its tangled swooshes - and in any case, Asics was a badminton and volleyball brand.

I played a lot of sports in school and my friends and I were Adidas 'fans'. We'd scrounge sports shops for bargains and bought their cotton soccer shorts in every colour imaginable. We were buying them bigger and bigger, too. Baggy had become popular. Those bargain hunts were also good for scoring 'rare' items - odd colour shirts and designs. We worshipped the three stripes.

I coveted Stan Smith tennis shoes with their pure white leather and green finishes. (If you wanted to be different, you bought them in France, where they had red finishes.) They were cool and they were comfortable.

They were, however, too expensive. My parents weren't into the whole sports thing anyway and money, at the time, was tight as my dad had decided at 42 he wanted to go to University and study law. 80/90 guilders was deemed too much for a pair of tennis shoes.

They got me a pair of Ilie Nastase shoes (here shown in black - they were bright blue back then.) I think they were around 50 guilders. I was happy with them at first, but after a while the mesh finish began to look a little tatty (after a softball training session on black gravel) and I wasn't keen on their thick slick soles. I didn't feel like I had a good grip on whatever floor I was playing on.

They didn't last long either. I got another pair of Adidas shoes in a bargain sale. I don't remember what they were called. They were similar to the Stan Smith, but the leather was off-white and apparently made of kangaroo skin (which made them very supple and comfortable) and they had a red finish.

I wore them out quickly (I played every sport imaginable in them) and for my graduation I asked for a pair of Nike shoes, Nike having become a big hit with us 'jocks'. Again, I opted for a Stan Smith look-a-like. A plain white shoe with a light blue swoosh.

When they went I got an even simpler pair of Nikes in a bargain sale in a Danish supermarket. I batted my eyes at my very sweet uncle who forked out the equivalent of 15 dollars. They were cloth-top tennis shoes with a dark blue swoosh.

I didn't play tennis that much anymore, so they lasted me a long time but eventually died a sneaker's smelly death.

When I picked up the sport again around 1998, I bought the Fila shoes mentioned before. And then my feet 'grew' and this season I got tired of the shoes being too tight. I'd also come to realise that of every brand shoe I've put my foot in, Adidas comes out the most comfortable.

With some glee I noticed 'retro' shoes coming back in fashion and a lot of brands bringing their 80s models back on the shelves. A further check brought a real smile to my face.

There they were, real Adidas Stan Smith tennis shoes. Priced at 75 euros they were cheaper than most current sports shoes, but still twice as much as back in the day. I didn't buy them. I went back, didn't buy. Went back again, didn't buy. Picked them up, cooed over their absolute shinyness, but didn't buy.

'Maybe they're cheaper in France,' I thought, thinking back on how it used to be 'cool' to get a French pair. But when I got there, I didn't want to carry another pair of shoes around. 'I'll buy them when I get back to Holland,' I thought, thinking I didn't want to play the tournament I'd committed myself to on shoes that were too tight.

But when I got back, the Stan Smith shoes were sold out everywhere. Which is why I turned to online shops. I had some Amazon vouchers left, enough for a pair of shoes, so that's where I started and found Champs.

I didn't know exactly what size to get -- there are such big differences in sizes between countries and brands. So I checked all my other sports shoes and chose the average.

The shoes were cheap: 54.99, but the p&p brought it back into perspective: 87 dollars in total.

Today my shoes arrived from the USA, with 20 Euro customs tax on 'em, too, but since I don't count the vouchers as money, I figure that's just what they cost me. 20 Euro for a brand new pair of Stan Smith, as coveted for the last twenty years.

And I picked the right size too.

We played our first match in the yearly Dutch Broadcasting tennis tournament in Hilversum, and lost.

I played really, really badly. Mostly due to lack of practice (3rd time I was on the court this year) and not having played a match in about four years. So I was very inconsistent.

On the plus side, my partner plays really well, our opponents were very nice people, it was sunny and dry AND we get to play another match in the losers pool.

Maybe we'll throw in some training hours before our next match.

Also, after 30 years I think I'm finally over the whole 'lose my temper, must break racket now' spiel. Which is nice.

... and I got a hot tip for a cool tennis club in Amsterdam that doesn't do vetting or has a waiting list.

For the past two weeks I have been looking up information for a trip to Portugal in September, but I couldn't really find the right flight or lodging at the right price.

Don't matter. Looks like we'll (and that isn't a royal 'we') be going to
Ireland, for no reason other than 'it's been a while since' and 'just like in the old days'.

(click to enlarge)

Always nice to find out 13 years after you had your portraits *hand* printed at prices you really couldn't afford that no, they weren't that badly taken, they were just badly printed. (example)

... and never realised I was IN the pictures - reflected in these sunnies.

This week I'm mostly going to be...

...mother goose-ing two seemingly unrelated interviews done for two of my sites. Although the interviews are unrelated, the people interviewed have known each other since the late 70s and it is likely that subject matter will overlap. The people interviewing do not know each other, and could both be seen as 'amateur' journalists. Both are involved with sites of mine, but have not had an active role for a long time. One interviewer has avoided questions about the other's subject. The other interviewer hasn't. One of the people interviewed is a musician. And the other... turns out to be a musican too. One of the people interviewed is a journalist himself. The other one... isn't.

I feel like a spy master running agents in the field.

A spy master who has a 'cover' job on the side that sadly takes up most of her time. Running spies is so much more fun.

From Rocky Mountain news, an article about Prince and how he's taken control of his album sales. The article is long and there's a lot to be quoted. But perhaps for any artist this is the punchline:

But I can't leave it at that. On his becoming a Jehova's Witness, Prince - who's just a lot more down to earth than you thought - says he is intested in spirituality and answers, not strange ceremonies or theories:

(via Anil)

When Nick Cave releases an album (which seems to be every bloody year), I dutifully part with my cash for the CD. He's one of the artists I'll buy just about every release of.

The last couple of years his albums haven't really done much for me, though I had a few weeks intense enjoyment of his last one, Noctorama. In particular the single 'Bring it on'.

Abattoir Blues, the first CD of this lovingly packaged release, continues with the energy and drive that 'Bring it on' had, but the rest of Nocturama lacked.

Lyrically, Cave takes us from God to cannibalism (I'm sure it's a metaphor...), drops names like Auden, Nabokov and Marx and mentions his 'flag' at 'full salute'. Sweet.

I'm on track 6 and I've heard at least three possible singles. And I keep thinking: "This is how R.E.M. would sound if they still cared."

Well, perhaps not the title track Abattoir Blues, which seems to have barely grown out of some sort of demo stage. Think U2's So Cruel, i.e. interesting idea with maddening drum beat.

But it's immediately followed by the beautifully crafted 'Let the bells ring', where Cave's almost in Crowded House territory.

Purists might scream 'sell out' like they'd never screamed 'sell out' before at Abattoir's almost middle-of-the-roadness, but I'm quite taken with it. In fact, by the time the first track finished I had gone and ordered a ticket for his November 2004 concert in Amsterdam. And I'd told myself I would skip this tour.

Part II, The Lyre of Orpheus, tomorrow.

Talked (e-mailed) to someone from Marseille today. I asked him I'd been to Vieux Port, Panier, maritime harvours, south coast beaches. Is there anything else I should see the next time I visit?

"You have seen almost everything which is important to see."

Heh. I'll have to go see it again, so.

Sunday 8/8 Cassis

I wake up with shoulder- and headache/migraine. It's a bad one. I make for Cassis (an easy 45 minute trip by bus) regardless and regret it, because the pain doesn't let up and the hot sun and bright skies are murder on my poor brain. I don't think I can handle the planned boat trip to the calanques (what they call fjords here) so I walk slowly around the harbour, taking pictures and hoping the pain subsides. It doesn't.

It was a long time waiting, but finally I've got my name on
Amazon.com. Previously only the former author, Bill Graham, was listed. (Bill died in '96)

My name also didn't appear on the front cover of U2 Live: A Concert Documentary as a sign of respect to my friend P.J. de la Parra, also deceased.

I will try not to update any books by dead authors in future. It's becoming a little morbid.

Friday 6/8 Marseille

I wake up early to catch the morning light, despite not having slept very well. I take pictures of the men and women setting up the fish market on the Quai des Belges. I get a lot of comments, but only one guy plays 'take the piss out of the foreigner'. He asks where I'm from, but doesn't really want to hear an answer. He wants to rattle off a list of Asian countries and end with 'Mongolian'. So very funny. His friend tells him off. That's no way to treat the nice tourists. The man feigns innocence. 'What? I used to live in Mongolia for years.' It would have been good natured if he'd actually looked at me and talked with me instead of about me. Prick.

Joss Whedon records video message for Whedonesque.com readers. (windows media)

With thanks to RavenU (and her bandwidth).

Wednesday 4/8. Amsterdam - Nice

Clumsy fool. Leaving my house to step into the taxi the curb's obscured by my backpack and I trip over it, twisting my ankle. The last time this happened, I had to go to to hospital and couldn't walk for a week.

I have to make a quick decision. Do I cross the street and go straight to the emergency room at the OLVG and cancel my holiday, or do I risk arriving in Nice with an ankle too swollen to walk on. I'm tempted -- last minute panicking.

I take the risk. Although it is painful, the ankle does not swell much while I'm waiting in one of the newer wings of Schiphol airport.

Excuse me while my head swells: At his Q&A at the Wizard World con Joss Whedon admitted to reading whedonesque.com.

For those of you who're not up on pop culture and/or don't watch telly, Joss Whedon is the creator of Firefly, Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and writer of the current series of 'Astonishing X-Men' comics.

Low, Tom Porter, Merel and Martijn @ Lancelot restaurant.

Good to see Low on his feet again after his recent health scare. (When he came in someone said 'We call him Jesus now. As in he has arisen.')

Sorting through pictures is a slow process. Besides two full CD-r's and a small handful of Compact Flash cards filled, there's also 13 rolls of film still at the developer's.

Here's a quick selection:

GP: 'So, well, we're going to do this test...'
Me: 'Um... ew'
GP: 'Not mentally prepared for that, eh?'
Me: 'Um... no.'
Me: 'Not something I've done before.'
GP: 'Are you afraid?'
Me: 'Um... no.'

...

GP: 'A man invented this of course.'
Me: 'Naturally.'

If I were to do a trip like this again, I'd do it differently.

Back in Amsterdam. It is pissing down. When I stepped into the taxi, Crowded House's 'Take the weather...' came on. Seriously.

My balcony was going to be renovated while I was gone. I come back to find it isn't even near finished yet and it's going to be more expensive than estimated. For the rest of my time off, I'll have someone in the house, banging away at things.

My defrosted fridge is sitting in the middle of my living room and lots of (snail mail) seems to be missing. The smell of paint is strong.

All in all, it's nice to be back home.

That thing with the mistral? And the thunder and rain? Can it go away, please? Yes, please, leave Marseille.

OK.

...

NO! Not to Nice, you hell gods. That's where I'm going too!

The next couple of posts will probably be of the moblogging kind: all image, no substance. Off to S.O.F., back on the 10th.

Welcome to the newest member of the family, a Canon QL17, a.k.a. Canonet GIII. It's a 1970's rangefinder camera, with a 40mm/1.7 lens -- sometimes called a 'poor man's Leica'.

It's gorgeous. Although the case is pretty knackered, the camera itself is in pristine condition - no scratches at all. It was recently serviced and the seller threw in a new battery and a rubber ring to make it fit (the original mercury batteries are no longer made). It works completely manually too.

Canonet deserves to go on holidays with me, but although it is quite small, it's heavy enough to kill a large man. Hmm. Maybe that's an extra reason to bring it.

Remember the blue envelopes from the 'good stuff, bad stuff' post a few days ago?

File under 'good stuff'. *Claps hands excitedly*.

Check out my flickr photostream for some black and whites taken by my dad.

Posted from

A thought that's been going through my head a lot recently (which I should cherish and investigate -- shallow as my everyday existence tends to be) is that everybody has their 'prime' time. Some hit it in their twenties, others in their thirties or later. I think I made a pretty good kid and kept it together in my teens and tweens. I don't think I'm very succesful so far at being an adult.