Lex is dead. I knew he was ill, but it’s still a shock. Lex shot the cover photo of my book. I’ve always been disappointed with the way the print came out and I have been meaning to fix that in the pdf version I’ve been working on, on and off. To give that image the full page it deserves. I knew Lex from going to concerts in the 80s and 90s. He was always in my way (for the first three songs) and we’d laugh about it – he wasn’t the tallest himself. He was a fantastic photographer, a real craftsman and one of my photography heroes. He must be taking pictures of angels now.
Here is some of his work. You may know it.
- Chris Isaak’s Heart Shaped World
- Bono vs De Kuip
- More pictures
I don’t go to my P.O. box very often, which is why I only picked up
this card today,. It was sent from Toronto (or, as the senders says on
the back of it ‘New York without the dirt’) for my birthday back in
April.
I’ve been at home, mostly in bed, for the last week. Getting this on my first day out really cheered me up.
Mounties rule.
Things I’m proud and not so proud of this week
Regrets, I’ve had a few, but none so big as the one where I kick myself for not having lived and worked abroad in my lifetime.
I envy my cousin who was born in Africa, schooled in Indonesia and Denmark, and is living in France. Cosmopolitan beats nationalist in my book.
In my highschool days I would have loved to go on an exchange program to the USA, but that didn’t seem to be available to me at the time. When I was in college I worked in Northern Ireland for 6 weeks, but there weren’t any schemes for a longer stay. Later still, well, it just didn’t happen. Maybe I’m just not that adventurous.
Let’s face it, I should have moved to Ireland years ago. Before the goldrush. When houses were dirt cheap (seven, maybe ten thousand Euro would have got me a nice cottage back then. What a great investment that would have been.
I always said I wouldn’t fit in over there, but fuck me, I’m Ms Square Peg whereever I am including this place I call ‘home’. Still as round holes go, Amsterdam ain’t so bad.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this. It’s just a little frustrating at the moment not being able to hop on the DART to lend a hand.
At the metro station this morning the ticket machine only accepted the exact fee. The guy at the cornershop didn’t want to give me any change. The station is full of machines that never work. They’re either broken, or haven’t been put into service yet. This time, the machine was out of money.
I explained this to the guard at the stairs, but he wouldn’t let me through. He brought me back to the machine. I told him again the machine was out of change, but he said ‘I’m only trying to help you’ and asked me where I was going. He tapped in my destination and told me to put 2,70 in the machine. Sigh. Never try to argue with the feeble-brained.
I showed him my 5 euro note and spellled it out for him again: the machine doesn’t accept my bills because it’s out of change, and no, the guy in the shop doesn’t want to give me any. ‘There are shops outside,’ he said. Yeah, thanks for nothing.
Meanwhile, I am doing the ‘mailbox’ shift at work, answering problems people have with our websites and our video sterams and this time I’m the one being insulted by customers, just because I can’t fix their computer problem.
A world without people. That would be ideal.
On that note: Get Grace Out! Get Grace Out!
It seems I’m only happy when I work two jobs. Any other time is ordinary, nine to five just isn’t good enough. For the past couple of weeks I’ve been wearing several hats at the same time and I feel better than I have in months. When I stood outside the Paradiso last night soaked through to my undies, only to find out ‘The Streets’ were actually on today, I laughed. Got back on my bike and cycled back home in the rain with a smile on my face, like I’m all doped up. And when earlier today PR people made demands on my Sunday, my time off, I wondered what the hell they were apologising for. Work = good. I put on my ‘research’ hat and got cracking. I hate being secretive (I always think ’shut up if you can’t tell the full story’), but unfortunately for now I’m bound to silence as to the nature of my moonlighting. Suffice to say some of my other hats are labelled ‘translater’, ‘vibe-meister’ and ‘cheerleader’. All will be revealed. Jawohl, sir.
The otters at Blijdorp Zoo weren’t happy with the European wild cat in the adjacent cage. They took out their aggression on each other and the visitors and made a wonderful spectacle.
At the Oceanium, I watched a diver punch a shark in the nose.
The fish at Happy Sushi smelt as rank as parts of the zoo. After three dishes, I went for dim sum next door at Grand Palace.
Travelling back, I texted back the answer to the question: ‘What’s ‘You are beautiful’ in German?
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