bicyclemark

Leftovers 4 Evah

Last nights day-late thanksgiving dinner was just what my soul needed. The excessive eats, multiple courses, exotic desserts, and Dutch-German-American-Portuguese cross cultural communication reminded me of what I love about this city and my underworld. It seemed to bring similar warmth to the other guests, some of which had never had a thanksgiving meal before. Curious K., my good buddy, seemed to especially enjoy hearing the thanksgiving stories and eating the associated food that Ms. Thingk and I provided. Shit, she even imported Stove-Top stuffing, fancy eh?

But the bigger priority on the communiqu? today is to pay tribute to those all important people who share our homes with us — roommates! Yes! Last night’s feast was Vibfun’s last meal as a roommate at the bicyclemark ranch, a sad-sad goodbye, as she moves in with her man across town.

I remember it well… our first encounter-

The class was Communicating European Goat Herders’ Political Agendas, or something to that effect, and it was a packed house, a mix of Dutch and Internationals. I’ll never forget one of the first times she spoke up in class in a fervent statement in response to some fool’s argument, as she spoke her face began turning bright red. As she kept speaking, her face only got red-er, and then as she’s speaking she says:

 ...And I bet my face is turning bright red right now,

cause that always happens, so I'll stop talking."

I remember thinking to myself. THAT’S A COOL CHICK.

I was right. And two years later, not only are we good friends, we are the best of roommates. We use the kitchen as our stage, where we act out scenes from the Muppet Show. Or we rehearse accents, our favorite being the bad-Dutch accent which I just can’t fake. But I usually provide her with an excellent French or Portuguese accent. Later she’ll read the labels off jars of tomato sauce or cereal, taking care to read each translation for each EU language. My personal favorite is when she gets to the German or Italian.

But this is how it goes with roommates, for many of us, I think. When we finally get the ones we like, we have great times, make great memories, and then one of us has to go. Later we’ll say it’s just better to live alone, and we’ll of course enjoy that when the time comes. But the truth is, there’s something irreplaceable, and unique about those university-years roommates. Later on we don’t throw things around, we don’t run around the apartment talking like characters from Star Wars or LOTR. Hell we may not even talk to our future roommates. Something about how adults are “supposed” to behave at home.

So here’s to Vibfun, and all the great times at the ranch. And here’s to the jogging king in Norway, Marty McFly in Sweden, A in Norway, and my former jersey roommates E, Keef, D-Rock, and Pasta; for all the good times in cramped spaces. I’d be lucky as hell to get roommates even 1/10th as fun and interesting as all of you. And shit… I miss those days already.

Today’s Sounds: Bonnie Somerville – Off the Garden State Sdtk.

Liberal Healer

The fishtank reminds me of the M*A*S*H 4077 today, and I’m doing my best Cpl. Klinger, all that’s missing is the wedding dress. I keep wishing I wasn’t the computer doctor on call. I studied European Communication people, nothing to do with you hard drive gonorrhea! Who do I see about a section 8?

I’m like the anti-christ of computer repair, I walk amongst the sick and counsel them. I touch their keyboards, bless them, and suddenly entire hard drives fail. It’s a miracle how many computers I’ve unsuccessfully repaired, soon I will have disciples who hate me, and people will follow a star to find me, so I can break their computers for them. I think I’ll walk on water on the way home today, then sink right to the bottom.

Great discussion last night at the ranch, all stemming from the film “The Last Supper” which I happen to know by heart. The film itself is unremarkable, but it’s the central questions that the movie asks, which make it great.

You're a time traveler, you travel to the year 1909,

you're in Austria, at a bar, sitting across from a young 

art student with one testicle, named Adolf.  Now, to this

point, he's not a mean guy.  He has no political aspirations,

has hasn't hurt anyone, he's not even mean tempered....

.... Do you kill him?  Knowing that it could save all those

people.  Do you kill him there. for the sake of the world?

Such a great question, I always thought. Plus the ongoing theme of the film is how “liberals” (in the US sense) only talk and argue, and never actually take any action. Which is argueable, but a classic criticism of the left in general, they talk and think, but never do anything.

My answer to the first question has changed since my days as a fledgling leftist, when I would have jumped up and shouted YES THEY DESERVE TO DIE and I HOPE THEY BURN IN HELL. (Samuel L. Jackson cameo on the blog) Now, I’m a more mature leftist, embracing many of the hypocrisies that I practice. (not working hard, yet claiming to be a friend of the workers, for example!) I would not kill Adolf. I would talk with him, listen to him, debate and make my points to the best of my ability. Attempt to make him see the error of his ways. And if it didn’t work, I’d thank him for the drink, and bid him farewell… despite my knowledge of the future. Because he alone was not the cause of it all, there were specific circumstances and factors that helped to produce him. And furthermore, as much as I like to identify what I feel is right and wrong in the world, how can I talk about tolerance, the value of exchanging ideas through debate, and non-violence, If I’m ok with killing those who stand in the way of such a world.

Anyway I digress. It’s a fairly interesting discussion and this is just my 2 euro cents on it, or whatever you want to call the currency. But I do think it applies to many other examples of fuckheads in the present-day.

Today’s Sounds: The MIGHTY ZULU NATION – Shobana flyin lo

Turkey Day Marathon

Round these parts Turkey Day doesn’t mean much, and I’m quite used to it. Hell, I’m a card carrying European, so this shit is normal for me. But alas, as my m?ezinha reminded me this afternoon, this holiday is part of my culture.

So on that note, I bring you – yet another list – stuff I praise the golden calf for bringing this earth:

– Amsterdam, the city she loves me, celebrating our third bird together.

– My family, in Portugal, Brussels, and especially Jersey, who called to say they miss me, and the entire office knew it was a mom conversation even though they couldn’t understand the Portuguese.

– Shirtsleaves in Rome, who sent me a kickass veggie-lasagne recipe for my 1-day late celebration tomorrow night.

– XTX, cause I heart her alot, and she’s the best dam wingwoman on the blogosphere.

– Ukrainian Demonstrators, for showing the world that they can brave harsh weather and fatigue and demand some real democracy instead of the bullshit they’re handed.

– The internets, cause they have taught me more about who I am and what I’m capable of.

– Tony Pierce, who’s ass just published a book, and of course, I have ordered it.

– Ethiopia, for accepting the border/peace agreement with Eritrea, thereby ensuring my future visit.

– Ms. Thingk, who I’m happy to be cooking with on this holiday.

– Brian of the StateImin, Jamie of the Known U, and all the bloggers I’ve gotten to know in the past year, my blog-neighbors who I look forward to living next door to for years to come.

– My boys in Portugal, the craziest and best support group a guy can have.

– Marty McFly in Stockholm, for teaching me Din n?sa ?r som ett wedge ost, dina ?gon som choclat chips.* which is all I will say to charm Swedish ladies.

– The D-Rock

– All ye blogreaders, you’re good folk and I hope you enjoy.

Oof I just left off a ton of people that deserve to be on here. ~wink wink~ and and lest I not forget you over there, ^wink wink^.

There, now everyone feels included, and no one hates me. Except the pope, but he’s grumpy all the time.

* You nose is like a wedge of cheese, your eyes are like chocolate chips.

Today’s Sounds: RFI – A l? une

F Film Festivals

Of course I like films.. generally speaking… what other medium keeps me in my seat, in the dark, compulsively munching on shit, actually believing that I can’t go on with my life until I see Marty McFly get back safe to good ol’1984. That is… provided he gets the 1.21 gigawatts.. how could Doc have been so careless?

So of course you’d expect me, as a film lover, to be a fan of those fantastical Film festivals, like Cannes, Venice, Berlin.. and fuckin.. Sundance; guess that’s a city too. Amsterdam’s got one, the International Documentary Film something (IDFA). All the intellectuals, so basically everyone in the whole city, and their big brains- head over to see anything and everything at the IDFA. They sit in huge theaters, medium rooms, and claustrophobic broom closets, so they can see films with titles that sound like “Beep Beep; How Cars Really Feel About America” or “Leave me Alone; the wishes of a Zimbabwean youth“. And obviously many of these films are masterpieces which might never see the light of the mass audience day.

Yet as an observer of the third IDFA since I arrived in the Dam, I don’t dig the scene anymore. Since I’m lazy and last minute, I pay a fairly steep price for whatever isn’t sold out when I get there. Usually this means I wind up watching some Australian dude’s home videos from 1980. Which, while compelling in that voyeuristic kind of way, bores the shit out of me. What’s that you say? Book early BM? It’s not that bad BM? I’m not listening. Because I found the underground way to do it.

I’m so hip, that I’m at the vanguard of a new trend. Have the filmfest at your house. How? Two words: Dutch Public Television. Ok that’s three words, you’re right. Point is, they have quite a few of the HOT documentaries on their website, archived for your convenience. My favorite this week? BIG BROTHER MIDDLE EAST.

Forget what you know about the stupid reality show, this is a documentary of how they planned and prepared a version done specifically for the entire middle east. The culture clashes and questions left me dumbfounded and drooling for more. I loved the candidates who came in and sang in Arabic and danced around, and then weren’t chosen because they “might be too eccentric for the audience.” I also loved seeing the Saudi minister of Information running around the house praising the whole thing, probably envisioning the big bucks ahead. All the staff as well as the participants were from many different arab nations, and one minute you could hear the differences in culture and values, and the next you couldn’t. Fascinating. Not all of it is in English, but much of it is, and I highly recommend it.

UPDATE: In the end, the show was pulled quite early in the game. But that’s a whole other story.

Now back to the bicyclemark underground documentary festival. (budfest)

Today’s Sounds: Jimmy Eat World – Futures (wonderfully good)

Sir Yes Sir

Over the past week I’ve watched, listened, and read the testimonies. Some news media has tried to hide it, cover it up, bury it… anything to avoid making their audience feel uncomfortable. So I hope you’re sitting with a pillow propped behind you and a comfy seat cushion donut thing, cause this shit is anything but comfortable. And I promise you it ain’t funny.

Now I know you might have family. A cousin. A friend of a friend. A blogger-friend, as I do. Or an uncle’s neighbor’s daughter. There are so many people in the military, stationed in Iraq, we are all somehow connected to someone. And so we can’t possibly think badly of them. Cause how could you look at your brother or sister as anything but this person who you unconditionally love, no matter what? – But I’m blogging, so I can.

While I continue to tape, a marine walks up to the

 other two bodies about 15 feet away, but also lying 

against the same back wall.



Then I hear him say this about one of the men:



"He's fucking faking he's dead - he's faking he's fucking dead."



Through my viewfinder I can see him raise the muzzle of his rifle

 in the direction of the wounded Iraqi. There are no sudden movements, 

no reaching or lunging.



However, the marine could legitimately believe the man poses

 some kind of danger. Maybe he's going to cover him while 

another marine searches for weapons.



Instead, he pulls the trigger. There is a small splatter against

the back wall and the man's leg slumps down.



"Well he's dead now," says another marine in the background.

Let me guess, you’ve heard this story? I have read it over and over. I listened to it. I read the letter from the cameraman who can’t sleep at night after filming it. And what I’m here to scream and shout, is that this is a crime. A war crime. And the old “They’re just following orders” didn’t work at Nuremberg, and doesn’t work now.

It’s called Jus in bello for those who made the Laws of War. For me it’s just another atrocity within a larger atrocity the world calls WAR. And whether the person pulling the trigger, to kill the man who is bleeding to death in the mosque, who had been injured, disarmed and interrogated the day before.. whether it’s my cousin or your neighbor’s neighbor… it’s a crime, and even if you’re ordered to do so, you’re not a robot, you know it’s wrong. When the order is to dispose of the bodies, to set fire to the houses, to collect all the men, to rape the women, or to round up all the Tutsi’s… there’s nothing honorable about saying “yes sir.”

And before I go, let’s not forget the forever ignored warzones in our own backyards.

Today’s Sounds: London symphony Orchestra Special on the BBC Worldservice

No Justice No Peas

Well I hope you’re satisfied. Yes you… I’m looking right at you cutey international student girl. You and your internets and friendsters. And you – hard working dude from Papua New Guinea, looking all happy and studious, you just love getting here bright at early, as the key goes click-click in the door. What if that tidal wave splash of muddy water from the Fiat Punto had swallowed me up this morning? What if I stayed in my warm, laundry-fresh smelling bed a few extra hours? Hmmm? All hell would break loose if I didn’t open the fishtank on monday mornings. Cause the kids need their internet, and “I am the keymaster…. are you the gatekeeper?”

I’ve been waiting for the chance to put nipples on the blog. This is my cheese in the proverbial trap, to catch that rat Michael Powell. He’s got Nipple Detector Radar.

I just sent T-T-Tony of the busblog, my nominations for the first annual busblog awards, or as I’d like to call them – Bloscars. So here they are, in no friggin particular order, sir:

Accordian Guy Visits a Toronto Dump: I love the photos most of all, and it fascinates me to no end.

The Known Universe’s Jamiee gets to the gate for his flight back to NYC, and then… : I just thought it was the ultimate in terms of living in the moment.

NoCoins chooses a Doctor: Anytime you mix NoCoins and a Doctor’s Office together, shit is funny.

And of course, TheStateImin-Brian’s family militia: It’s like Family Ties with guns, I love it.

I’d like to thank the academy, my agent, oh and Heyzeus.

Today’s Sounds: Loft 405’s Latest Podcast – New Found Glory