bicyclemark

Cheers the Computerlab

An enthusiastic international student friend of mine walked into the fishtank in the wee hours of the morning, and greeted me as I was manning the bridge. He stopped and said:

You know BM, it’s always good to see you here when I walk in. It’s sort of.. comforting, like an old friend who’s always there.

I don’t usually think much of my fishtank duties at the international school, it’s certainly not the reason I work there, but at that moment – I felt like I was making a difference in people’s lives. No wait, I felt like Norm from Cheers, only without the beernuts.

This little “moment” reminded me of my days in Aix-en-Provence, at Spoiled American University. The most loved Internet Caf? was run by these two young, French, computernerds. Of course, I loved them. We all did. It was one of the best parts of the day, that initial walk-in conversation in French, usually consisting of:

Yeah well, I only REALLY learned to speak French in Lisbon. France was more like language training camp, and I was the recruit who kept falling in the mud-puddles. But that’s a whole other story. The point of this trip down memory lane is that I realized for this student, I was Bernard, so to speak; that young, potentially hip guy who lives and works in the country where you are temporarily studying. And just like I’ll always remember the French guys at the internet-caf?, some of these students will always remember Bicyclemark who worked in the Fishtank sometimes. I’m honored to be a fixture in people’s memories.

Freshly back from Paris, Jamie of The Known Universe came to the ranch for some conversation and whiskey. As he mentions in his post, we talked about everything under the sun, including my PHD plans of studying the Culture of Weblog Readers and Writers. He was clearly fascinated at the idea, never having given much thought to the idea of himself becoming the museum exhibit behind glass.

Please do not touch the blogger.

Please do not speak to loudly, as it will startle the blogger.

Notice his leather jacket and walking boots,scientists have yet to reach a conclusion of how this affects his writing.

I’ll be giving the tours of course, wearing a white labcoat and latex gloves.

Jamie and I spent some time talking world affairs, specifically about Ivory Coast. We worried about the safety of a journalist friend of his, and talked about how the situation will undoubtedly get worse. Reading the latest and watching the videos, I’m annoyed with both the French Military and the Ivory Coast. I knew Laurent Gbagbo was a dangerous manipulator, but I couldn’t predict this overtly colonialist behavior on the part of the French. They guard whatever the hell they want, they bomb whatever they feel is a threat to their presence in the country, and they act as if its perfectly natural to do so. Sound familiar? No surprise there I guess, for all their bickering France and the US have many similarities, as do Paris and New York.

Today’s Sounds: Bob Dylan – Blood on the Tracks (its been a while)

Clash of Stupidity

I didn’t even want to give this discussion any attention, but here I go, head-first, just for today:

I swear the Dutch masses dream of a holy war. They seem to foam at the mouth to talk about “the muslims.” I guess it’s a reoccurring thought nowadays, in certain countries – the US versus THEM. There’s a slight tinge of fascism and racism in the winter air, and it has been there for at least 2 years.

A controversial and beloved film director was murdered/assassinated in cold blood by what turns out to be a Moroccan extremist, complete with a note condemning the director’s criticism of Muslim culture. The whole country goes nuts, as if there isn’t an assassination per season around here. (oh yes there is!) Now anyone, including myself, would agree murders are bad and they should not occur. But they’re calling it an attack on free speech, and I don’t feel like explaining that even when you have “free speech”, it is still possible that psychos get angry and violent. Others, politicians especially, use this event to fuel their xenophobe rhetoric: that Muslims aren’t integrating in Dutch culture; fascist-populism at its finest. Hell, now they’re calling it terrorism!

And so the latest, today – a Dutch Muslim school was more-or-less bombed (“explosion,” they report) The press says it could be a “revenge” attack, I guess meaning its revenge from Dutch folk. So here we are again, US versus THEM. I wonder if the Reichstag is burning? Soon I’m sure Sammy P. Huntington will be elected prime minister, so he can orchestrate the holy war.

But don’t believe the hype good readers. Plenty of tolerant people and policies in the people’s republic of Amsterdamage. I’m referring to those of us who don’t buy into the sweeping generalizations. Who get our hair cut at Atlas Kapsalon, where Majid and Mohammed greet you with coffee, a newspaper, and a smile. Who appreciate the people who were brave enough to leave their lives behind and start over in Amsterdam, regardless of race, class, sexual preference, or religion.

White Christians have carried out some of the most disgusting mass murders and wars the planet has ever seen, but I’m not going condemn the kid from Virginia sitting next to me, based on that.

Today’s Sounds: www.tsf.pt Radio Portugues

Pigs in Space

Captain’s blog – stardate 071104.1909

Museum-night! Does your city do this? What? You don’t live in a city? THE HORROR.

So seriously, not everyone has to live in a city, I know. But if you do, you probably have some sort of annual event where they are all open til 2 or 3 in the morn and they turn themselves into all sorts of nocturnal hip-spots. The idea is, of course, to promote museums to audiences who may not always check them out (young people like my non-museum going self?). Having lived in quite a few cities mostly in Europe, I have to say Amsterdam puts the Muse in Museumnacht. Bright lights, trams dating back to 1915, old ass buses with postboxes attached to their bumpers, and a whole lot of people running from museum to museum like it’s an easter-egg hunt.

So the mysterious Anne from Underabell decided to combine our first ever in-person meeting with this special evening’s events, and she arrived in Amsterdam just in time for some of my famed green-bean soup and hummus on olivebread. Needless to say she was high on good eatin before we even started museuming. In total we hit up about 6 museums (Artis, Tropenmuseum, Oudekerk and the Waag, among them) and took one old fashioned tram ride. In this one night we managed to see prostitutes, canal fish, a Javanese mating dance, artifacts from the Aztec civilization, a Tango competition, computer nerds at play, and one of the coolest Astronauts ever – LIVE.

My favorite part had to have been the hour we spent in the planetarium listening to Andr? Kuipers, as he showed up images of his mission aboard the International Space Station. The training involved is so intense, the ISS looks amazing, and cosmonaut culture in Russia and Kazakstan fascinates me to no end. The snow, the images of Yuri Gargarin, the Russian computers, and the orthodox priest who soaks you in Holy Water when its launch day.

But there’s a larger issue I want to discuss with you friends and readers. Why oh why does space research and travel fail to interest the masses? What happened to the romanticism of exploring the new frontier? What needs to be done to get the public and the powers-that-be to get interested in space for reasons besides making “friggin laser beams.”

After Andr? Kuipers, who just returned from the ISS, who crashlanded softly back in a Kazak desert and back in Amsterdam, who played with M&M’s in zero gravity while orbiting the earth, after he finished his presentation, he opened the floor to questions. A crowd of maybe 80 to 100 presumably Dutch people, considered highly educated folk, a majority of this crowd walked right our the door like the room was filled with the plague. A few people, myself and Anne included, stayed and listened more. We wanted to shake his hand. I wanted to give him a hug and say thanks on behalf of humankind.

But all is not lost. Andr? didn’t seem worried. He spoke about the a mission to land a vehicle on a comet, the inevitable human-landing on mars, and YES – Europe (ESA) beginning its own shuttle program from its beautiful base in French Guyana. From there they will launch Soyuz and Arianne rockets and move forward together with the rest of the world, regardless of NASA and its obsession with weapons of mass destruction in space. And let me not forget the Indian, Chinese, Japanese and Brazilian space programs, that are advancing quickly and are interested in understanding the universe as well.

Still I come back to that nagging feeling, all those people walking out, the disinterest and underfunding of space programs versus insane money spent on stupidity. What needs to be done? Oh.. and DAM — Its hard to become an Astronaut with the ESA.

Today’s Sounds: Dave Mathews – Some Devil

Dear Tissue Girl

Dear Tissue girl,

I watched your show last night at the TheaterFabriek and you were by far my favorite of Les 7 Doigts de La Main. I thought it was going to be an average friday night until Toronto’s finest chef in exile offered me tickets to see your fantastic show.

I must confess, I’ve never seen Cirque du Soleil, or much cabaret in my lifetime. I grew up in Jersey where no one ever spoke of Circus School. I was fascinated last night as I ate my apple pie and you told me about how you got your start back in Montreal. Your art – tissue – as you called it, is fantastic. The way you bend your body into pretzels and seemingly float in the air using flowing strips of fabric, I was hypnotized.

Although I’m sure you’re quite busy and have no time for guys like me, I daydreamed of the life we could have together. I know, you’d be on the road alot, and I’d be doing whatever the hell it is I do here in the dam, but I’d still have green bean soup and bacalhau ready and waiting when you got home from your latest tour. Et on peux toujours parler en Fran?ais si tu veux. Sometimes I’d go on tour with you and sit in the corner and cheer you on in multiple languages. On your days off we could catch a flight to the A?ores, or La Reunion (island), and swim with dolphins.

And as a bonus, we could have little bike-riding, acrobatic, academic Quebecois-Portug?es-American children, who would impress the world with their keen biking skills, capacity for abstract thought, and impeccable balance on one toe. Hell, they might even grow up to be good bloggers!

Anyway I realize you might actually surf the net sometimes, and be horrified by this bizarro letter. But know that its just a daydream. In the end, you’re probably all married and busy, and not understanding what the F a blog is. And I’m committed to my bike, blog and the Amsterdam. Still, it was a pleasure to see your show and chat with you. Crazy Dr. M was also pleased to meet you, he especially enjoyed the show, reminding him the days when he did theater. (OH YES!)

Good luck in the future, don’t worry about needing a restraining order against me, I’m fairly sane (I think). And if years from now you read this and remember my bearded face and long eye-lashes, use the email and maybe we can get some Eritrean food and discuss the future of the world and our imaginary family.

Prends soins de toi,

Bicyclemark

Today’s Sounds: Decemberists -Her Majesty

Hey Herb

High Times magazine isn’t going to call this year. I know they’re not. For the first time in three years, I won’t be present at this years biggest stoner party. Worst of all, I won’t be making the tax-free big bucks, along with the all access passes, free gourmet dinners, and YES – the mountain of maryjane that every employee gets (which I promptly distribute to my friends).

It’s not that bm is much of a ganja smoker, hell no, I’m more the observer. But it’s the spirit of the event I’ve grown to love. Every late November a hoard of Americans, Canadians, Germans, Dutchies, and -increasingly- Japanese, invade the Melkweg on one quest – to smoke dope and sit around with strangers going “hey man… this shit is great.” (insert appropriate Tommy Chong accent) But wait, I’m not mocking them, their stories are often amazing; the vietnam vets, the cannabis photographers, the young hippies living in pseudo communes in some remote county of California, the Vancouver people, and finally – the straight up New Yorkers who love the chronic.

Let me not forget the kickass music. Over the past two cups I’ve seen De La Soul, Fishbone, and hung back stage with George Clinton and his granddaughter. All completely free of course. (thanks DRoCK)

But alas, the thrill is gone. They don’t need my skills as an employee anymore. I served happily last year as an voting booth supervisor. Sounds easy enough doesn’t it? That’s what I thought initially, until I found myself trying to communicate with distracted hippies, who could never seem to fill out ballots correctly or quickly. They brought their notebooks with them, filled with chickenscratch about which coffeeshop was the coolest this year. (coffeeshop? places in amsterdam that serve weed) Yet it always required my intervention, to tell them to not vote twice, or to not ask their neighbor about which hash was better. Then came the begging “Hey man… can I get one of those I voted T-Shirts”.. to which I would say no, and later they’d re-appear with items for bartering, and like any good native, sometimes I traded with the colonists.

Occasionally you can find women at these things. And when you do they are often excessively beautiful, and on the arm of a mafia boss/coffee shop owner from Moscow. Constantly surrounded by an entourage aka bodyguards. Last year I met swiss miss; long blond dreds, blue eyes, and an excellent accent from the alps. She and I had a bond, which consisted of standing at our respective booths stealing glances at each other, and occasionally just staring at each other. That was our thing. By the last day we had ventured into the world of conversation, became friends, and presently I hear from swissy whenever she’s in town.

The worst was when one of my stoned colleagues would not show up to relieve me after my shift, and I would stand there angry as hell and starving. The Norwegian cannabis chef would stroll by in his white labcoat with a cake or a shake, and – as if knowing I was starving – would ask if I wanted some. To which I’d hungrily reply – “Yes, what is it!?” And that madman would proceed to show me the marijuana mango cake he had baked and the cannabis oil popcorn he had popped. THE HORROR. Here I am starving, and this guys trying to get me high. So of course I nibbled on the popcorn, to tithe me over, hoping not to get stoned since I had work to do, real life to tend to. Alas, the end of an era.

Today’s Sounds: Coheed & Cambria – In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth

Dark Days Indeed

Abu Ammar is dying. As this text is written, a lifetime of struggle must be passing through his mind, as the machines take control over his fading existence. He might be thinking how much he wanted to visit the beaches of Tunisia once more, or how he’ll never get the chance to be on the Daily Show with that Jon Stewart who cracks him up. And I can only imagine he regrets the way things have gone over the past years.

Some people in power have tried (successfully) to marginalize him in these last years, while his people live in despair, and the Berlin Wall part 2 is built, he himself has been trapped in a legendary “compound” for over two years. They’ve tried to say he is responsible. They’ve tried to re-write history and call his people’s struggle a terrorist movement. When a bombing occurs, they blame him for not magically stopping it. If they could, they’d go into the Nobel records and erase his name from the co-peace prize he received with Rabin, and Peres. (then again, so would I, to take away Kissinger’s)

It is almost as if his death is a victory for those who have been burying him for years. Ironic that the junior world leader who has baptized him as irrelevant has been re-elected. A leader who has less than 4 years experience with world affairs compared to a man who was born without a country and has been on the international scene since the late 50’s.

Was he a saint? Probably not. Did he encourage or allow violence amongst his people? He fought in a civil war, so yes. Did he live a comfortable life while his people lived in misery? Possibly, like most leaders.

But was he loved? -most certainly. Did he actively contribute to the Oslo Accords, and other peace negotiations- clearly. Is he one of the most recognized and talked about cats in the history of the middle east (or the world) – YES.

And for that reason this is my blog tribute to the man. Love him or hate him, none of us really knew the man. All we knew was what media tells us, mixed with testimony from those who experienced first hand the complexities of the region’s situation. I’m saddened by his death, if indeed he passes in the coming hours or days. I believe, after a lifetime of war, death, watching all the suffering – on both sides- he had the wisdom and the will to negociate a lasting peace. I realize many will disagree… others will get angry and shout curses. But these are my thoughts as a lowly world citizen. And so I raise my glass, and bid farewell, to one of the classic faces in world history – ARAFAT.

Today’s Sounds: Sveriges Radio – Swedish Public Radio playing Faith No More