Audio – Page 133 – Citizen Reporter

Tribute to a lady

I’m jetlagged, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking of my baby… Ms.Thingk, who today left Amsterdam forever. In doing so, she leaves my daily life. No more wrapping at my chamber door… so lightly tapping… NEVERMORE.

When we first met I was manning the bridge of the fishtank, keeping the universe safe for internauts. She saw me blogging? and I looked at her and was hypnotized. I bla-bla-bla’d about weblogs and my addiction to them, the whole time thinking ? dam this girl is fun. And by fun I mean hot. And funny. Which I combine into fun. So naturally I wanted to work her into the blog… and take her around my city. Hence the invention of “this ol park.”

But little did I know, the girl I once referred to as “Kirstin Dunst’s Twin” would become my left-hand woman. Together we’d invade neighborhoods, rock street markets, and cruise the parties. Bicyclemark rules of engagement usually disallow any closeness with international one-semester types, but this one was beyond my control… we were fast friends. And even though she’d usually turn her attention to some dude at the party, and I’d run off flirting with some yummy gal, she was still the reason for the season. She made student life fun again, even for a no-longer-student, fishtank supervisor like myself.

And so today I picture her on the flight back to Holland… Michigan, rather somber having just left her beloved ‘Dam, and I miss her already. I’m sure she’s striking up conversation with the mysterious long haired heart-throb type sitting next to her, and little does he know what a lucky guy he is… to ever get the chance to meet THE Ms. Thingk.

Tonight, during my first meal in the people’s republic of New Jersey, I shall raise my glass in tribute to my darling… and say thank you. Thanks for gracing the pages of my blog and the days of my life for the last 5 months. Amsterdam will miss you. The University will suck without you. And I will lose a bit of zing in my bike peddling

But hey, we’ll always have the blogosphere!

Arrived all over myself

I landed smack dab on Newark today. Place of my birth. Land of hundreds of thousands of Portuguese, and their somewhat American offspring.

Dad was there, at the gate to greet me. Isn’t it weird how dads get shorter? I remember when my dad was the tallest man in the world. Now he’s shorter than me in a cute way. He even wore an old man hat to the airport, I felt like Colombo had come to pick me up.

I had to lie in customs. Fuck the immigration dept. Fascists with a god complex. Even though the guys I got were nice. At one point they asked me “so you’re student?” Rule #1 of talking to INS folk: KEEP IT SIMPLE. So of course I said “yes.” And then she asks “What school?” just as I was walking off. I stumbled, “actually in Lisbon.” Whatever the fuck that means.

If I could have my own world, there would be none of these bullshit borders and passports and whatnot. I hate seeing people panicking on the plain, worried that they will fill out their form wrong and be banished by the wizard of INS. I want to start a low budget airline that uses no security but offers super cheap flights with speedy check in times. We could call it AT YOUR OWN RISK AIR.

Home has changed a lot, details in the coming days. Mostly it involves the presence of baby equipment everywhere. My bed has been pushed into a corner in favor of a crib for the A-Ren who spends a few of his days sleeping in my room. Which is totally cool by me. Plus, I love that my old stuffed animals are among his own collection.

Hello NJ. it’s me. I just wanted to come see you for a few days. You look tired and used. Get some sleep.

Today’s Sounds: Mates of State – Team Boo

Time Warp

Being the good Samaritan that I am? I traded my window seat to the mom who wanted to sit next to her cute little girl. In exchange, as usual, I got to sit next to the alcoholic and the neurotic. He came on to the plane smelling like beer, and he didn?t let a flight attendant walk by without asking for another. She was constantly taking off and putting on layers, and picking at the pathetic egg-sandwich thing that is supposed to pass for Portuguese-cuisine. I kept thinking of Jamie and his friend Brian, taking the Thalys to Paris, hoping to sit next to models or moviestars.

The only consolation was that I messed with their damaged minds? I arrived first, and began reading my French weekly newspaper. Soon after I switched to reading Bukowski (in English), and spoke to the passenger behind me in Dutch. The lush seemed really eager to classify me? possibly Dutch? or maybe Belgian because of the French language item. I really threw him for a drunken loop when I spoke to the flight crew in Portuguese, and then asked for the best Portuguese newspaper of all time. Oh he wanted to start a conversation? so he could put me a little box, like the neurotic lady to my left. But I wouldn’t say more than two words in any language to that sloppy bastard. And fuck? can they put economy class seats ANY closer together?

One final air travel note, my horn traveled first class to Lisbon. We?re all packed in like sardines, while there is practically NO ONE in first class, but that never matters does it? When I did my usual: ask female flight attendants in a na?ve manner where they can stow my horn? then bat eyelashes and be very polite; they seemed quite puzzled. So? they buckled my baby into first class. I was proud! We lemmings may not be allowed to sit up there, but my horn didn?t pay a dime, and got drunk on champaign and caviar. DAM THE MAN.

So here I sit on top of the world, in my apartment that has always been affectionately called ?the Nest?.. because it?s made of twigs, is almost destroyed by heavy winds, and sits above the Tagus river.. where I can watch the sun set. Lisbon is just as I left it? full of classic urban ironies. My neighbors barely recognize me, probably because they?re all pushing 90. The only person my age, cutey working-student girl downstairs, seemed shocked to see me? almost as if I had ruined her secret plan to marry me by moving to the ‘dam. That would have been nice, we?d then have a two floor apartment and a building full of geriatrics, on the verge of collapse.

One last thing, speaking of collapse, there’s no government here in Portugal. That’s right… the government resigned, claiming that it couldn’t go on after all the political infighting and governing mistakes they had made. I find this to be a beautiful thing, and an admirable tradition in many countries. Now, if only a certain spoiled rich-boy president, who bumbled his nation’s finances, education system, civil rights, foreign policy… you name it… why can’t American presidents ever throw in the towel anymore? Suddenly I miss Nixon!?

Today’s Sounds: The Roots – Tipping Point

Vacation in 5..4..3..

I tend to put my suitcase next to my closet two days before travel. The idea is somehow it will pack itself. While I sleep my room will get all Bedknobs and Broomsticks and Angela Landsbury will select my favorite shirts and boxer shorts… cause fuck it… thats all Im wearing this vacation. Oh wait.. it’s cold.

Yesterday was podcasting sunday, but due to special programming, I moved it to today… SEE! But no audiopost… I’m saving that for when I’m back on the Iberian peninsula drinking Portuguese Ice-teas, which -I might add- are my favorite in the world.

Well, I’m sorry to Dawn and Drew, my original favorites and still beloved, but I have a new favorite podcast. And this one doesn’t involve sex, barns, or animals (as theirs often does)… this one is all about Japan! Yes… Tokyo to be more precise.. TOKYO CALLING, which is entirely the work of Scott Lockman, an Northwestern American who has become my new favorite voice in MP3 format.

His podcasts are about many things… but overall.. life in Tokyo, where he has lived for the past 10 years or so. (i think) I totally enjoy the stories of his wife and three daughters, them going to the park, or what it takes to get into kindergarten in his area. (you wouldn’t believe the jumping through the hoops) This past weekend I was glued to my speakers as he takes the audience along on his ride to work. He describes all the bits and bobs of the transport system, and some of the people he sees. The best is when he pops into an electronics shop where the salesman explains how stuff works. I’m not sure what I like better about this podcast… the stories or the sounds. Maybe both. It’s great gratuitous Japan insight.. and even makes me curious to live there. (no such plan.. Im working on staying dutch for awhile and making some portuguese-dutch-american children… now taking applications for egg donors)

I bet my extremely under the weather friend in Philly, NoCoins, would love this podcast… he’s fascinated by Japan and occasionally shouts Japanese words.

Now I shall take my leave of you, practice horn for an hour and run to this play. As of tomorrow I’m a traveling blogger! – ain’t that exciting? Yes… I’ll be live from my apartment in Lisbon, Portugal.. stay tuned.

One final note… why are some people shocked at the news? Bush as Time magazine’s person of the year, is the equivalent of the Pope being the Catholic Church’s person of the year… no shocker. And yeah yeah.. I know the explanation about making news during the course of the year. I still think both the man and the magazine are corporate whores.

Today’s Sounds: Buddy Rich Big Band – Burning for Buddy

Chess and Mat?

Sylkk, another great blogger in black, gmailed me to ask about where I get my mat?, and why hers might be tasting bad. I felt like I was one of those familiar faces in her neighborhood, like the guy at the post office. Plus I was glad she asked; I love my Rosamonte Yerba Mat? and I know where she’s coming from, sometimes it don’t taste right. I can remember brewing a gourd full of Buen Dia, mixed with some ginger root and peppermint, and being in heaven. Old myths say that mat? has some psychotropic, neurowhatsis, halucinasomething effect. If you brew it just right, I think you do get a great feeling. But yeah, some days you put too much or too little love into it, and it tastes like an old shoe. I don’t worry much when that happens, I figure some days LIFE tastes like an old shoe, and you just gotta go with it.

But let’s move on to chess. To be upfront about it, I’m a chess player, though a bit rusty. Shirtsleaves and I used to spend hours on weekends sitting in Lisbon parks and pubs with our chess board. Here in Amsterdam, I slow down on my bike whenever I pass the chesscaf?, just to take a long look at all the matches. So I appreciate those who love the game – including Bobby Fischer, one of the biggest chess champions in history.

However nowadays Fischer finds himself imprisoned by American authorities, in Japan. He was trying to fly back to the states (he is German-American) but was spotted with a revoked passport. Why revoked? Because in 1992, Fischer played a chess match in Yugoslavia (Serbia), which qualified as doing business, and was considered illegal by the US state department. So now he faces trial… for playing world championship chess in a “bad” country.

Now I don’t care much for the political views of the man. Or for his mannerisms or many of his life choices. But as a chess player, I’ve got nothin but respect for him. And as far as these charges go, I think it’s bullshit. We’re talking about chess… remember all those stories of USSR vs. USA chess matches? I just can’t consider it a crime, no matter how much money they make. If anything, the game has historically brought nations together; making them sit at a table across from each other and push little wooden figures while sweating profusely. So on behalf on the communiqu?: FREE BOBBY FISCHER!

Oh and weekend recommendations, the Midnight Mailman continues to bring me fun AND education, and I’m also considering getting out to Kalipornia one day.

Today’s Sounds: Loft405 Podcast – Lemon Jelly

She’s a Smarty

It has been talked about on other blogs and it’s true to some extent: I am surrounded by wonderful women in my life, both online and offline in the ‘dam. Super intelligent, extremely independent, amazingly adventurous, and just plain silly… these are my ladies, my friends, my Amsterdam family.

And so today as I sat in the University of Amsterdam’s super-old-historical-slave-trade room, watching the Scholarly Masseuse graduate(with honors or as the latins say: Cum Loudly) I felt this great sense of pride and awe. My Austrian wonder, who gets credit for saving me from carpal-tunnel. I’ve watched her evolve as a human, as an academic, from when we first sat together in Communicating with European Elvis Impersonators class, to the handing in of her monster thesis on The Foot Fetishes of European Underwater Basketweavers, it’s been so fun to watch and occasionally help out. And so after dinner at the ranch tonight, I’ll be headed to some dark pub, to raise a glass and -who knows- maybe make a speech in her honor.

On my way into the fishtank this morn, the sassy swede and I spent some quality flirting time together. She informed me that there are words in Dutch that crack her up, as they mean something quite different in Swedish. Her favorite: the word for customer- Klant. In her language this means idiot. So everytime she goes into a shop, and sees the desk with the sign marked Klanten Service (Customer Assistance) she starts laughing. I stood there, as the rain poured down, soaking it in: Idiot Service. Ha! She also vaguely referred to the dutch word for kitchen – keuken as meaning something quite vulgar in Swedish. She wouldn’t tell me what, but I kept trying to think of it… “Hey buddy, keuken you!” Or.. “why don’t you go keuken yourself.” hmmm. Time to learn Swedish.

I’m enjoying how Mr. Helpy Chalk is choosing names for his recently fertilized fetus via his blog. I suggested Aristotle… since we haven’t heard of one since… well.. Mr. Onasis. I had no idea that he advocated slavery?! We could even call him Ari, for short. not to be mistaken with the washed up former white house press whore.

Today’s Sounds: Abdullah Ibrahim – No Fear No Die