Citizen Reporter

I walk into the fishtank for the evening shift, and the joint is completely empty. The lone person surfing the internets is my Dutch Fishtank supervisor colleague. The conversation went something like this:

BM: (shocked) What's going on?

Dutch Fishtank Supervisor: (calmly) The Germans are coming.

  They're going to occupy this place around 19h40... again.

BM: (looking at the time) Holy shit. 

Stop me if you’ve heard this one: The US Refuses to Participate in Talks About the Kyoto Protocol. Yeah I know… old news. But it still baffles me. I listened this week to a representative from the Island of Tuvalu talk about the importance of taking action to slow global climate change and global warming.

Tuvalu. I can’t stop thinking about Tuvalu. In 2001 the government of Tuvalu announced they would have to begin evacuating the population to other countries because of rising sea levels. In so many words, Tuvalu won’t exist in a few decades. Rising oceans. A country won’t exist anymore. How the hell do you face these people if you’re the leader of a wealthy country that refuses to take some really basic steps so that maybe more islands won’t be submerged in the near future?

I guess that’s why they don’t even want to show up to talk – they don’t have the nerve. If I ever meet a Tuvaluian, I’m just gonna give him/her a big hug and a solemn look and say, on behalf of the rich part of the planet, I’m sorry my fellow human. I can’t explain these fucks, and I promise I didn’t vote for them. If I were a real do-gooder, I’d write to the government and offer to shelter a few at the bicyclemark ranch. But alas, I’m not a do-gooder, I’m a lazy blogger.

But wait, I won’t let you go today with out an excellent lightbulb joke that the Verbal Chameleon posted.

And everybody’s wondering “Was he or wasn’t he poisoned?” I still won’t believe it, somethings fishy and it ain’t my fridge (for once).

Today’s Sounds: Morcheeba – (Something the guy I’m renting from left)

Then there are those nights like last night. Even though I know I’ve got work to do, deadlines to meet, and a general distaste for spending money ever since the automat (money machine) ate my already broken card; I drag myself out on the town.

It was the scholarly-masseuse’s birthday, she who is helping me reverse the onset of anything carply-tunnely. Yet another wonderfully great friend born within a few days of me, so I wasn’t about to miss this chance to toast her happy birf-day, shower her with hugs, and flirt with her cutey friends. (I bet the guys are cute too, Im just crap judge in that department.)

And so somewhere in the dark alleys of Centrum, where bikes are stolen, junkies get high, and tourists start to reconsider how charming they thought Amsterdam was, I joined in a gathering of some of the most international internationals in town. Which prompted that familiar feeling, like I’m in the Justice League of Language-Speakers. (NERD WAIVER: I don’t know all that much about DC Comics)

Each member of the Justice League of Language Speakers specializes in one or two languages with which to save the world and stop evil do-ers. We also speak 2 or 3 on the side, just for fun, cause even the JL of LS needs to kick back sometimes, y’know? Come to think of it, the old Justice League didn’t have many women.. sexist bastards. Anywho – we’ve got lots.

So at last night’s meeting I started by engaging in english discussions with the scholarly masseuse’s Italian boyfriend, occasionally falling into an Italian aside with a good looking third party, a language which I can understand just fine. (hey.. I’ve been in the league for awhile now) The masseuse herself comes over to join us frequently, to drink a toast and have some laughs. She must be our leader, Austrian by nationality, her languages are primarily German, Dutch, and Italian… but with me it’s english and I’m sure on some nights she dabbles in Spanish or French just for cheap thrills. As the night grows longer, I observe other superheros in their conversations about this Jarmusch film – Coffee and Cigarettes, all taking place in Dutch, although many of them aren’t. I haven’t seen the film so I stayed out, plus I was too busy admiring this collection of linguists. What a moment.. sitting in what could be the key to world piece: Booze and People who talk alot in multiple languages. And of course the icing on the cake, the lovely one I’ve been making pretend shy eye contact with all night comes over. Her secret power, why she is from somewhere between La Paz and Sucre, but with a Dutch parent – so Dutch and Spanish will save the day. A long conversation with her and this pretend superhero was ready to hop on his wire-donkey (bicycle) and head home. That was enough boozing and world saving for one day.

In keeping with the multi-tongued theme of this blog, courtesey of Le Monde, I’ve adopted a few French blogs like: Europe Pour ou Contre and Il y a des questions, and I’ll be reading them on a daily basis until I get bored. Which could be in 48 hours.

Let me not forget to mention that A Line in the Sand, live from Iraq, is back. For those of you who are new here, that’s Chris Missick’s blog. He and I are polar opposites in terms of politics, but in terms of liking discussions and good music, we’re blog pals. For those who can stomach it, he met Rummy this week. (sorry Chris, I obviously don’t dig him, but I enjoyed the pics)

Today’s Sounds: Mates of State – Team Boo (the CD im soon to copy from Aim.)

Many of you have probably never worried about it, and rightfully so, but there are many journalist-scholar types who spend lots and lots of blog space repeatedly asking the question, “Are Blogs Journalism.” I’m not going to bother linking all the boresville names, and ironically one day I might even enjoy meeting some of these deep thinkers. I can see the headline now, BM shunned at Amsterdam Blogger Conference… and then in slightly smaller print: Scholars claim the bicycleman snubbed them back in ’04. Ah well… yet another reason why writing a blog where everyone can know your identity, is dangerous.

Why am I so bitchy towards them? Cause the question bores the shit out of me. Are Bloggers Journalists? Bla bla bla — YES! My simple answer: If they want to be journalists they can be, when they want to be. And then tomorrow then can get back to talking about poo or how it feels to grow older.

I’m pretend scholar, so let me compose myself for a moment, and provide some evidence to back up my gripes. Allow me to present blog reporters at their finest:

Exhibit A: Ms. Thingk, direct from Amsterdam, covering the Hash Olympics which took place over the weekend. While she did not “partoke” in the events, she did cover it down the to wire, which in this case involved a bunch of students passed out on mattresses.

Exhibit B: Blogger, and celebrated Author Tony Pierce, reviews Bob Dylan on 60 minutes, and compiles his own list of superb questions for Mr. Zimmerman. Ed Bradley, sometimes a journalist himself, is outmatched by the busblog.

Like I said… ladies and cowpokes of the jury, when we bloggers want to be journalists.. we are journalists. Doesn’t really matter if the old learned white men recognize us as such.

And finally today, just in case you were wondering – as I was – what to do while in the United States over the holidays… look no further, Winter of Discontent has compiled the perfect list.(note.. you only have until January 20th to do these things)

Today’s Sounds: Badly Drawn Boy – The Hour of Bewilderbeast