You roll out of Funen with your homegrown biker gang five deep, cross a hodgepodge of really-real urbanscape and salt marsh, you bike up a sleek ultramodern loopy bridge that is a veritable mountain (the pained cry of Christy behind me, as we clambered, and I huffed and puffed and focused every muscle on not backsliding - "what...the hell...IS THISSSS..."), past what almost looks like it could be a New Urban Wasteland but is not, and arrive at the lovely zee itself.
The beach is called Blijburg, and translates to "Happyville," and there are many naked children and amiable dogs, many hip parents with long dreadlocks and tall black boots or perhaps Fela tshirts or perhaps lip rings, there is a tiki shack and a restaurant with battered wooden benches and too-melted candles, and there you must pay for your ice cream or your beer (if they believe you are over 16, which if you hang back from the counter and are barefoot and mill awkwardly with your party, some of whom hesitantly and quietly speak broken Dutch, some a melange, some only English, they may not), they give you a red plastic token with a starry "one" in the middle and you wander to a window outside and hand the snarky open-shirted single-earringed teenager the token and he smirks and hands you a towering, shiny cone that looks like it might be made of paint, but is in fact made of air, sugar, cold, heaven. There is a bus of the ancient hippie variety (for sale!) and a blue Model T of the nouveau biker-with-cash variety (not for sale!), and many towering Buddhas throwing up peace signs, an "Om" alter, you do not discover your burns til later - one angry red arm here, one angry red shin there, no burns for those who sported sunscreen (me) or were already tan (Bri) or are genetically gifted (Tim). You wonder at pens notebooks sand in shoes Coke doritos + pesto + cheese (together), you stare blatantly into the sun, you hear we're jammin', we're jammin', I hope you like jammin' too.
So quite a new thing, this day - or rather, its capacities - how full are you of happy? Brimming.
On the way home, I slam into a brick wall on my bike and escape completely unscathed, except for one teeny scrape on my left ring finger knuckle. I SLAMMED INTO A BRICK WALL while going FAST on a BIKE and it did not phase me. Another warning? No one else has had this many accidents, or perhaps to put it better, near misses. I am beginning to wonder.
27 April 2008
26 April 2008
Been a While
I've had other things on my plate. Mostly just procrastination, and some wanderings. Had a picnic one day, on the Herengracht (a canal that I hadn't explored before). Had to break out a sundress/sunscreen, another day, and read outside. Spent one day cooped up reading in the Bibliotheek cafe. Two days ago, we hit up Poptrash, which is a pretty intense dance party at the Melkweg in Leidseplein - every time we've gone, I've groggily emerged from my bed after noon the next day, usually with some ailment - this time, whiplash. All my friends reported soreness. DANCE DANCE DANCE. Yesterday I spent working on my research paper and "making flair" - I won't go into what that means, because it's convoluted and kind of embarrassing, but it basically involves making virtual buttons that you can send to people. I had a pretty great time. Evening came and the posse convened, decided to go rest in the gorgeous half-light at a cafe. Tim led us behind Funen, across a bridge to an island with names reminiscent of Indonesia (Borneolaan, etc.). There we sat and talked and played Monopoly in Dutch (mostly worked out, except we couldn't read a lot of the Community Chest and Chance cards so we sort of arbitrarily decided what they meant.) Kalverstraat is the Boardwalk of Dutch Monopoly - can't say I'm surprised. I also got what might be some of THE BEST nachos I have ever consumed, ever. They were smothered in sour cream (which is a little thicker here), guac, melted cheese, and a sweet chili sauce with it's roots in Indonesia that perfectly complemented everything else. It stayed light out until almost 10, I gawked at the beautiful hypermodern buildings across the water from where we sat, we came home and I read Into the Wild for about five minutes before passing out. Had a strange epic dream that left me, this morning, a little uneasy - it didn't come to a conclusion, but it was surrealist and involved traveling and losing things and small evil salamander-like creatures biting me and it kept looping back on itself. Today, there's been talk of finding a beach and sitting on it. For now, I am writing about Dandyism and reading about homonormativity.
20 April 2008
Keukenhof
Today, went to the Keukenhof. Flowers galore! Took 134 pictures, many with 100% legit nutso colors, which are up on the Flickr. I'm so glad I got to go - really, flowers are pretty beautiful, and it's a whole park chock full! We stayed for four hours, which is approximately two more than I estimated I could spend looking at flowers. Guessed wrong!
Came home, ate vegetables which I had let marinate for 24 hours, and wild rice! Pineapple, snap pea, green bean, onion, garlic. Marinade/sauce: soy, apple cider vinegar, honey, pepper, garlic.
Tonight, Live at the BBQ round 2. The Bitterzoet is great. Everyone is happy there, and hip! A girl near us was wearing a shirt that said "Funky Fresh, In the Flesh." They played Cadillac Grillz and I freaked out.
Love.
Came home, ate vegetables which I had let marinate for 24 hours, and wild rice! Pineapple, snap pea, green bean, onion, garlic. Marinade/sauce: soy, apple cider vinegar, honey, pepper, garlic.
Tonight, Live at the BBQ round 2. The Bitterzoet is great. Everyone is happy there, and hip! A girl near us was wearing a shirt that said "Funky Fresh, In the Flesh." They played Cadillac Grillz and I freaked out.
Love.
16 April 2008
Mon Coeur
This city is officially cemented as a place that I want to live one day. It was a very different experience than the first time around - partly because it was warmer, partly because I was more touristing than visiting, partly because our collective language skills in this nation pale in comparison to those of Andrew and Ben. Still, though, having such a different experience of it, it made my heart burst. Catalunya here I come, hopefully, someday.
My camera battery died immediately. I had foreseen this and packed my charger, but a pretty important piece of the cord didn't make it to Spain, meaning that the majority of my photos are actually Bri's photos. She did such a good job though!
When we arrived it was rainy, and the sole of my boot legitimately, completely fell apart. Like, my toe sticks out. Time to either go to a cobbler, or buy new shoes. We wandered around, up and down the Rambla, in and out of the Boqueria, which is a big beautiful market, by the cathedral (where, incidentally, someone was getting married - must have been weird with all the tourists floating in and out), into a parlor where the waiters wore bow-ties and we ate chocolade (which is like a cross between hot chocolate and chocolate pudding - so rich - it took us a long time to finish), went back and hung out in our hostel. We were calling it the "treehouse," although it wasn't wooden, because our beds were lofted and behind curtains and it felt like we were five and fort-building. It was so cool! The staff were young and punky and there were murals everywhere and there was always loud music playing in the common area. Bri went to bed and Whitney and I attempted to venture out - we wandered not very far, to a bar that looks like a forest and is hidden away behind the wax museum. There are trees and stumps and stuff inside, it's very surreal and lovely and ambient. Retired early.
Day 2 was Tibidabo - you take the metro and emerge into sunlight and buildings that you wish you lived in, and then you hike up an urban mountainside for awhile, and then you take a funicular. And when you get to the top, surprise! There's a huge church with an observation tower, and a charming amusement park! The weather and the views were amazing and we just sort of wandered around in awe for awhile, and took the ferris wheel in awe, and wandered up by the church in awe. Walked to Parc Guell, which was more of the same (beauty, and awe). Afternoon brought us to the Boqueria and the supermercat to buy lunch fixings - Whitney bought a KILO of strawberries for 1.69, which is ridiculous. They were great, became a hassle to carry around though. After some time at the beach they wound up getting sat on, and met with a sad end. We also bought a half kilo of the BEST chorizo I have ever had, and ate it. All of it. Just the two of us. It's amazing how cheap good food can be in Spain - we bought a veritable feast, certainly enough food to last us 24 hours, and it only cost us about 8 euro each. Most of that cost was the meat and cheese - fruit was 1 euro in the market, and bread was 43 cents, and I bought a jar of olives for 83 cents, and it was such a change from Albert Heijn (which, while I am obsessed, costs significantly more). We spent all afternoon blissfully lying on the beach and eating and all evening blissfully wandering from beach to beach. Saw Whitney off on her night bus to Bilbao and retired early, again. We were not party animals, this journey.
Sunday Bri and I had dubbed "animal day," which meant we were going to the zoo and the aquarium. Oh man. The walk down Passeig de Luis Companys and through the Parc de la Ciutadella to the zoo is really beautiful. You walk under the Arc de Triomf and down a palm-lined passageway and then you meander through a park that looks like it belongs in prehistory, or would if the scale were a little bigger. Meaning, the trees have gargantuan trunks and roots and big flat leaves. There is also a mammoth statue! The zoo was big and we spent a lot of time there. There were European bison, and an escaping tortoise, and angry macaws, and tapirs! The aquarium was cool too - there was a shark tunnel, which means that you step onto a slow-moving walkway and there is a huge tank above and in front of you, full of sharks, manta rays, and other gigantic fish. This lasts for about ten minutes. My favorite was the guitar fish, which I can't really describe. But he was cool. Google him! A lot of the sharks had big scars, which made me wonder about their lives before captivity. Or if, perhaps, they fight each other. Being in the shark tunnel when a shark fight broke out would be pretty terrifying. Afternoon was supermercat and beach again. We sat in the same spot on the beach every day, and the beer dudes who roam the city would wander past us with their backpacks muttering "cervesa-beer?" We also witnessed a pretty strange phenomenon, which was a lady roaming the beach selling 5 euro massages. What would that even entail? She was so persistent. "Ola, massagia?" "No, gracias." As she wandered off, clutching her red baseball cap, she would mutter a menacing and drawn-out "Yesss..." This happened to us every day. At night we stumbled, sunburned and exhausted, into one of the numerous beachside eateries. I ordered razor clams, but there were only six of them and my seafood craving hadn't subsided, so while Bri got dessert, I got steamed mussels. A GIANT pot of about 45 steamed mussels. I was shocked at first, but they were unbelievably delicious. And talk about good value! 6.90 for a full tummy that carried me through to the next morning. On our way back to the Metro we saw the Sagrada Familia in the distance and decided to walk there so we could look at it at night. What a good decision. The weather was balmy, the walk was perfect, and the cathedral, lit up at night, is truly the best concrete, man-made expression of awe of heavenly power that I have ever seen. I doubt something more miraculous exists anywhere in the world. We wandered around it in circles, staring, for probably close to an hour. The kind of mind that it takes to put something so ornate and seemingly incongruous, and yet so beautiful, together, is mind-boggling. What I would give to have known Gaudi.
Monday was our last day, and we were spending the night in Girona to catch our early flight back to Nederland, so we wanted to make it count. Got up early, said farewell to the hostel, and climbed to the top of Mont Juic. I think that beach + mountains + city is about as good as it gets, for my soul's odd combination of need for urban grit and natural majesty, old things and new things. Spent the afternoon, again, on our little stretch of beach, but were driven away by wind and clouds. We went to bed super early once we got to Girona, in preparation for early rising. But the hotel was really cool! Even though it was next to the airport. The woman insisted on PACKING US a continental breakfast, because we would miss theirs and it was included in the price of the room. What service!
Came back to Amsterdam, which, while cold in comparison, was still shining and welcoming and wonderful.
How do I contend with such a big part of my heart having been ceded to these European cities? Moreover, how do I contend with such big parts of my heart being ceded to so many places - to Buffalo, to Glacier, to North Truro, to Eagle, to Minneapolis? When will it reach capacity, when will it burst, will it burst? I am only 20. Imagine what could happen if I (godwilling) continue to explore my country and the rest of the world and find outlooks, people, streets, buildings, skies, oceans, graffiti, friends that I cannot bear to always leave behind. And how, when so many places grip my heart, do I decide on a place to settle?
My camera battery died immediately. I had foreseen this and packed my charger, but a pretty important piece of the cord didn't make it to Spain, meaning that the majority of my photos are actually Bri's photos. She did such a good job though!
When we arrived it was rainy, and the sole of my boot legitimately, completely fell apart. Like, my toe sticks out. Time to either go to a cobbler, or buy new shoes. We wandered around, up and down the Rambla, in and out of the Boqueria, which is a big beautiful market, by the cathedral (where, incidentally, someone was getting married - must have been weird with all the tourists floating in and out), into a parlor where the waiters wore bow-ties and we ate chocolade (which is like a cross between hot chocolate and chocolate pudding - so rich - it took us a long time to finish), went back and hung out in our hostel. We were calling it the "treehouse," although it wasn't wooden, because our beds were lofted and behind curtains and it felt like we were five and fort-building. It was so cool! The staff were young and punky and there were murals everywhere and there was always loud music playing in the common area. Bri went to bed and Whitney and I attempted to venture out - we wandered not very far, to a bar that looks like a forest and is hidden away behind the wax museum. There are trees and stumps and stuff inside, it's very surreal and lovely and ambient. Retired early.
Day 2 was Tibidabo - you take the metro and emerge into sunlight and buildings that you wish you lived in, and then you hike up an urban mountainside for awhile, and then you take a funicular. And when you get to the top, surprise! There's a huge church with an observation tower, and a charming amusement park! The weather and the views were amazing and we just sort of wandered around in awe for awhile, and took the ferris wheel in awe, and wandered up by the church in awe. Walked to Parc Guell, which was more of the same (beauty, and awe). Afternoon brought us to the Boqueria and the supermercat to buy lunch fixings - Whitney bought a KILO of strawberries for 1.69, which is ridiculous. They were great, became a hassle to carry around though. After some time at the beach they wound up getting sat on, and met with a sad end. We also bought a half kilo of the BEST chorizo I have ever had, and ate it. All of it. Just the two of us. It's amazing how cheap good food can be in Spain - we bought a veritable feast, certainly enough food to last us 24 hours, and it only cost us about 8 euro each. Most of that cost was the meat and cheese - fruit was 1 euro in the market, and bread was 43 cents, and I bought a jar of olives for 83 cents, and it was such a change from Albert Heijn (which, while I am obsessed, costs significantly more). We spent all afternoon blissfully lying on the beach and eating and all evening blissfully wandering from beach to beach. Saw Whitney off on her night bus to Bilbao and retired early, again. We were not party animals, this journey.
Sunday Bri and I had dubbed "animal day," which meant we were going to the zoo and the aquarium. Oh man. The walk down Passeig de Luis Companys and through the Parc de la Ciutadella to the zoo is really beautiful. You walk under the Arc de Triomf and down a palm-lined passageway and then you meander through a park that looks like it belongs in prehistory, or would if the scale were a little bigger. Meaning, the trees have gargantuan trunks and roots and big flat leaves. There is also a mammoth statue! The zoo was big and we spent a lot of time there. There were European bison, and an escaping tortoise, and angry macaws, and tapirs! The aquarium was cool too - there was a shark tunnel, which means that you step onto a slow-moving walkway and there is a huge tank above and in front of you, full of sharks, manta rays, and other gigantic fish. This lasts for about ten minutes. My favorite was the guitar fish, which I can't really describe. But he was cool. Google him! A lot of the sharks had big scars, which made me wonder about their lives before captivity. Or if, perhaps, they fight each other. Being in the shark tunnel when a shark fight broke out would be pretty terrifying. Afternoon was supermercat and beach again. We sat in the same spot on the beach every day, and the beer dudes who roam the city would wander past us with their backpacks muttering "cervesa-beer?" We also witnessed a pretty strange phenomenon, which was a lady roaming the beach selling 5 euro massages. What would that even entail? She was so persistent. "Ola, massagia?" "No, gracias." As she wandered off, clutching her red baseball cap, she would mutter a menacing and drawn-out "Yesss..." This happened to us every day. At night we stumbled, sunburned and exhausted, into one of the numerous beachside eateries. I ordered razor clams, but there were only six of them and my seafood craving hadn't subsided, so while Bri got dessert, I got steamed mussels. A GIANT pot of about 45 steamed mussels. I was shocked at first, but they were unbelievably delicious. And talk about good value! 6.90 for a full tummy that carried me through to the next morning. On our way back to the Metro we saw the Sagrada Familia in the distance and decided to walk there so we could look at it at night. What a good decision. The weather was balmy, the walk was perfect, and the cathedral, lit up at night, is truly the best concrete, man-made expression of awe of heavenly power that I have ever seen. I doubt something more miraculous exists anywhere in the world. We wandered around it in circles, staring, for probably close to an hour. The kind of mind that it takes to put something so ornate and seemingly incongruous, and yet so beautiful, together, is mind-boggling. What I would give to have known Gaudi.
Monday was our last day, and we were spending the night in Girona to catch our early flight back to Nederland, so we wanted to make it count. Got up early, said farewell to the hostel, and climbed to the top of Mont Juic. I think that beach + mountains + city is about as good as it gets, for my soul's odd combination of need for urban grit and natural majesty, old things and new things. Spent the afternoon, again, on our little stretch of beach, but were driven away by wind and clouds. We went to bed super early once we got to Girona, in preparation for early rising. But the hotel was really cool! Even though it was next to the airport. The woman insisted on PACKING US a continental breakfast, because we would miss theirs and it was included in the price of the room. What service!
Came back to Amsterdam, which, while cold in comparison, was still shining and welcoming and wonderful.
How do I contend with such a big part of my heart having been ceded to these European cities? Moreover, how do I contend with such big parts of my heart being ceded to so many places - to Buffalo, to Glacier, to North Truro, to Eagle, to Minneapolis? When will it reach capacity, when will it burst, will it burst? I am only 20. Imagine what could happen if I (godwilling) continue to explore my country and the rest of the world and find outlooks, people, streets, buildings, skies, oceans, graffiti, friends that I cannot bear to always leave behind. And how, when so many places grip my heart, do I decide on a place to settle?
10 April 2008
Today Was Good.
Yesterday, in Fun Hour With Letje, I decided that it's important to me to make my project not just straight-up research, but also an experiment with narrative, memory, reflection, oral history. Amping up my subjectivity as researcher, basically, and seeing what comes out of it. I'm excited.
Today, for Squiggling Ocean (the writing roundtable that Bri and Nick and Tim and i hold weekly), I actually submitted something new. Well, that's not entirely true. It was born out of a freewrite that I did in Parc de la Ciutadella when I was in Barcelona, so fragments of it are old, but it is basically new. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, if it is dull or productively tense; if it is absurd, or boring for people who don't know French. I kept thinking about Mary Poppins In the Park when I was writing it. I'm excited to go back for round two! Even if I will not have the advantage of a good friend and tour guide, this time.
For your viewing pleasure.
Partout, n'Importe Où, Le Coeur Casse
Pigeon poop.
Gratis.
Hungry.
Parc.
Bonsoir?
Elle ne dit pas bonsoir?
Men and pigeons.
What?
The scent of fresh feces.
Tu marches trop vite pour moi.
Je ne peux plus t’ignore.
Qui en plus?
Vieux hommes whistling a tune.
Welcome to umbrella leaves tickling your head-top,
Stylish mothers wheeling strollers.
In Turkïye, you go and sit down next to someone you don’t know, you say
“Hello uncle, how are you, fine weather today,"
And in this country they look at you like you are a murderer.
Where did I get off the Metro?
Where you at, crayzee?
Duh, bébé, I am hungry for this.
Maybe appetite is not as urgent a breathing thing as I thought, once.
Torrent,
If you do not turn around.
If you do not open your eyes, if we do not meet just yet.
If we do not find what we are looking for here.
If I do not know what direction you are coming from, if maybe you have forgotten me,
If perhaps I get a little cold waiting;
If I see you emerge calm from the mer of scenester bikers jumping twirling, and smile,
If the pigeons are smiling also,
If we do not understand foreign airports,
You home?
I would have guessed you were French.
I would have guessed you were from Ireland,
I would have guessed you would have learned Spanish before coming here.
I would not have guessed, from your demeanor, that you missed me ever or at all.
Where you first jumped off the boat.
How high, my man, how high?
This time she will pick up.
This time we will climb the montagne.
Who bought food for this journey,
Pain and chorizo, drinks and drinks.
As I said, skip to skip on the boardwalk as we passed your ship,
How high?
Made in Espagne,
Si,
Si,
Claro,
Oui,
Oui,
Claire.
Today, for Squiggling Ocean (the writing roundtable that Bri and Nick and Tim and i hold weekly), I actually submitted something new. Well, that's not entirely true. It was born out of a freewrite that I did in Parc de la Ciutadella when I was in Barcelona, so fragments of it are old, but it is basically new. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, if it is dull or productively tense; if it is absurd, or boring for people who don't know French. I kept thinking about Mary Poppins In the Park when I was writing it. I'm excited to go back for round two! Even if I will not have the advantage of a good friend and tour guide, this time.
For your viewing pleasure.
Partout, n'Importe Où, Le Coeur Casse
Pigeon poop.
Gratis.
Hungry.
Parc.
Bonsoir?
Elle ne dit pas bonsoir?
Men and pigeons.
What?
The scent of fresh feces.
Tu marches trop vite pour moi.
Je ne peux plus t’ignore.
Qui en plus?
Vieux hommes whistling a tune.
Welcome to umbrella leaves tickling your head-top,
Stylish mothers wheeling strollers.
In Turkïye, you go and sit down next to someone you don’t know, you say
“Hello uncle, how are you, fine weather today,"
And in this country they look at you like you are a murderer.
Where did I get off the Metro?
Where you at, crayzee?
Duh, bébé, I am hungry for this.
Maybe appetite is not as urgent a breathing thing as I thought, once.
Torrent,
If you do not turn around.
If you do not open your eyes, if we do not meet just yet.
If we do not find what we are looking for here.
If I do not know what direction you are coming from, if maybe you have forgotten me,
If perhaps I get a little cold waiting;
If I see you emerge calm from the mer of scenester bikers jumping twirling, and smile,
If the pigeons are smiling also,
If we do not understand foreign airports,
You home?
I would have guessed you were French.
I would have guessed you were from Ireland,
I would have guessed you would have learned Spanish before coming here.
I would not have guessed, from your demeanor, that you missed me ever or at all.
Where you first jumped off the boat.
How high, my man, how high?
This time she will pick up.
This time we will climb the montagne.
Who bought food for this journey,
Pain and chorizo, drinks and drinks.
As I said, skip to skip on the boardwalk as we passed your ship,
How high?
Made in Espagne,
Si,
Si,
Claro,
Oui,
Oui,
Claire.
09 April 2008
Academia, What?
It's been a pretty uneventful week, except for the daily joys of trundling about the city, looking at beautiful things, eating, playing with my friends, blah blah blah. I'm going back to Barcelona for the weekend, with Bri and Whitney, which I'm super pumped for.
Last Friday I had a meeting with Mattias, my Masculinity + Migration professor, and it was unbelievably fruitful. it was nice to be in the house of an academic, drinking tea, and surrounded by books and plants and talking about gender theory. He gave me a lot of really useful books and contacts that will help to further my project. For example, he asked me if I had read anything by Paul van Gelder, who is THE Dutch male prostitution expert. No, I said, because his work hasn't been translated into English. "Oh!" said Mattias, "But you know, you could talk to him! You will like each other very much!" And at the end of our meeting, I left his house with Paul van Gelder's email address in hand. It is times like that that I am sure that academia is where I belong.
But there are also other times. I emailed Christine a while back to update her and get an update (Christine, for those of you who don't know, is the woman who brought me into the WGSS fold where I since have been comfortably residing). I also wanted to pick her brain about History of Consciousness. She sent me back a nice long email chock-a-block full of the humor and bluntness that I had forgotten made me love her, and with a lot of information about the program. She talked about it as if she thought I could probably get in, if I play my cards right - and then she went into detail about what those cards are. it's not anything out of this world, but it reminded me that the life of an academic is more than sitting surrounded by books and papers and having revelations and publishing books that People Like and having cozy meetings with your students wherein you change their lives a little. It's also strenuous, and political - the politics of getting into grad school, the politics of doing and writing the right things to get you money and a job, the politics of academic self-representation. Maybe it's just because I'm still a little worn from the rigamarole that I went through with high school and IB and college applications, but I'm not sure that I have the patience for those games. Where does that leave me, though? I can't envision what my life would be without school, pens, books, an intellectual community. Maybe I just need to grow up a little before I can enter that world, and let go of my vague and unrealistic hopes of being a prodigy. Or maybe I need to use my mind to radically shape an intellectual world around myself and my beliefs. Possible? I don't know. Mostly, what I know is that I want to think and write as much as possible. I'm not sure that the sort of thinking and writing actually matters to me very much at all.
Last Friday I had a meeting with Mattias, my Masculinity + Migration professor, and it was unbelievably fruitful. it was nice to be in the house of an academic, drinking tea, and surrounded by books and plants and talking about gender theory. He gave me a lot of really useful books and contacts that will help to further my project. For example, he asked me if I had read anything by Paul van Gelder, who is THE Dutch male prostitution expert. No, I said, because his work hasn't been translated into English. "Oh!" said Mattias, "But you know, you could talk to him! You will like each other very much!" And at the end of our meeting, I left his house with Paul van Gelder's email address in hand. It is times like that that I am sure that academia is where I belong.
But there are also other times. I emailed Christine a while back to update her and get an update (Christine, for those of you who don't know, is the woman who brought me into the WGSS fold where I since have been comfortably residing). I also wanted to pick her brain about History of Consciousness. She sent me back a nice long email chock-a-block full of the humor and bluntness that I had forgotten made me love her, and with a lot of information about the program. She talked about it as if she thought I could probably get in, if I play my cards right - and then she went into detail about what those cards are. it's not anything out of this world, but it reminded me that the life of an academic is more than sitting surrounded by books and papers and having revelations and publishing books that People Like and having cozy meetings with your students wherein you change their lives a little. It's also strenuous, and political - the politics of getting into grad school, the politics of doing and writing the right things to get you money and a job, the politics of academic self-representation. Maybe it's just because I'm still a little worn from the rigamarole that I went through with high school and IB and college applications, but I'm not sure that I have the patience for those games. Where does that leave me, though? I can't envision what my life would be without school, pens, books, an intellectual community. Maybe I just need to grow up a little before I can enter that world, and let go of my vague and unrealistic hopes of being a prodigy. Or maybe I need to use my mind to radically shape an intellectual world around myself and my beliefs. Possible? I don't know. Mostly, what I know is that I want to think and write as much as possible. I'm not sure that the sort of thinking and writing actually matters to me very much at all.
03 April 2008
April 2nd
I mark this day (all these days, really) with a white stone. That's what Lewis Carroll said about days that were really perfect some way or another. Yesterday was the first tangible spring. Occasional drizzle, of course ("April does what it wants."), but a lot of sun and ridiculous cloudscapes, a soft twilight that lasted until 8, etcetera.
Had tea as per usual, fresh mint this time which is a brilliant green color, and Christy and Nate had open-faced sandwiches as well which are always delicious. I did not have one because I had cheesecake, which was also delicious. There was lemon yogurt on top!
Witnessed an anticlimactic bike-on-pedestrian collision - the cyclist rolled his eyes and the pedestrian laughed and stepped back up to the curb, cigarette still in hand. No words were had, and no one fell over. I guess my bike-on-pedestrian collision was dramatic because I am incompetent, and because we both fell over.
Wandered down de Warmoestraat and Zeedijk, which are very close-together streets, narrow with tall buildings, so you feel like you're in a city fortress. Passed the Chinese bakery which was, once again, closed. Passed a place where they have dim sum! Passed the place where we once ate waffles dripping in pink frosting and chocolate sauce. Stepped out into Nieuwmarkt, which is a pretty big deal (but I had never been there). There is a lot of open space and a big church, and some mosaiced benches that look like they belong in Barcelona. Sat on one of said benches for some time, and looked at the happy group of Dutch ragamuffins sitting across from us, juggling and rolling a joint. Some bicycle police came by and talked to them sternly for a while, but then they got derailed by another pair of bicycle police and all stood around in a jolly circle and did nothing. Both the juggling and the joint-rolling continued.
Walked to the OBA, stood at the cafe's roof-deck and soaked in the wonderful evening. Took lots of photos, including this one of the Nemo (there's a science museum in there). If you look closely between the masts of the pirate ship you will see the windmill. That means home! The light was beautiful, the library was beautiful, the clouds were beautiful, the water was beautiful, the company was beautiful. Came home and watched "Martian Child," which was also beautiful. John Cusack as adoptive father of dysfunctional child. Glued the sole of my boot back together. Bed.
Had tea as per usual, fresh mint this time which is a brilliant green color, and Christy and Nate had open-faced sandwiches as well which are always delicious. I did not have one because I had cheesecake, which was also delicious. There was lemon yogurt on top!
Witnessed an anticlimactic bike-on-pedestrian collision - the cyclist rolled his eyes and the pedestrian laughed and stepped back up to the curb, cigarette still in hand. No words were had, and no one fell over. I guess my bike-on-pedestrian collision was dramatic because I am incompetent, and because we both fell over.
Wandered down de Warmoestraat and Zeedijk, which are very close-together streets, narrow with tall buildings, so you feel like you're in a city fortress. Passed the Chinese bakery which was, once again, closed. Passed a place where they have dim sum! Passed the place where we once ate waffles dripping in pink frosting and chocolate sauce. Stepped out into Nieuwmarkt, which is a pretty big deal (but I had never been there). There is a lot of open space and a big church, and some mosaiced benches that look like they belong in Barcelona. Sat on one of said benches for some time, and looked at the happy group of Dutch ragamuffins sitting across from us, juggling and rolling a joint. Some bicycle police came by and talked to them sternly for a while, but then they got derailed by another pair of bicycle police and all stood around in a jolly circle and did nothing. Both the juggling and the joint-rolling continued.
Walked to the OBA, stood at the cafe's roof-deck and soaked in the wonderful evening. Took lots of photos, including this one of the Nemo (there's a science museum in there). If you look closely between the masts of the pirate ship you will see the windmill. That means home! The light was beautiful, the library was beautiful, the clouds were beautiful, the water was beautiful, the company was beautiful. Came home and watched "Martian Child," which was also beautiful. John Cusack as adoptive father of dysfunctional child. Glued the sole of my boot back together. Bed.
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