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September 08, 2002 : flat tires
Our Sunday journey to the library found us waking to a flat tire. No problem, we inflated it, put the pump in our backpack and went anyway. We had to get pictures for the Magneet. This was a definite. I'm a fan of do-it-yourself sort of design, but this was an emergency. We had to find a group shot, a cover image, and an image that would be suitable for an article on Alcoholics Anonymous. Yes, it's the same world-over. We made it to the library fine. The tire held up like brand new. It's a little squishy anyway as a hand pump can rarely do much once it gets hard to pump. We busied ourselves with art books, checked out a couple of cds and returned to a completely deflated tire. We pumped it up again and as by the time we got 2 blocks away is was completely flat. Since I'm an experienced driver, I know that driving on rims is no healthy for the rim, so I said, "Eva, we've got to walk it." This was not the most luxurious option, so we tried inflating it again, only to get just down the street before it was rim-to-pavement again. We walked it. Oh yes, we walked it. We first tried to walk it with the motor off. It's a small little scooter, but it's heavy. We decided on walking it with the motor on (because the tire was fine as long as this big girl and her small companion weren't on it!) We looked quite the pair. If we don’t' get enough stares when we are on it, we certainly got our fill by walking a scooter that runs perfectly on the sidewalk. My father made a funny remark as I relayed the story to him later on the phone. "Well," he said, "some people walk their dogs, you just happen to enjoy walking your scooter." J We didn’t really enjoy it, in fact it was quite humiliating. We ended up getting halfway and then parking it, getting a sandwich, and enjoying the last-days-of-summer by eating it in the park. We watched a couple of guys do that crazy Brazilian non-contact kick-boxing (the name is lost on me) and then we headed home. Not before we sampled yet another version of Fanta in an effort to find the new Fanta that tastes like carbonated grapefruit juice. Eva thinks it's the one we got today, but I thought today's variety was disgusting. I guess we'll never find it again. Maybe the one we're looking for was actually a fluke can…discontinued shortly thereafter. Much like Jumpin' Jack Doritos in a black bag…Doritos I was a fan of until I never saw them again. I think I enjoyed them for all of one softball season…maybe the year 1993? So the scooter. How will we live without it? We're already so used to being able to hope on it at will! It's already a part of our lifestyle! Now I'm on a quest for Fix-A-Flat…which I have no idea whether or not such a strange concoction exists in my new strange land. IN THE NEWS:
September 09, 2002 : dutch, round 2
Since I'm not attempting the immersion route, I might as well give it another go with Dutch, round 2. I will go to every class I can. I will do my homework. I will try to review my papers outside of class. I will try to talk with strangers. I will work on past tense. Etc. I boarded the tram, and if I ever knew what it was like to be deaf, it was today. It was like being in a world with the sound turned off. The tram was packed. Not standing packed, but seat filled. Not commuters, because it was nearing 1. It was lunchtime. People going from somewhere to home or returning from half-day jobs. I don't know. But it was silent. Not a soul stirred. Everyone just sat there still and quite. In the position of sitting, knees forward…very strange. And since I am in to "blending" and since the American in me speaks only English, I did not attempt to alter the tram situation by conversation. I was glued to my seat staring out the window and marveling at the lack of sound. The class was wonderful. I was so nervous that I would be far behind people completely at ease conversing in their new taal. But low and behold, I think I can keep up. We are a strange group of people hailing from the corners of the globe. We did the basic, "Ik ben Andrea" and watched a short video. I actually have homework on the first day! I get home completely full of energy and glee. Yes, glee. I think it's going to be a good experience this time around. I enjoyed my last teacher a lot, but I wasn't dedicated…and to be quite honest, I was intimidated with 20+ people with a vast majority hailing from areas of the world where, shall we say, Americans are not so favored?! It didn't help that as we were leaving the last registration night some guy said something about Osama and how the Americans were here… This class just seems better. It's small and the people are all in good humor. We are a sincere smile and chuckle lot. At least that is my impression from the first day. Give it a month, huh? J I made hamburgers for dinner. Gorgeously decorated with grated emental, tomatoes, and avocados. A real "California" style hamburger. (at least I have heard them refered as that when you go to a specialty hamburger joint.) I had it all set out and no sooner does Eva take 2 bites then she goes into a complete panic. I see it spread across her face. She sprints around the apartment (our small apartment) and then questions me about what she had in her hands when she came home. Nothing. Since the story varies from people group to people group, I will leave it at this. Eva left something on the train because she was so in to her music and fiddling with the cd player that she left it there on the table. It ended up better than expected, we did make several trips to the station and returned to cold hamburgers that were even better once reheated. Eva claims she's unorganized. I don’t' know if it's that or she just happened to leave work stuff on the train. It's bound to happen. After all, a friend of a friend that works for Big Brother left her sensitive Big Brother material (complete with psychological profiles of contenstans) in her car which was then stolen. It happens. J Post traumatic stress found me ready to work on De Magneet and do another round of Satellite Love. Which proved to be quite interesting. IN THE NEWS:
September 10, 2002 : days before
Today saw me attend my second day of my new session of Nederlands. I managed to study briefly before I headed out and quickly did the night's homework. I had to come up with 3 new questions about Belgium and 1 paragraph about my homeland. 3 Vragen 1 paragraaf over mijn land The funny thing is, when I read out my paragraph in class I did the most gruesome and hilarious error regarding one particular word. The word for rabbit and king are very similar, and so I read out that in my land we have no rabbit, but a president. It was very funny. My teacher laughed about it more than the rest of the students, because maybe they would have made the same error. Eva thought it was pretty funny too. Tonight we went to Tom and Ilse's to do some scanning for De Magneet. I am not a fan of plagiarism, but when you're on a tight schedule, what else can you do? We managed to bookmark some decent images in the books we got yesterday from the library and Tom was happy to scan them for me. Tom and I stumbled upon yet another great Photoshop shortcut, the Actions. Since I learned Photoshop by using, I stumbled upon Actions only a couple of years ago. I use them for doing time-consuming tasks like creating web-ready photos for Bracketland and the thumbnails…all done with one push of one function key. But tonight we added three steps I have never tried…the addition of "selecting" and "copying" and then "closing"!!!! Wow! So I guess being a graphic designer isn't so bad when you continually learn about the programs you use…but being a programmer still sounds more technically interesting. Oh well, there is always my next life. Now I shall settle for making logos and websites in a standard markup language which is so easy most anyone could learn it. I am nothing special, really when everyone has a copy of photoshop! Moving right along… So we had a long night at Tom and Ilse's. With Ilse out of work and Tom being a person that can run on little or no sleep, Eva seemed to be the only thing holding us back from even a longer night. Of course one thing on all of our minds was tomorrow. Tonight being the night that Eva and I arrived in New York a year ago, and tomorrow being the day that would change lots of things for lots of people. I'm not going to make it out to be something it's not, but it was pretty amazing to be there. More on that tomorrow, I guess. Tonight I probably willed something to happen tomorrow just for the sake of new news. Do I feel like something else will happen? I don't know. I think probably yes. Or then again, no. I mean, why do it on a high-security day? Why not choose a random day, your grandfather's birthday or Mohammed's favorite day or something. Or 11 days from the time that you converted to Islam or something...the anniversary of your arrival to an Al Quieda training camp. Or not at all. We voted. Iwas the only person that though something might happen. Ilse was of the camp that something would happen but not terrorist related…some crazy American getting attention for his cause. (she said, "American's are crazy like that…") And I think I was the only one that thought perhaps….just perhaps. I probably wouldn't cross the Golden Gate tomorrow if I was back in SF. I'm just letting the terrorist's win with such an attitude, aren't I? ;) IN THE NEWS:
September 11, 2002 : where were you when?
For memory's sake when I am too old to remember or when I have sensationalized it because it sounds better. I believe I was brushing my teeth. I was sort of meandering around the living-room and Julie was sitting on the couch putting on her shoes. Eva was sitting on the couch or getting socks from the bedroom. We were all readying ourselves to go into Manhattan and drop my stuff of at the Belgian consulate to get signed and stamped and then have lunch/drinks at Windows of the World Cafe. This is true. I remember Julie saying something like, "It's a great place because you don't have to pay the money to go to the top which is one floor above you, you're still the tallest building in the city, and you're eating and drinking looking out over the city." Alma and Julie had just taken Julie's parents there for their anniversary a few weeks before and had marveled at how cool it was. It sounded like fun. Julie was watching the news for the weather. Suddenly there is a news bulletin that one of the Twin Towers had been hit by an airplane. I spit out my toothpaste and joined them on the couch. "What?" "A plane just flew into Tower 1 of the WTC." And then we started listening to people calling in on their mobile phones that saw it." The newscaster was saying that it was a small plane. It could happen. You're flying a small plane that is out of control and there are big buildings in the way. The next caller says, "No. It wasn't small. It was a huge plane." The newscaster doesn't know what to say. Of course from the footage of the fire shooting out of the building it looks small. I only say this because the buildings are so large that you can't make out anything in relation to the buildings. Of course it looked like a small plane to some people and large one to others. It was, of course, quite a good sized plane. We go out through the front door and across the street where at the end of the street part of the only Manhattan skyline you can see are two towers, one obviously on fire, smoke already trailing out what seems like for miles. I take pictures. They start showing live footage from news helicopters, we're glued to the screen. Julie is already trying to call friends/family/coworkers. We're watching the footage when we see a blip of something and then fireball in Tower II. "Oh my god." I tell Eva. "That's no accident." I think we're in shock. We didn't know yet that it was a plane, I'm thinking bomb. We find out it was a plane. We take more pictures. Julies trying to call everyone and anyone. Eva and I go outside and we take a few more pictures. A little old lady comes out teary-eyed and says that her nephew works there or grandson or whatever. She names the floor and I believe we hug her. She's out there on the street in her house-shoes and housecoat looking at burning buildings 3 miles from her house. We all are. Back inside we hear about the Pentagon. And quite honestly I thought the end of the world was at hand. I say this to Eva. We think that all around the country things are going to happen. In every city. They started letting us know how many planes were still in the sky. I don't know what the relationship of each thing is to the other in respect to time. I don't know when we heard about the plane in the middle of Pennsylvania. All I know is that we're sitting on the couch watching this happen through the television, and almost like it was through our television, through the walls, and there it was happening. It was all set up in the right direction. Remove the walls and the houses that separated us and there were the burning towers facing us. And the footage is amazing. They start replaying things. We see the footage of the second plane literally going into the building. It makes us sick to our stomachs. Over and over again. They start showing pictures of people with blood all over them and emergency workers running toward the site...and they start interviewing a somewhat-hysterical-calmed 20-something about her experience/escape route since she worked in the towers or near them when we see out of the backdrop behind her (the backdrop being burning buildings) that one of the buildings is falling to the ground. She screams and says, "Oh my god, oh my god, it's falling, the building is falling, it's gone." For a brief few seconds no one picks up on this. They go back to live shots and it's like the delay you hear in an amphitheater. Something happens and then the delay before you hear it. The live shots obviously show only one tower remaining a lots of dust/smoke from the other. "Oh my god, Eva, it's gone." Eva agrees but they aren't saying anything about it on TV. "I only see one, don't you?" I ask Eva. "Yeah, there's only one." And we go outside. Another picture. One tower and then smoke/dust. On to the footage of dust and smoke hurling through the streets like a wall of water. Unbelievable. People are covered. It's some of the most amazing footage I've ever seen. Alma's dad is in the cloud of dust. She later goes to see him and he's in shock as well. His shoes have rubble stuck in the bottoms and are white. "I guess I'll have to get these shined" he says something along those lines. He had to walk across one of the bridges along with all of the other thousands of people. He wanted to find his son that was working just a few buildings away. Was he ok? He was fine. The seconds of delay are over and it's obvious now that the tower has fallen. And then it happens again. More dust. I take another picture. No towers. The phones are tied up and/or dead. We're stuck to the couch while Julie tries to get ahold of their friend Denise who worked there. She can't get ahold of her. She keeps trying. Alma is a schoolteacher and just wants to come home. She has to stay with the kids at school because they don't know how many people died and who doesn't have parents to go home to. Parents can't get home anyway because of the roads and they stay until 7 or 8. So the whole day we watch the television. We click from this station to that station and they're all showing the same things. We see the images of dust covered people standing in shock, crying people with comforting neighbors, planes flying into buildings, people running from walls of dust, bloodied people being helped by their coworkers, and the stories start coming from the people that were in the buildings about disabled people left behind and those that stayed with them, the calmness of people in the stairwells, stories. Real life. Not movies. What more can I say? We were there. We were going to lunch there. Can I be one of the people that says, "if they had waited until lunchtime or early afternoon for the building to be completely packed...We'd be dead." Or can I say that it was the most amazing thing I've ever been involved in? The most surreal experience that my country's world was changing right in my back yard? You could feel it. You could smell the smoke. And we immediately wanted to go see it. Who wouldn't? It was unbelievable. Unbelievable. And I want that to be the closest I ever get to tragedy. They don't get ahold of Denise but they get ahold of someone that knows she's ok. They get ahold of their parents and all siblings are accounted for. Then everyone starts getting the feeling that they know someone who was missing. Alma's and Julie's last landlord's son-in-law that just had a new baby was an emergency worker. And the afternoon/night/late-night goes on and we will it to be ok. We watch hours and hours of the same footage over and over. We would watch it for weeks on end...right up until the time it would be called the War on Terror and the time that Eva and I would finally get my information to a Consulate office by mail (Chicago) and we were on our way to Belgium. That was where we were. That is what we were doing. And it was in real-time. Unfortunately, already a year has past and the memories are not as vivid as they were. I remember the toothpaste, the couch, the old lady, the facts I have now recorded. It's not over the top, it's just how it happened. A bit dry, but what can you say? It's not a story, it really happened that way.
September 12, 2002 : more of yesterday, written today
Last night Eva and I ordered a family pack of Chinese food from a local shop (the best meal value in the whole of Europe probably) and sprawled ourselves in front of the TV. I was supposed to have spent the day working on the Holebi Antwerp Magazine we're taking over from Marc (the new-apartment-we're-not-getting-guy) but I didn't get up until 10 something and I watched the plane crashes online through the BBC again, and Eva wanted me to meet her in Mechelen because she was taking the afternoon off to run some errands. Errands for the future. How is that for public vagueness? It took up the bulk of the rest of our day. The day we had both reserved for De Magneet work and I had reserved for American panic. Panic just below the skin waiting to jump out at the slightest tragedy back home. Just as we had voted 2 nights ago, nothing happened. Eva and I got home in time to have the phone ring and people request to see the apartment tonight. Great idea, but we don't have the keys and Marc's new place is int he center of town. We get to the tram stop and the tram is coming up when we realize we don't have any money. We go back home and take the bikes. We get to his street and realize that we don't know his address. (Eva doesn't really feel well at this point in time, so everything is pretty foggy for her) We mange to find it, take the tour, and arrive back to the new apartment in time to meet the two girls who end up loving it and wanting the apartment. "Well talk to the agency and call you tomorrow" Eva tells them. We come home relieved that the apartment is proving to be a good catch to others as well. We had considered it a great deal, just not a good enough deal that we could live there. Good enough that we wanted to rent it, just not good enough to move in. ;) And now the chinese food. You have to order 20 Euros worth to deliver. If you buy two meals it's about 4 euros under. So we bought the family pack. (we're thinking tasty sampler) I kid you not the chinese food arrived in a huge box. Huge box. Stacked neatly inside were 4 Huge meal portions, one entire sack full of pork rinds, and a liter container full of tomato soup. By far the best deal in Antwerp. And so we sprawled ourselves out on the couch. The ibook, still waiting to be used for De Magneet, sitting there on the couch beside me. (no this is not a computer tragedy story!) And then we turned on the TV. A luxury we never seem to do because of time and reception. We managed to find a movie on one channel and then we switched it to the other one, only this one was less received, good picture, bad sound. I twiddled with the knobs and antennae and soon we had nearly perfect both. And we started unpacking the food and laying it out on the coffee chest (otherwise known as small coffee-table) it was a 9-11 documentary about firefighters. Two French brothers had gone to NYC to do a documentary about becoming a firefighter and all they needed to have all of their footage was a fire. You know the footage from the first tower? The firemen working on a regular small job and then they look up and see the airplane. That's the younger brother filming. It moves from normal day to chaos, and the more we unpack the food and try to get settled we realize how amazing it was. Both brothers end up in the midst of it. The younger brother ending up in the lobby of Tower I. There is confusion and hundreds of fire-fighters. You hear on the film the people jumping out of the windows above and landing on the roof. You see stunned people arrive out of a jammed elevator no knowing what had happened because they had been in it from before the first crash. I don't know. We ate slowly. It seemed strange to eat Chinese food in our cozy living-room couch in our cozy little apartment watching tragedy. By the end of the film we were numb an teary-eyed. We didn't say much, my arm on her leg, her occasional lean into me. If you get the chance to see it, see it. Not because it's sensationalized, just because it's real. Real enough to know that everyone in the world knew more about what was going on than the firefighters inside. Everyone outside knew that a plane hit II as well, and then the pentagon, and then also knew that the second one had fallen. They were just trudging up the stairs at one floor a minute they guessed...because of all of the gear. Enough of that. We called Allie and Julie back in NYC to see how they were, not 9-11 related, we just knew they'd be thinking of us as well, so it's a good time to call. I've decided to call again in a couple of weeks just so 9-11 doesn't become some sort of holiday, though I suppose it always will. IN THE NEWS:
September 13, 2002 : and now fascism.
It might not be fascism exactly, but it's unfair. And to be honest, I understand if you've had problems in the past with certain types of people, you don't want to have to rent to them. But let's make it general. People speaking Russian. This could include half of Europe. (the eastern portion at least) Who is to say that renter-wannabes from half of Europe can't rent from the agency where we rented our new apartment? The two girls spoke Russian. One was blond-headed, blue-eyed and the other was typically Slavic looking. 20-something. Loved the place. Eager to rent but don't have Belgian papers. This didn't really give us a red flag, as it sounds illegal to not rent to people who fulfill the obligations of an apartment. If you can pay the deposit and the first month's rent and don't have a dog...then what's the problem? How can you legally say, "You can't live here." Well the agency did. They told Eva on the phone that they didn't want to rent to Russians. Ok, huge Russian/Polish Jewish family with 5 kids, yes. Two Russian-speaking 20-somethings, no. Maybe they just had a problem with some Russians recently, I understand, the wounds are fresh, but it's the concept that disturbs us. How do you tell the girls on the phone that they can't rent it because they aren't Belgian? Because they obviously don't know enough Dutch because we show the house in English? Enter hopeful-renters number 2. Two black guys. Loved the place. Don't have Belgian papers. Eva has to explain the situation to which one of the guys says, "What, they won't rent to us because we're black?" All in French. The guy says, "That's ok, my fiance is Belgian, she'll take care of it..." And so they're calling about it today. But imagine. You're in a country, you love the apartment, and you can't have it because of your language/nationality. So on one hand we're excited that people are wanting the place, two 'wanters' in two days. It's a great start. Unfortunately the apartment would be off of our hands as of 5 this afternoon had the agency not been so put off by Russian speaking people. All of our relief and/or joy hinges on getting rid of it. Ok, that's an exaggeration, but if you've been reading the journal you know what an ordeal this has been. ;) Since this IS Friday, and I am writing this at noon, there are still many hours in the day to have something journal-worth happen...stay tuned. By the way, it is one of the most BEAUTIFUL days in Belgium. Blue sky and light yellow sunlight. The outdside is beckoning me to come forth. I shall go forth into the fresh air...after a meal of vegetable soup and leftoever Chinese (day three). See? It IS the best deal in Antwerp. (added later) I picked up Eva at the station and we headed to Het Roze Huis for a drink. Her a beer and me a Looza. Then we headed to Del Haize to stock up on some groceries. We bought broccoli and bagels. You know, neccessary goods. We also bought raspberry beer, a very girly beer which I am proud to drink. If and when you go to Belgium. Drink a raspberry beer. Hard to find, but worth the trouble. The evening was a long one. Nothing too exciting except the return of the black and white TV which gave us an English Novel-turned movie which sucked us both in. Wives and Daughters. It's a multi-part so we'll have to remember this time next week to watch it... IN THE NEWS:
September 14, 2002 : stressful saturdays to remember/forget
Honesty. Let's go for honesty. The day started off like a good day should. Blue sky and sleeping in. Bagels a day old with ham, spicy mustard and low-fat grated emental cheese. Across the road Susan was having a not-so-good day, so I offered her the remaining bagels, as an American treat might do the trick. Susan and Leila offered us coffee in return. Over ample refills we decided to try to find Vobis, a computer superstore at the end of a shopping road past where Jessica and I bought carpet and returned home with a huge roll of blue carpet and out past Ikea. En route we discovered that the Vobis was no longer in existance. We made it all the way to boom and I figured we should just ask someone. This began the troubles of the day. I mentioned this 5 times to Eva and was ignored 4. We didn't ask. We discussed going to Holland but opted for the Sam's/Cosco-like Macro supercenter-esque across from the Wijnigem Shopping Center. You need a card (and usually a car to haul the stuff home) to buy goods there, so I'd never been. It's complete with a caffeteria which we decided we should visit first. Problem number 2. As I have mentioned before there are times when I am as good as worthless. Today I couldn't ask for my own fries with pepper sauce. Eva and I were going for fries, soup and salad bar. We were going to share all three. We didn't communicate this well. We ended up miffed at each other with fries and no sauce, and a wall between us. Silly in the end. And then came the store. Levels and levels of looking to do with only 45 minutes to do so. (a self-given limit) I considered what we wanted to look at. Trash bins and computer goods, bike locks and fix-a-flat. By the time we had made it through the bike locks there was no use being there anymore. Eva was in a mood and I was on the outside not knowing what to do. So more store and more goods. The pen isle and losing each other over cd-burners and scanners. We found each other cold and in the mindset of, "I was looking for you." Sitting on a bottom shelf cleared of back-to-school bookbags, hanging out in front of the escalator, she told me I was a helpless 3 year old. At the checkouts I wanted to make amends. Eva always has Leila to sort things over with in her native tongue. It's not that Susan and I can't sort things out in our own, it's that I would rather the world not know our little issues for fear that I will end up looking like a real 3 year old--when the whole time I feel 26, married, and usually blissful. (when we have only one cheaper apartment to worry about.) I moved on to the wrapping/ready-to-load station. Almost every store of any size has them here. Free gift-wrap, paper, and scissors, and this one had all sorts of packing equipment. I made cut-out hearts, one plastic made out of the plastic strips that bind wood into dozens or reinforce boxes, and one out of a price-tag someone had taken off and left there in a wrapping frenzy. Outside there were flowers for a Euro. Eva must have been in amend mode too because I ended up with a orange/violet mum-plant and she found a tiny plastic heart in her palm...followed by the price-tag version while we were ordering fresh waffels. On to Leila's mother's house where Susan wanted to fix something on her computer. Tea/coffie and conversation. Eva's talking with the mother about Spanish music. I'm talking with her mom in broken Dutch. Leila's exhasperated as daughters are always exhasperated with their mothers when friends are around. Eva gave me proud glances as if to say, "I'm so proud of you and your dutch..." and everything seemed ok. The ride home was pleasant enough...when we pulled back onto the street four share I suggested Mexican food for dinner. Las Margahritas. We had already mentioned it briefly before. Sounded good. Eva wanted a Margahrita and I was craving an enchilada since in the Del Haize the previous evening I couldn't find enchilada sauce. It's something I wanted. I actually used the word 'crave' as 'want' is a word I have already talked about and I have started to use sparingly. For some reason 'want' bothers Eva because 'want' means 'need' which means that 'I can't have' and it somehow becomes 'she's not supporting me well-enough.' I just wanted a ****ing enchilada. Ok? In the next 5 hours we would move from nice to horrid to Eva leaving, to me doing dishes, to me saying I was leaving on a jet-plane. I thought everything was fine. We had a new trash-bin, I got a new zippered pen holder (Belgians are mad about them...ususally of a certain lightish leathered cylindered pen/pencil pouch) and we got fix-a-flat for the scooter tire. We made reservations we broke 2 hours later. Susan invited us over for dinner but we declined. The evening hinged on just a couple of things. 2. Want 3. Laundry 4. Leila buttered Susan's roll. I didn't get pepper sauce. 5. Money We cried like we haven't cried before. We were both devestated. Eva said she felt lost and because I told her I felt lost she got mad at me for trying to steal the show. I did the dishes. I picked up the bedroom. I kicked the ladder to the loft and she kicked the back of the couch. I sat on the couch in the dark while Eva roamed around outside. I told her if we weren't going to be the people we wanted to be together then maybe we shouldn't be together. Made sense at the time. I didn't want to go home I just wanted to go somewhere. But I wouldn't leave the house. If you've seen me cry you know what I look like when I cry. It's not pretty. Eva returned for round 2. Eva left again and came back up the stairs without leaving the house. I finished the dishes. I fired up the computer to look for flights. I couldn't connect to the internet. Good thing, but I wouldn't have done it anyway. The obvious conclusion isn't that we aren't made for each other because we are. She makes me into someone I wanted to be but couldn't figure out how to be on my own. Watching her come down the platform steps at the station every other day changes my world every time. Somehow we lost each other tonight. Amidst over-reacting on both of our parts and over enchiladas and buttering rolls, pen holders and computer stores. So we agreed that we learned a great deal. Eva thought she was crazy for a moment in time...I just think she's a stressball. If she'll stick with me I'll stick with her and we'll go places. Word to the wise...before kicking ensues, breathe, walk around, do dishes, and talk. Look at it from the outside world and you'll realize that you're both rediculous looking crying over dinner reservations and flat tires! We ended the evening by fixing the flat tire and riding it around looking for a night-shop. It felt good to be back on a scooter together, you have to sit close or the person in back will fall off--it was good for us. We returned to the house and it's like it never happened. I read a book on the couch as eva napped with her head in my lap while listening to the BBC do an audio version of some guy's short story...and then we slept. Tomorrow is a new day, and we're better for the words exchanged, but let's try not to let this happen again. We've both obviously got fragile nerves you know...
September 15, 2002 : sunday bliss
One would think that a saturday such the nature of yesterday would promise to be followed by a day of the egg-shell variety. Tip-toeing around and editing our conversations as to not drudg up anything unworthy of a new day. No. It was like nothing happened, and if something had happened, it was life-threatening, Eva pulled from a burning building or me narrowly missing the bumper of an oncoming red-light-running speeding car. We appreciated each other. We cherished each other's company. We were thankful that it was a new day and clean slate...cleaner than we both had expected. We had slept like growths on each other's bodies...so close we had to scrape each other off to simply turn and resisituate ourselves in the bed. It was the sort of fall day the preceeds falling leaves. Not that they aren't turning a bit already, but the sort of non-wind that allows the leaves to hold on another week. Rain will do the trick the closer they are to oranges and browns and in one rainy day alone the entire countryside can change from holding-on to past-it's-prime. At the library we picked out classical music and classic lounge/jazz. Not that we know the difference, but at least we're attempting to. That deserves some credit. Eva will know the names of people and bands before I do, as I don't apply myself in this area in the same way I can count only a few artists on one hand and don't know which did what. I can appreciate something without getting carried away...which leads us to the passion issue of several weeks back. Maybe we both need to get a bit carried away. Eva start collecting old LPs with dusty jackets or books by excellent but fameless authors, and me... Exactly. But back to the day. Blue sky and jacket weather. Chilly. Perfect in the sun but past t-shirt weather. Long-sleeve t-shirts yes, as many a person stripped down to such while walking through the market. I was one of them. Maybe the last great day before late-fall. The last great day before winter even. The market stayed open late for all of the people and because of the weather. There was no reason to pack up. We had to work a bit on a project and it was horrid to spend part of the afternoon indoors when the world was enjoying the possibly last beautiful day right outside of our window. We didn't seem to mind, though, because post-project found us up in heaven enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon nap--windows open, car sounds and people sounds, slight chill, our blue and orange curtains giving our space a warmer feeling...icing on that that-god-we-aren't-moving feeling. And the afternoon nap was followed by a dinner of broccoli, bean and pasta salad with garlic and fried in a pan, an appetizer of guacamole and garlic, pesto, and fresh tomatos and french bread...we tried the wine we have been saving for the celebratory apartment-is-gone day, and it was so terribly that it seemed even more funny that it would have been our celebration wine. Leave it to me to now know that you don't chill red wine. I thought every drink was better chilled...save warm ones. IN THE NEWS: No one can tell me that there isn't an alterier motive. It seems, in politics, there always are.
September 17, 2002 : lost in suburbia
I felt like I was a part of one the art project Mondophrenetic. Not only did my directions of steel turn to mush, but I knew they were turning to mush. I took the scooter to school today instead of my well-intentioned bike because I ran out of time. Running out of time happens. To me, it happens quite often. Regardless, I hopped on ol' Pattie Passeo (well we don't really have a name for her yet) and headed to Hoboken. (for those concerned, the fix-a-flat is holding up nicely!) In my homeland, you judge a point in a town by a street, and judging from that street you can figure out where you are in relationship to the rest of the city. Here, throw away your maps. Cities here are based on everything from old castle walls to moats, from former canals to rivers. It's not based on the principle of a 'block' either, it's just simply road road road. If you take a look at the walls of our apartment you can tell as well. No 90 degree angles here. One corner is ever so slightly obtuse and the other less than 90. All of this to say that I know where I'm supposed to end up at 1 in the afternoon, and I know my relationship to it. It's "over there" I say in my head at a certain busy intersection right in front of a school sucking teenagers from their lunch breaks. (more on that later) I do my usual left turn. I go this way because it's almost no traffic and there aren't any cobble stones. I don't think I've gone the same way twice which is fine because I've only gone this way 6 times. 3 there and 3 back. I end up in a place behind the landmark government high-rise and how I got there, I'll never figure it out. I looked like I had somehow sneaked into a worm-hole (is that what they're called?) and ended up next to the middle school in Pittsburg, Kansas. Everything has a twin. Not only humans, but places too. And I made it back to the street I knew would take me in the right direction. It did. It's a bike-path that leads to a huge Catholic high school that was also sucking in kids from lunch breaks. I took my regular left turn. Wrong freaking turn. Oh yes, I end up on a street that will take me in a 'U' right back to the place where the school is sucking in the most teenagers. If you saw our scooter you would understand. You don't want to pass twice. If it was a movie, I'd be sweating it by now. This is the part of me that is a 16 year old scrawny or slightly pudgy teenage boy. I've got a bit of acne but not terrible. I don't stick out in class, I'm just there. I'm just there hoping that no one steals my scooter. I park it several blocks from school so know one will A) laugh B) associate me with the scooter gang of boys who ride the 2000 Euro scooters. But I'm not, so I wasn't sweating, I was just fending off embarrassment. I'm at the base of the "U" which is next to an elementary school. It's like this Catholic school keeps going and going. A small Catholic sanctuary. I see a dirt path. I hear a van. Oh god please don't let it be the police. Not only will they think I'm being a truant (English word) but they'll think I'm going to do something dodgy. (which I was) An ambulance. And the passenger smiles at me. (Probably a truant in her day too) And then I'm off. Over a corner of the park and past the school right smack dab onto the road i would have been on if I had just taken the next left.
September 18, 2002 : hoping
I don't know if I've every hoped that someone wasn't something. For example. I don't recall ever thinking to myself, "I hope she's not black." or "I hope he's not in a wheelchair." Actually, as I typed that I started thinking about several instances where I have hoped such hopes. Whenever I meet new people such as bosses and/or coworkers and/or people I have to see on a regular basis I think, "I hope they aren't homophobic." I doubt I use the word 'homophobic' or even actually think that, but it's somewhere in the back of my mind. And last September about a week from now, we boarded a Vanguard Airlines flight at La Guardia Airport in NYC to return back to Missouri for a couple of weeks before we tried to leave the country again. The airport had only been reopened for a couple of days and everyone was nervous. It was written all over our faces and all over our anxious hand-wringing and fidgeting-ness. I distinctly remember doing the scan of the fellow passengers in the boarding area. People doing their best to look calm and confident. We were flying with an entire family of Indian people and at least 3 sketchy looking Arab men. One come complete with scraggly beard. I remember thinking, "I hope he's not a terrorist." I actually thought it three times. One for each man. But waiting for the people to show up this afternoon so I could show them the apartment, I wanted them to not be black, Russian, or foreign. I wanted them to be light-skinned Belgian people. And in the distance I saw the three of them approaching. The wannabe renter with her mother and nephew. The nephew was wearing his school uniform, and the mother was wearing a hair wrap. From a distance I though one of two things. A.) Jewish B.) Muslim I know it ran through my mind, "Oh no, not Jewish..." and then "Oh no, don't be an immigrant." But they were friendly. Perhaps the most friendly Belgians I have ever met. We had a great time looking over the place. The girl loved it. The mom did what mothers do...loved it as well but was cautious too. The kid just played with the knobs on windows and poked at things like small 8 year olds do. And what were they? I think the mom was Belgian and she mentioned that the girl's father was Moroccan. The mother actually went a step further to ask how many Moroccan men hung around the area because the girl has problems with them. None that I can think of...just that guy by the glass recycling bin on the corner that has the rottweiler dog that's going to maul someone someday. But no Moroccans. I don't think the Jews would let them hang out...not with synagogue right there on the corner. We're also showing the place to half a dozen people tonight between 8 and 9. Surely through all of the happenings of this day someone will end up with a new apartment. This just in! The girl has an appointment to put down payments and sign papers on Friday. Eva says we should celebrate anyway because we could both use a little celebrating. :) One last thing. So I admit I was forced into backwards thinking because I'm forced to hope for white-Belgians under the guidance of the renters. Fine. It's not something I will make a habit of...and then I'm walking home and a little Moroccan kid has a rock in his hand that he's dragging along every house. Two mothers pushing strollers behind him. Two sisters playing on up ahead of him. Arm outstretched leaving a long nasty line on every house between where he found the rock and home. The mothers couldn't care less...and what do I think then? I thought, "little bastard immigrant kid..." and gave him a mean look he didn't see because he was preoccupied at the moment with the line he was leaving. I dont' know. It's all so complicated. Yesterday in school we talked about the Vlaams Blok for a bit and that really got our Vlaams going. I mean these people are trying...give them a chance. They want to work. They're learning your language with it's strange g's and double vowels... There's nothing more to say except that I am currently reading, "The Diary of Adrian Mole" and I love it. It's pre-teen level, sort of, and then a mix of English-isms and adolescent wit. IN THE NEWS: Papon led the Bordeaux area police during the Nazi occupation of France and was convicted in 1998 for signing orders that led to the deportation of 1,690 Jews from Bordeaux from 1942-44. Most were sent to Auschwitz. All but a handful died. Last year, he wrote in a letter to France's justice minister that he felt neither "regrets or remorse" for his acts.
September 19, 2002 : day slave
Happy Birthday Mom!
September 20, 2002 : it's rented
Finally the burden of the dream apartment we rented but then recanted is out of our hands. It's over. The Texas-sized Eastpack backpack filled with wants, refrigerator-less needs, space, bathtubs, and little euros has been emptied. Whew. Can I admit that nothing deserves more space here than this one thing? I should strike it from being in future entries. No more apartment talk until we are looking for a new apartment which isn't any time soon. I could mention the fact that the sunset was beautiful, that we had celebratory Indian food, that we went to Peeters Grovers on 3 Kings street and heard a lady reward a cashier with a sweet because the lady was patient with her for forgetting her PIN number...I could mention the fact that we took the scooter by Tom and Ilse's house to show off and I didn't know how ridiculous we must look until Tom sped around on the sidewalk looking like a Playmobile character on a Lego-man motorbike...and I could mention any other number of things but the most important bit of the day is that the cloud hanging over our head is gone. No one needs two shelters and so we are down to one. Back to loving a certain very cozy studio apartment located 10 minutes from the Berchem Station in Antwerp, Belgium, somewhere in the northern hemisphere inside the ring but outside of what you'd call the city. We're by no means boerbuiten (farm-outside)...but by no means binnen-staat inwoners either. (inner-city living people). And since home is not only where the heart is, but it is also anywhere as long as you have peace with yourself...yada yada yada...we're stuck in Thuis sweet thuis. You get the picture. IN THE NEWS:
September 21, 2002 : cds, tires, panic, macs, and beer
CDs. Then we headed to the posh-bakery and picked up 10 hard-rolls (I've lost the dutch name at the moment) and took them to Susan and Leila's so we could have a nice breakfast. I had a cappucino and several hard rolls with fake vegetarian lunch meat and a new-find...schmearable butter-like cheese. Yum. They kept trying to remind me of the name...and Eva kept saying that it might be my next big belgian obsession. But I'm not giving in to the cheese...it will remain a treat. No overkill like panakooken, moldy cheese, spicy olives, plain Cornettos, fresh green beans, salt and pepper chips, carrots and melons. Then of course, after such a wonderful meal, we burned a CD of Project Turnhout. We stuck it in our mailbox and called the girls to let them know it was waiting for them. Originally we were going to stick around, but then we decided that we should go ahead and fix the tires on the scooter. Eva made a few phonecalls and found the cheapest place. We hopped on and made our way to the scooter shop. Eva had said it would be a roll in, roll out job. 25 Euros per tire with free labor. Nice! We'd have the scooter back in an hour or so. No deal. I pick it up next week. Then, after a minor freak-out about Eva's missing wallet (she left it at home) and the fact that I thought I had no money left in my account and the fact that we were moneyless and an hour's walk from home...I checked my account and found out that I had 23 Euros left...which means I now have 3. We made a quick swing by a Flea Market and came back out with a set of small espresso mugs and saucers and a alarm clock circa de 1960. And yes it still works. It still works silently in fact. It was a GREAT bargain. So the panic. It's almost there. We go shopping down a very random shopping street which happens to have a Pearle Express which fixes Eva's glasses so they fit perfectly and don't slide off her nose...while I am explaining to the guy what's wrong with the glasses, Eva takes a phone call. It's 3 in the afternoon and their exhibit starts at 8 and the CD isn't readable on a Mac. (insert the fact that I did inquire whether or not they were going to be using a Macintosh or a PC which they never got back to me.) I ususally check and recheck and make sure that the whole world is compatible. (it rarely is) But this time I didn't. I was devestated. Such a wonderfully productive week ending on such a sour note. We high-tailed it home. This put me in a panic. I was in the panic until after we had already burned and tested 4 other cds and realized that nothing was really compatible. Had we just had our CD burner that crapped out on us two weeks ago none of this would have happened. **shrug** And so it was already late by the time I was satisfied with my 4-cd collection (one of these is bound to work...which all 4 included this handy-dandy download for Mac which is the reason I never worry about cds...they all work on my mac! ) and we headed to a random Belgian town for a birthday party. One of Eva's co-workers was having a shin-dig and I must admit that I had no desire to attend. There was still enough work on my plate (and housework) that made a night in some town on-the-hill (it's lteral translation in Dutch) sound not-so-fun. But I was wrong. So should I be redundant and go on and on about how great it is to ride in a car? I guess, since we have the scooter, we're a little more used to mobility than we once were, but cars are cool! For as much as I know about Belgium this town could have been in Germany...but it was only 20 some minutes away! I felt like a serf from the middle-ages who had never been outside of his farming dorp. (tiny town). I drank a few, but didn't want to head in a drunken direction. Two duvels later I was drinking coffee and then finally switching to orange juice. Don't ask me why (perhaps it was because our driver was sipping appel genever) but I didn't mind. It was a tiny little crowded bar with a great mix of music and newbies mixed with the standard-clientel. Needless to say, we crawled into bed at nearly 6 in the morning...just a few hours before I wanted to get those CDs to Turnhout...ah, what will become of tomorrow?!? We're going to bed at 6, the house is a tip (english word), all of our clothes are dirty, we don't have much food, we have to go to Turnhout... IN THE NEWS: Deterrence and containment, the previous foundations of U.S. strategy, are no longer valid, Bush said in a 31-page document titled "The National Security Strategy of the United States of America." Instead, the United States must identify and destroy the terrorist threat "before it reaches our borders," if necessary acting alone and using preemptive force. And what was it yesterday that a particular defense minister said in Germany? So maybe using the name 'Hitler' was a little over the top...esecially coming from a German, but...
September 22, 2002 : late, turnhout, and the lucht
An entry like a post-it note or the back of an envelope stuck to the refridgerator door with a magnet or a dry-erase board somewhere near the telephone or a message by telegraph: woke up late took bus to turnhout, good end result--job well-done beautiful was the sky sky sky NO SUNDAY PANIC!!!!! (over end of weekend) relaxing evening with magneet...and party of five. IN THE NEWS: What I have to say is that the tape is also viewable, as it was shown in an effort to find the woman. Out walks a cute little girl and her mother...the mom opens the SUV...and once the child is inside the vehicle the mother looks over her should to check if no one is looking and proceeds to beat the child. It's not light paddling, it's beating. You can see the girl's feet sticking out of the air. It's not something you can watch without having your eyes go wide...it's horrific. And for somewhat obvious reasons, I have to point out that the mother's last name is Toogood.
September 23, 2002 : the fiets
In school we are learning compound words. I think that's what they were called way-back-when. Words put together to form new ones. In dutch, the words we are learning are a bit different...for example: How's that for a grammer lesson? Since I was scooter-less, and because the fall is proving to be abolutely beautiful, I opted to ride my bike today. I pumped up the tires and headed to Hoboken. Eva had warned that I should wear gloves and maybe a scarf, but the more I rode the more I began to warm up. (aanwarmen?!? That's sort of a joke...) Wouldn't you guess that I would make the same bastardly mistake as last week? Same bike-path and same destination...the same wrong left turn (big 'U' turn) that, if followed completely around, puts me right back at the same groups of teenagers I've just passed?!?! Will I ever be cool? I had to take the same damn dirt-path by the same damn kids school. By the time I got to school, parked the bike, and got into class, not only did I realize that I was pretty early but I was freezing--I was somewhere between sweaty and frozen. I had the typical Andrea work-out face combined with the blotchyness of skiing (aka wind-blown) Like I said before, will I ever be cool? :) I came away with homework...which is a wonderful feeling after being out of touch with home-work laden kids. I'm serious. It's sort of fun. Probably not as fun for those who are depending on this language getting them new lease on life in their new country. Me, I'm just treading language water hoping, as I used to sleep with my physics book under my pillow back in high school the night before a test, that it soaks in. I've actually started applying myself a bit more than before, I have actually gone three weeks solid. That is quite an extraordinary achievement if you know my attendence record from university. Let's just say I didn't get any gold stars for attendance. But who wouldn't want to turn up for a class so enjoyable? My class is a screem. Today we were divided up and one guy (in a ask/answer session) asks me where his kussen are and I think he's being a jerk asking for kussen. One means pillow/cusion and the other means kisses. Notice that they're the same word! Now if that doens't get a room full of people from the far reaches of the world laughing, I don't know what will. Today we also got information on how to subscribe to a newspaper, just for us. Do you remember weekly readers? (Funny, just thinking of that makes me think that the logo for the Standaard Boekhandle is very similar to the weekley reader one) Well Wablief is the Flemmish equivilent...for kids, people that don't read very well, and for people from other lands learning Dutch. (the actual title means something along the lines of, "Come again?" or "Excuse me?" Sort of like, "I didn't hear you...") Eva, the dear that she is, already ordered me my year subscription. News from around the world, lifestyle interests, crossword puzzels, sport, politics...all delivered to our door once a week for the next year. A krant (newspaper) filled with small articles made up of simple sentences and vocabulary...enough to stretch me a bit, but still give me that pat on the back. What person learning Dutch wouldn't want a subscription?!? :) Furthermore, Eva is reading a book on the woman behind the Body Shop. Today she said that I should join Greenpeace and she would join Amnesty International...she also went on to tell me over tanden poetsen (teeth brushing) that we should become more world-conscious consumers. Ok. She also went on to tell me that she was so inspired by the book that she went to the Body Shop today only to realize that everything seemed quite expensive. Ok. IN THE NEWS:
September 24, 2002 : the song with the day
Not for the lyrics really, but for the title. Forgive me mother for taking the Lord's name in vain...is a ***damn Beautiful Day. Download it and burn it and share it with your friends and think of me in Belgium having a great time out in the coolness of Belgian Herfst. (Autumn) I'm off to Dutch classes and before I go I must dry with a hairdryer a pair of underwear I washed out in the sink so I can wear clean underwear. I know, it's pathetic. So I guess Eva has a point about the laundry, right? I should be returning from school on the scooter. A scooter with brand spankin' new tires. A nice purchase at a mere 20 bucks a tire. (we'll see if that's the price they gave us after quoting it to us on the phone...) More later... Well it was more than 20 bucks, that's for sure. Only one new tire (and new innertube) plus all sorts of additional costs. But it's one awesome new tire. :) As far as school goes...we found out that today was our last day with our current teacher. I felt sort of like a low-level slow class getting dumped on. Not that we're a low-level slow class at all. I think we're rather advanced! We all get along great and have silly little discussions in whatever handfull of our new taal we can manage. It's a good time. But no really, I felt cheated somehow. Like the system was taking advantage of us in our fragile states or something. I guess I can't explain it. We're going to miss our teacher...and if we all spoke the same language for real, and could come up with a plan we'd strike back...you know, do a low-level slow class getting-back-at-the-system sort of stunt. We'd walk out. We'd not give our new teacher a chance... I'm sure we'll like her too...but I imagine this will mean that we have to go over the ik ben Andrea, ik woon in Antwerpen en ik kom uit de vrindigen staten all over again. (and of course we'll give our new teacher all of our undivided attention...it's just that we liked Lut...) As we all left today she wished us proficiency. Well here's to proficiency met mijn Nederlands. As for the weather, it's still gorgeous outside. Cold, mind you, but pretty. The sun is doing that sun-thing...shining and today there's not a cloud in the sky. Not a single one for as far as the eye can see...just bright blue, soft white light, and shadows. I'm not complaining. IN THE NEWS: He said the gunmen were still inside the complex. It is not known who they are. A siege is now under way at the temple. Officials say the shooting started when three men entered the temple and started firing indiscriminately. (not to take away from the tragedy, but I copied this directly off of the bbc website and aren't these oneliners pretty amazing for journalism's sake? For some reason it made it all seem more urgent to me.)
September 28, 2002 : cutting Belgium in half
My suggestion for people coming to Europe wanting to see a beautiful old town with canals and friendly people... Eva's sick. Sickly. Sore throat. We were supposed to go to Liege to spend a night in a Bed and Breakfast (a room in someone's house) set up in an Oriental Style. 50 Euros a night. By the time we got to Hasselt (we stopped for coffee) it was clear that we should change our plans...simply go have dinner somewhere and then come on back to Antwerp. We chose Gent. We used a special train pass (yet another special day in Belgium where public-ish transport is set at a certain price everywhere.) Our train passes were good on any train, tram, and bus, so we rode on to Gent. Wow. If we stay a little longer in Belgium--seeing as how I have now decided that I shall not leave this country until I: It was wonderful. We wondered through the streets and found a cute little restaurant (in the states it would have been a rib-shack, well a sort of European-cafe version) Gent seemed to me a combination of everything I like about European cities...old buildings, public transport, ATM machines, canals, churches, and you know, that good ol' Euro atmosphere. Cool! I ordered my steak in Dutch. I basically said that I wanted the steak with garlic butter, and to prove that I wanted it well done I said that I wanted it not red, gray...without blood. Once the guy understood that I was speaking with only the vocabulary of a foreigner learning Dutch, he seemed to think it was cute. It was still not well done, but it never is. But tasty! Slightly bloody steaks are always more tasty...I learned that in Neosho, Missouri with the Wicks family. They made me taste a bloody steak one time just so I would know the difference, yet I still think I would go for a very done version...I am, after all, someone who lights marshmellows on fire and considers them a delicacy! Once we finished yet another all-of-our-meal-conversation-in-Flemish, we headed to the train station. We got there just-in-time which means that we got to the platform in time to hop the train, find a seat, and have it start moving as we sat down. We promptly fell asleep only to wake up in a panic as the train was pulling out of Antwerp-Berchem (the station we wanted). Thank God the train was ending in Antwerp-Central Station, or we would have ended up in some very random part of Belgium! And so we returned home. Quite exhausted for having a day filled with mostly train rides and countryside sites and random names of towns that Eva didn't even know existed. :) We were on tram number 12 coming down our street into our very Jewish neighborhood when a group of drunk Belgians started commenting on all of the Jewish people walking around on the street post-Sabbath. I was busy listening to the British people behind us (savoring the English) and after we got off the tram Eva proceeded to tell me what the drunks were saying about the Jews. It's hardly fit to print, having deserved a strong soul standing up to their compeltely bastardly views...a full tram and not a soul was stirred. A full tram full of people understanding what they were saying (I might have understood had I not been absorbed with the English) and not a soul was remembering that this is a portion of the city that lost quite a few souls not so many years ago. I must admit that it's hard to get over the outfits, the same-hair-cut ladies wigs, the side-curls, the bathrobe overcoats, the kids coming at you on their bikes on the sidewalks...but it's commonplace now. Yeah so, they live next to me, across the street...from my front bay-window I can watch two Jewish girls doing their homework on a huge dining room table beneath a huge chandelier. Big whoop. So what if the kids all are color-coded and the men are in to Diamonds. I'm into HTML and the rest of the world is in to XML, Flash, and dynamic content. Anyway, I got a bit sidetracked, when we climbed the stairs, I must admit that when I fired up the ol' computer I was a bit daunted that the first news blurb on Yahoo was this: Iraq rejects U.S.-British inspection plan. Jews on my street aside, how can I read anything more into that except: O I L. That's all I have to say, I'm off to bed, and I'm off to tend to my napping girlfriend who is till wearing her scarf to warm up her throat area.
September 29, 2002 : she's sick
For better or for worse...in sickness and in health. She's sick. Eva's never sick. At least this is the first time that she's actually sick with a noticable scratchy voice and full of desire for tea thick with freshly squeezed lemons and sugar. She is not about to let this ruin her weekend. (our weekend) And so after a morning that slid into early afternoon of us tooling around the house, and a bad batch of bisquick-less pancakes, we hopped on the scooter for a ride. We swung by the American food store to pick up the propper batter at a steep price of 5 Euros and headed to a park. Pre store I took us on a death-defying ride on a road meant for vehicles instead of scooters because I thought I was on the food store road. I wasn't, and Eva swore that people began to honk. She, a bit barmy (English word) from her health situation, was wrong, but as soon as I could manage I got us on a bike-path...only the second now laughable bad scooter driving experience we've had. We wound up at the sculpture park, a park that literally goes on and on, and we found a nice spot on a grassy knole among other sun-worshippers and just lazed a bit. Eva napped and I kept my eyes on the sky. Plane after plane with their late-arriving sounds zoomed over head. Planes with bold brush-stroked tails and a few without. A total of 12+ one after the other...in every direction, none headed to the same place. I can't help but look at planes overhead without thinking of the dozens of passengers sitting parallel with their bodies in right angles. Rows and rows of people with their feet on the floor and their backs upright. If I was an up and coming film artist, I would certainly do a project that involved a massive zoom from park watcher to plane where the skin of the plane dissolved to show people placed like cargo, or rather placed in a large pipe arranged as if they're at a seminar sans white-board or overhead...replaced with behind-the-head in-flight movies and tiny servings of food. We made our way back to the scooter and slowly made our way back into town. Half of the roads seemed to be cobbled today, and the mere thought of us on our small brightly colored scooter with a large small-helmeted driver and a small large-helmeted rider holding on for dear life...well, it's quite a sight to behold or even think about. Once home I set to making gnoochi, as Eva and I are desperate for gnoochi that compares with the Capri Pizzaria on Market Street in San Francisco. I must admit that the gnoochi themselves were nearly perfect. Much better than the store-bought variety that always end up tasting like glue, but my alfredo sauce was quite disgusting. The raw garlic had somehow taken over the sauce and it all lacked a creamy/cheesy taste. So no luck with the sauce, but one point for the potato balls. Before you know it, I'll get it right and then maybe that will convince both Bobbie and Erin to come for a visit...maybe I should tell Bobbie that we've also found a fondue restaurant in Gent that we're saving for their arrival. A Fondue evening with Bobbie is a Valentine's Day dinner 3 years too late. :) So the rest of the evening saw us lounging around watching TV for a bit, Eva downloading music like mad, several more helpings of citrus-fortified sweet tea, and me working on a 4 minute movie dedicated to one of my secret pastimes. It's one I'm not so sure will ever get finished, but I'm giving myself this week to finish it...this week sees me working on several projects, tending to Eva in her time of need, a site for Music Unites, a home-page for my alma-mater's (?) art department, and the round-up/working on/completion of several new projects for transmedia. (in an effort to bring myself up to the level of people I will be shouldered between at the strange exposition I am going to be in at the end of October.) Just the thought of it makes me want to sleep little and be creative until odd hours of the night. Perhaps I will put the loved one to bed, wait until her breathing steadies and then creap quietly out of heaven. Fat chance when you own a metal Ikea high sleeper. (in American verbage, loft) I believe we sometimes wake each other up just by rearranging the sheets or turning over. IN THE NEWS: |