Thursday, July 29, 2010

Last night


De nagel. A place on a dark corner with trophies all over. Apparently you could take them if you wanted, but the bartender from Limburg, people called him Sabri, turned out to be very attached to a certain trophy, third place position, which was precisely the trophy one of our friends had set his eyes on. There were also cartoons with sexual undertones, no rather, with overt sexual content spread across the walls. In the corner there was a shrine with candles. It seemed to be honoring nudists.
After that we went to Pollux, a bar near the water, with a Moby Dick movie poster next to various family photos and a taxidermy dear head. The couches were covered in flower motif textiles and there was a big jukebox with classics. We listed to Danny de Munk over and over again until even our American friend knew the words. The bar tender fed us pretzel sticks.
The boyfriend of a friend was playing some sort of game with his friends where he but his foot in their crotch, and they put their feet in his. We didn't quite understand the humor of it, or if it was intended as a joke at all. The girlfriend told us to ignore. We did. We went on singing along with Danny de Munk.
When this place closed, we went to a place called San Fransisco, which was dark and smelly and had a doorbell. There were tourists and men with beards. Then Sabri, or king of the night as someone called him, who had come with us and at this time had started smelling unbearably, brought us back to de Nagel. He went in and out of the bathroom, each time his eyes a little wider than before. It explained the smell. We had more beers and sat around a table with a candle. The cigarettes had all gone and a discussion ensued about what store would still be open at 5 am. In the meantime we ate wasabi peanuts. This discussion lasted about half an hour until the bartender so called 'sacrificed' himself by ordering drugs from a drugdealer and asking him to bring some cigarettes. People started to kiss him in order to show their gratitude which seemed like an excellent time to leave.
I drank multiple glasses when I got home but it didn't help much. I woke up with a vague taste of wasabi, beer and pretzels in the back of my mouth.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Things I miss about New York

Tacos. Porpusas at the flea market.
The flea market in general.
Cabs late at night.
Drinks in hotel lobbies.
l'Asso pizza.
The beach.
"coach coach chanel"
People crowding sidewalks.
Skateboards. Sort of.
Epistrophy and the coffee martini.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

My dad's birthday


We went to a fancy restaurant where we weren't allowed to speak on our regular volume.
Obviously it is precisely these kind of places where we get into fights. One at a time, we started crying, got up from the table and came back, only to make the next person cry and so on. Sort of like a relay race of tears and anger. My little sister got angry because we joked about her boyfriend. I cried because I was called out for still not having found one. I suggest that next year the topic of 'boyfriend' is off our list. I think we should keep with neutral talk of sports and food.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Things I like about Amsterdam

The streets, quiet mostly.
The absence of sirens.
Sidewalks.
Casual neighborhood talk.
Sandwiches with peanut butter. The Dutch kind.
Gardens.
Comfortable bicycles. And bicycle lanes.
Talks over beers.
Old friends with old stories.
Water.
Husband and wife, dog and cat.
Bathrooms in restaurants. With regular doors and a sink separate.
Supermarkets. Less options.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Things that are finished


The first draft of my play. Sort of.
My summer in New York. Continued in Amsterdam.
Rehearsals for the Dutch show. Or so I thought.
The thorough cleaning of my room.
Most of my Dutch friend's studies. Slightly worrying.
Most of my money.
The time when I thought I didn't need a plan.

Monday, July 12, 2010

The end of the World Cup


We lost.
Paul, the infamous octopus, predicted it.
Tonight I will eat some fried calamari in his honor.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

The night of Crossword


The two performances of crossword went well. It was hot, but nobody complained. They sat still and listened which is usually a good sign.
After the performance we drank prosecco and cheap white wine.
We put on music and tried to dance the tango.
The owner of the apartment played saxophone along with the music in a corner.
I drank a little, but was worried about the mess we were leaving behind at the apartment so I cleaned some of it.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Crying on a train


Yesterday I was talking to someone on the phone while I was in the train.
I don't think I was talking unusually loud, or having some obnoxious conversation about uncomfortable subjects, yet after a minute or so, not longer, every single person around me started screaming at me. Well no. One person started thumping on my chair from behind, a lady leaned forward to give me a devilish look and a man grabbed his head and started pulling out his hair. He was bright red. I hung up quickly and asked the man if it was always like this, hoping for an ally in this mess. He said yes, without looking up from his newspaper. He had been paying his bills for most of the trip which I had actually found a little distracting and exhibitionist. A woman across the aisle said I was rude. Some other man from behind me said he didn't want to hear whatever it was I had to say. It was like a fight without being able to argue back. I hadn't been the target of so much aggression since I broke up with my boyfriend and at least we had been in love first. I cried. It was embarrassing. The man sitting across from me, who had tried to lend a supportive hand by smiling consolingly, asked me if I was alright. I couldn't answer. He said: Be strong. It won't always be like this.
He was right. I woke up this morning and forgot why I had felt so awful.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

The day after Holland played Urugay


We found out they would have to play against Spain.
It was one hundred degrees.
I had an iced chocolate milk.
We listened to Nationalistic Dutch songs but had to turn them off after five minutes because they were so terrible.
My sister prepared sardines for dinner.
My mother told me the entire plot of a movie including the very unexpected twist.
The heat made me walk extremely slow.
I saw a cute baby in the subway.
I was ever so slightly homesick.

Monday, July 5, 2010

The day after the 4th of July

It was too hot to breathe.
We saw a group of retired cops sitting in a little baby pool with their chairs drinking beer.
I finished Ian McEwan's Solar.
I was afraid to look at our electricity bill.
We waited for our sister who will be flying to Amsterdam tonight.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Places I used to go to


The Pink Elephant. A random Thai restaurant that a friend, who I also don't see anymore, brought me to once and became my go-to restaurant. I don't remember why. The food was average and the place looked like it could fall apart at anytime. It was painted yellow and had bead curtains at strange places. It actually still exist; I passed it not so long ago and it looked exactly the same. It made me sad and long for a time when I wasn't such a snob.
205. A club on Chrystie street with plywood panels and silver wall paper a la factory. We went to an empty halloween party there once dressed as sheep.
Raffifi. A dirty dance extravaganza that smelled like old and new sweat and teenage angst. I saw someone pee against the wall once. He thought a curtain was covering him. It wasn't.
Delancy bar. A bar near the williamsburg bridge. I think it was possible to sit on the roof. It's still there. No need to go back.
A vegetarian or vegan place in the east village that I don't remember the name of. We used to hang out at the bar because a friend knew the bartender. I tried the food once. Didn't need to try it again.
Beauty bar. It had old beauty salon stuff and apparently gave away free manicures at happy hour. I never actually saw that happening in real life. It might just be to lure in customers, I don't know.
Hangar bar. My old roommate knew someone who worked there. They sold vintage clothes.
Welcome to the Johnson's. Beer in plastic cups.
151 Rivington. It had low ceilings and a bar tender named Danny.
Annex. They had concerts and good Thursday nights. The last time I was there an extremely modern avant garde strange sounding pianist played songs everybody seemed to appreciate except me.
The box. Naked people and juggling midgets are only entertaining for a limited amount of time.
Black and White. The first time I tried to go they didn't let me in because I wasn't 21. They had motown nights on Tuesday. I once had a brief affair with the bartender. It didn't last.
Darkroom. We ended up there for my birthday once. (22? 21?) We danced to songs we didn't know and were the only ones there.
Beatrice Inn. I still go there in my dreams. Its closing might be the healthiest thing that ever happened to me.

Inbox

Hoi zusjes. Hier effe een smsje van Bartje. Ik ben erbij morgen voetbal kijken. We gaan er zeker een bruut feestje van maken dit weekend. Dag boefjes. mzzl.
This is Alex. No reh today. Tuesday seems to be good.
Oh Thanks.
We will be there in fifteen.
Sure.
What are you up to?
Geen nieuwe email, liefs.
At dive bar in the east village.
I'm at home and tired, let's hang out tomorrow if you can!
Say hi to Epistrophy.
My teacher loved the idea. Thanks Schlumpf.
Everything but the home department is ok!