Amsterdam

Amsterdam

9/1/2011 2:51pm

On a train now to Paris from what is easily the most refreshingly strange city I've ever been to. It's a city where the cops might bust an establishment for letting its patrons smoke tobacco inside. Couldn't smell it? Oh, simple explanation. It was masked by the marijuana they mixed in with it. The buildings there look like they were built by Esher and Dahali Construction. Apparently building a city on a swamp has some disadvantages. Each house rest on wooden piles driven into the mud. If during that process an air pocket develops, the pile rots. Pile rots, pile shrinks, house sags, then BOOM your windows are crooked. That's been going on for a few hundred years so all the houses tend to lean on each other with crooked exterior molding and windows. Oh, and the houses lean toward the streets too. That's apparently a trick used to maximize the floor space of the incredibly narrow homes by, in turn narrowing the staircases which are actually more like well built ladders. Doing this allowed the Dutch East India Trading Company working stiff a proper arrangement to load cargo from the harbor into their attics via a hook and pulley, cutting out the narrow and strangely built interior passages altogether. It would be far too many years before they realized they could just build the house vertically and extend the hook outward.

            And the citizenry of Amsterdam, for all its liberal policies, is fairly conservative about its architecture. Change is bad and they have codified that. In the 1960's, the city took to rebuilding the devastated Jewish district. Trying to seem hip, the same way an old man tries to seem hip by humming along to a Jay-Z beat, they turned responsibility over to local architecture students who apparently had only three loves: architectural design, cubism and LySergic acid Diethylamide. What resulted didn't exactly mesh with its surrounds or its benefactors. People got mad, funny sounding Dutch voices were raised and they passed a law. Now the street side of every house in Amsterdam must remain architecturally as is, save for necessary repairs.

            Ok, I know you are reading this because you are enthralled by sinful topics like Dutch Architecture however I must move on to more mundane topics like legalized prostitution and drug dealing.

            Amount of time I was in Amsterdam before I saw people smoking marajuana: 3 hours. Amount of time before I saw a prostitute: 6 hours. Amount of time before I had a prostitute ask me to “come talk to her”: also 6 hours. Amount of time before I saw an attractive prostitute: 8 hours. Number of times I had to put my head down and act like I was some sort of seminar student: a lot.

It's a strange feeling walking through the Red Light district. For one, all the girls are simply standing in a window with a red light on. If it sounds like some strange Barby doll shopping experience then you are following me pretty well. It is advertising boiled down to it most, eh hum, bare components. Really the most disappointing aspects were you couldn't take pictures and there were no pimps. Apparently they ran all the pimps out of town in 2000 when they fully legalized the world’s oldest profession. At least that's what they say. Or maybe they all just got rid of the pimp hats. You know, disguised themselves. As far as pictures, I'd love to show you some of the girls in the windows just so you can get a sense of the strange normal that they have here. Alas that can't happen. I was warned by everyone I talked to that taking pictures of girls in windows would be met with a fate so disgusting I don't feel like typing it here. If you'd like to know you can message me but its really quite revolting.

            Another thing, not revolting but mildly frustrating, was trying to get directions in this town. Everyone here speaks English very well. That is to say they know the language very well. They SPEAK our language quite poorly on account of the most ridiculous sounding accent in the western world. A typical conversation started like this, on account of I speak almost no Dutch,

“Hello, sprechts du English (do you speak English)”

“Osh, Yesh Ish speaksh Engshlichsh.”

And they don't just speak our language like that, they speak their own language in a similarly maddening way. Example: the place I was staying was on Spiur Strasse. Don't ask me what that means. In any case, Spriur in Dutch is pronounces Sproo. So I would ask someone if they knew where Sproo Strasse was because you inevitably get lost in this maze of a city. They would respond, “Sproo Strasse? Oh you mean Sproo Strasse! Yesh, Thatsh eashy....” Ok, maybe that isn't a perfect Dutch accent, but what they said sounded similarly ridiculous.

            And just so we're clear, the most risque things my money went to was a tour of the Red Light district where I learned most of the things I told you here and a pub crawl. Sorry to disappoint. By the way, just looked out the window at the French country side. I am the luckiest man alive. Till later friends.

Berlin

Berlin

If French is the language of love then English is the language of advertising. It's everywhere in this city. It's plastered on signs saying things that have no business being said in English. Except that whoever wrote those signs thought that the hip cultural relevance that my mother tongue provides might help him to move product to a population that might not understand the tag line that’s seducing them. That was the first thing I noticed when I got off the plane. The second is that, much like in 1988, there are still two Berlins. The amalgamation process is still going on. The West you could easily be mistaken for parts of cosmopolitan Atlanta or New York. In the East, the concrete bunkers the Communist built as apartment building will last for 100 years, very attractive. At any point, a lost tourist (ahem...hem) on the train can look out the window and immediately see which side of the old wall he's on. But the East had some surprising advantages like a really cool art scene and great street food. Two euro get you a handful of surprisingly good pizza and permission to use the counter attached to the building. There is no amount of money that can get you a chair. Two more euros gets you a Coke or water. And they have something here called a doenner. It's like a gyro. I said it was a gyro but was corrected. What is the main difference? The name. I just let it go, not worth the argument. But they taste really good.

        However, most of the interesting sites are on the expensive west side. Like the Reichstag, which is awesome. Never thought I'd find a legislative building so interesting. I suppose getting boring. But the Reichstag looks like it was made by aliens, but cool, modern, aesthetically pleasing aliens. Outside it's the same standard marble building that houses crooks in any country. The real catch is the giant glass dome that in no way fits with the building resting on top. It looks like its from a video game, like there should be lightning shooting out the top of it. Inside is an aluminum plaque of a two story tall Black Eagle which actually more closely resembles a Foghorn Leghorn love interest (picture to follow). Above that is a MASSIVE polished metal spike that reflects light from the glass alien dome into the legislative chamber. References to the sword of Damaclese went unappreciated. Or maybe they did appreciate it. They are German. Who can tell?

        I also saw a ridiculous number of other sites including the Pergamon Museum, which contains almost an entire Greek temple that Germany kindly “liberated” from Turkey, the Berlin Dom which I called a cathedral but was corrected (again main difference: name), Checkpoint Charlie, two over decorated castles and a lot of World War II and Cold War sites. It was great.

        The people I met were great too. Granted we had our prerequisite cultural differences. Apparently they find us to forward (First rule of the club: Don't introduce yourself. Just start talking. What can I say, Germans are weird. Second rule of the club: Don't talk about fight club). And they are blunt. If you aren't sure about the shirt don't wear it in front of them. Things like that are swiftly punished. Punished in such a way as to make you think they hate you. But it's nothing personal, just sport (hunting the least deadly game: me). But they always helped me and were always more then willing to listen while I corrected them on the proper way to say things in their language.

        Oh, and their bathing suits look... uncomfortable. Bring your own or leave your modesty. There isn't room in your bag for both.

        In Berlin, there are yellow jackets everywhere. I mean the insect, not the old school raincoat or Georgia Tech Alumni (saw a lot of those too). They always told me to just leave them alone which worked up until one flew by me and I panic and flailed like a six year old girl. So after that I tried to take their advice. One comes by, just stay still. That's how I figured out that yellow jackets really, really like me. No, like isn't a strong enough word. Yellow jackets have a deep and profound emotional connection to me. They are drawn to me, to the core of my being. Yellow jacket poets will write sonnets about me that will make future yellow jackets cry for the beauty of the prose hundreds of years from now. One very cheeky winged Don Juan landed on my face and tried to crawl into my mouth. Germans think we are stupid for spraying insecticide so much. NOOOOO.... In America bugs don't TRY TO FORCE YOUR MOUTH OPEN! I felt violated.

Later ya'll

Madison

New York

New York

New York, New York. Let's just put this out there, this is the best city on the planet. I know you like where you live and I'm sure it's great but you only think that because you haven't been here. If you'd like to argue about it then I'll come to your place, sleep on your couch and you can try and convince me otherwise.

        But there are just so many awesome parts about this place, big and small,. I got dumplings in China town for $1.25 and they were really good. First full day of my second trip through here I heard a guy yell, “Yeah man. I got kicked out of the bar too.” Too. Let that sink in. And are there to many hipsters in Williamsburg? Yes, but it's way cooler if you say that Williamsburg is hipster Disneyland. Thanks Sydney. Only in New York.

        But not everything here is great. Jimmy Fallon for instance. I went to see him practice his monologue. Now he's a nice guy and was probably very funny hanging out at his frat house. The problem is that no one in the studio audience is high. Ok, well I wasn't. I'm really getting more into needle drugs but that's neither here nor there. Dude needs more time to come up with good material. That means he needs more writers. That or he shouldn't have a show.

        But I shouldn't be so mean though. What if Jimmy Fallon reads this? Then he'll probably call and it'll be really awkward. He'll be like, “Madison, I thought we were cool.” And I'll respond I was just trying to be funny. See he wouldn't get that. Then he'd offer me a job.

        New York is the biggest place I've ever seen. So much so that it's the small places that stand out. Best example: the J.P. Morgan headquarters is a four story building in the middle of the financial district. The New York Stock Exchange is across the street. But the J.P. Morgan Building stands out there for two reasons. One, it has no signage on it. If it weren't for the cheap, plastic marker next to it detailing its history you wouldn't know what it was. The other reason is its only four stories tall. Why then did J.P. Morgan build as four story building there? The answer is quite simple. He could. Minor detail: the foundation was designed to support a building ten times that size.

        And New York is strange, like Christopher Walken in New Orleans strange. I was walking around Time Square when a topless 60 year old woman wearing a backpack and what appeared to be a bleach blond clown wig walked past me. Now the obvious question is why a clown wig instead of, say, the 10 gallon straw hat I saw a hipster wearing the next day. But the more subtle question is why she decided to walk around like that... in broad daylight mind you... IN FRONT OF THE POLICE... when she is clearly more of a brunette.

        Other cities you go to for the things there. I went to Amsterdam to see the Red Light District. I went to Munich to see Oktoberfest. But you come to New York to see New York. A friend of mine asked me in a rather dry, sarcastic tone, “You went to New York and you spent all day watching football.” Yes, of course. I'm uncultured, white trash that has a problem. But even if I wasn't that would still be ok. Because here the city is really the attraction. I came here for this one really cool bakery or a bar that I was told I needed to go to. Sure there is bigger stuff like the Brooklyn Bridge and the Statue of Liberty. Everyone should come here and see those things. But if the coolest thing you do here is get a picture taken with Lady Liberty then you need to try REAL women. They're better conversation.

        So that's the reason it was totally alright that I spent a day watching football there. We aren't going to talk about this anymore.

        So a quick list of the things I liked in New York: bagels, football, people (non-hipster variety), walking around, Jimmy Fallon's effort, the subway, the Chrysler Building, and street food.

        And a quick list of things I didn't like: $7 for a BAGEL?!, people judging me for watching football, the way my feet felt after walking on concrete all day, Jimmy Fallon's results, the people on the subway, not being able to take a picture of the Chrylser building at night because my camera sucks and why would a person on vacation ever want to take a picture at night, AND... street food.

Later ya'll

The Rumors of My Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

The Rumors of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

Hello all. As all of you probably noticed, the blog did not work out as planned. Sorry about that. I knew there would be a lot to do, but I never imagined there was that much. There were days that I would go on three different walking tours, skip lunch, and then go out that night. Before I forget, never go on three walking tours, skip lunch, and then go out at night. It ends badly. The people I met, with very few exceptions, were very nice and helpful. Such as the nice fellow I met at Oktoberfest. He had incredible incite into the American psyche and culture when he told me that Americans weren't smart. That's all he said. Americans aren't smart. OR the nice gentleman that came up to me IN THE BATHROOM at a restaurant said a “sentence” I'll never forget. “America very bad.” In vinos veritas I suppose. That is to say that he was inebriated enough to properly understand the complexities of the situation. Or he was drunk in public.

        There was the beer I had in Prague. It was incredible: Pilsner Urquell unfiltered and unpasteurized. Or the beer I had in Hamburg. It was... well it didn't cost much. I was invited to a wine festival in the Neckar Valley by my friend Frank. The wine there was really good. What was better was the two bottles Frank and I drank on the way there, but the best were the pictures the next day. They explained a lot.

        Also, my German improved considerably. For instance, at the airport before my flight home left, I spent three or four minutes looking at the menu before confidently stepping up and ordering in the clearest, most accent free German I could muster. The man behind the counter apparently approved. He smiled before telling me, “Ah, very good order!” Oh well, in all honesty my German really did get better. I was able to read some of the inscriptions on the memorials and understand some signs. Towards the very last month I was even able to make out words and phrases in conversation.

        Ok, these were mostly bad, but I promise it was the most incredible thing I've ever done. Every day I did something I’ve never done before and saw something I've never seen before and didn't know existed the week before. I walked around a castle that was approximately five times older than my country, but it was 50 times older than the country it was in. Every week I ate food I couldn't pronounce and met people from everywhere, literally everywhere: Israel, Germany, Amsterdam, South Africa, the Czech Republic, Australia, Great Britain, Canada, Switzerland, France, Bulgaria, Serbia, Italy, Belgium, New Zealand, Spain, Russia, Scotland, Ireland, Brazil, India, Mexico, Argentina, South Korea and of course America.

        I wrote a few entries on some of the cities I went to and I'm planning on writing a few more. Will they be a pointless exercise in self indulgence? More than likely. But I'm going to post them for a sort of diary so I can remember everything before I lose it in my old age. You can read them but only if you agree to tell me how smart and cool I am. Later.

P.S. Midnight in Paris is interesting but sucks. And I never got to see Captain America.  

Dear ABQ PD

Dear Albuquerque Police Department

Hello, I regret that you must find out like this but I believe there is no other way. We can no longer be together. Its just to hard. Please don't take this the wrong way. Certainly I did somethings wrong. While I didn't explicitly know that you didn't like it when I talked on my phone while driving the speed limit. I should have. And I could make excuses, like how I wasn't thinking clearly with the sound of rushing wind from the cars driving 90+ mph in the lane next to me, I won't. I didn't hold up my end of the bargain. However, I think your behaviour has been strange lately. Something is wrong. Like the other day when I caught your eye at the traffic light. The intimidating scowl you gave me just wasn't the same. Oh sure, you tried to make it up by stopping short at the next traffic light so you could see and probably run my license plate but the FEELING isn't there any more. And tonight, when you pulled me over so we could talk. I could tell your heart wasn't in it. You didn't even know the fines associated with the violations you gave me. Or the fact that you assigned me a court date and time without telling me that these particular violations in New Mexico did not require a court appearance. Some might call that incompetence but I know better. You're afraid of me leaving. That's why you scheduled my court date for the afternoon the DAY BEFORE I FLY BACK TO ALABAMA. Were other times available? I'm certain. And try as you might, I saw through the disinterested facade you put up when I told you I had to fly home the next day. You were dying inside and just afraid to show me. Which makes this so much harder. ABQPD, we're growing apart you and I. To me you'll always be the happy go lucky, look-around-my-car-with-a-flashlight-then-tell-me-you-pulled-me-over-because-my-window-is-cracked type gal. Then we would laugh about how that isn't a crime at all and I had more then likely already noticed the crack in my windshield. I'd make a joke about how some people might misconstrue your playful interest for something less noble like an unwarranted inspection of my person, car and its contents. Then you'd start to pout and walk back to your car for 30 minutes while you checked everything but my dental records. And to you, I'll always be a young looking male that probably has drugs on him. Listen, people change (except you) but we'll always have the memories. You'll meet someone else. Oh wait you did. Five minutes after you pulled me over. On the same highway. By the same officer. And again, half a mile down the road. See, there are other young, male, probably dangerous fish in the sea for you to find and inform of the cracks in their windshields. No Darlin, please be calm. That is a spoon not a gun.

Love Always
Madison

Kicks on Route 66 Finally

6/26/11 12:31pm

Ok, ok, ok. Let's get this out of the way. The US lost and lost badly. We went up by two goals. Then we lost our right back who is also probably our best defender and everything went to Hell. No excuse though. Mexico lost two of their best defenders and found a way to overcome it. Best 11 versus best 11 the USA matches up pretty well with El Tri. It was their depth that beat us.
        As far as the rest of the day, it was fun. I met up with two punk show promoters, my friend Veronica and a girl named Nny. We rode all over Hell's half acre, that's in Albuquerque you know, putting up fliers for a few shows. It was cool. Well, actually it was unbearably hot but you get what I'm trying to say. We hit up all the usual places. Guitar stores, light poles, dimly lit saloons, the bar scene from Sin City... We started in east Albuquerque, then went to the Mall. Then we concentrated on Central Street which is aptly named by the way. I think everything else in Albuquerque is a huge facade to make the city look full. In reality it's all on Central. This is closer to true then I think any of you realize. Everywhere I go it seems is on or near Central.
        At this point the girls and I parted ways. The girls went to a wildlife exhibit known as a "Greaser Roundup". How does one round up greasers you might ask. It's simple, beer and cigarettes. Car painted only in primer help too. Meanwhile, I was unknowingly walking into a trap set by my old nemeses Giovanni Dos Santos and... JONATHAN BORNSTEIN!!!! I have a nephew named Thomas. Thomas learned to kick a ball maybe eight months ago. I believe the national team should scout him for left back. He can't be worse then Bornstein.
        It all started with the US getting beat off the field and leading by two goals. We weren't playing better but we were winning. Its called American soccer. More specifically, its called the USA-Mexico game. But in the making of that lead we lost our best defender and Hannover 96 captain, Steve Cherundolo. Dolo for short. Things went south (of the border, hahahahaha) from there. They put four goals past us and we looked like a wreck.
        But everything else about watching the game, besides the game, was great. Tosh, the guy I met at the first USA game I watched in Albuquerque, showed up as did about two dozen other USA fans. And my punk promoting friends showed up at halftime. We had a beer and tried to not notice Jonathan Bornstein. For his part he was trying to lay low too. I don't think Dos Santos even knew he was there. And the atmosphere was great. There were people there wearing USA jerseys besides me. It was a little Twilight Zone-ish at first. They'd call offsides and it looked like the fans there understood what was going on. Once that shock wore off it was great.
        Ok, now the Gold Cup is over and with it my soccer watching experience in famed Route 66. All in all, the signage and stuff is cool but the soccer is the same. The people were very cool and they appear to have a decent number of fans here. Its a shame that the two worst Gold Cup losses I ever saw happened while I was here. Hell, maybe not. Maybe this place is bad luck and me leaving will give us a new golden era for US soccer.
        Or, more likely, me coming here coincided with the end of our golden era. We have good players and a better infrastructure but we're about to lose our best and the next generation isn't ready yet. Let's face it. The coming storm of US soccer players that is forever 10-12 years away hasn't come yet. We have the players but we have no coaches. I like Bob Bradley but the development system beneath him failed us. We don't need a left back, we need ten left backs. Right now we have one. And God help us if he gets hurt. We'll be back. We'll be better. We're America. We absolutely can't stand losing, not to Europeans. But It's going to take longer to get to that Promised Land then any of us had thought. And we might be made to pay for it fairly heavily in the years until we get there.
        Ok, enough of that. I promise the next entry will be more interesting to people besides me. Ya'll stay cool. Later.

Madison

Kicks on Route 66 Part II

6/22/11 9:00pm

I'm watching the Mexico Honduras game at a sports bar called Coaches on Univision. I'm sitting in the back room wearing my USA jersey. I am fairly certain of a few things. Thing the first: I am the only one here who isn't fluent in Spanish. Thing the second: they are wondering if I am lost. Thing the third: Spanish language television is DRAMATIC. There's always a Mexican guy that looks a little to good, a woman that looks good too and a lot of fast gibberish. At the end of the commercial either he makes out with her or she looks very worried about something that is clearly bad. Maybe its the old man that's dressed like a general. No one knows. Except for everyone else here because they understood it.
        Damn, waitress just caught me looking at her. Act natural Madison. Earlier I asked her what was good on the menu. She kept talking about the "barbeque". I'm not going to order barbeque at a sports bar. Let alone a sports bar that puts onions on their pulled port sandwiches. I ended up getting the "Ranchero Fries". There is a law in New Mexico that says that you must have one "Ranchero" item on the menu at all times. You must also serve green chile peppers. That last one might be true. You can get them at McDonald's.
        So the USA won today. That's cool. We're in the final. And nobody better post on here about how I said "we" when I'm just a fan. I had to watch Johnathan Bornstein play. I've paid my dues. Anyways, Freddy Adu played? Remember the guy from the Sprite commercial with Pele. I think he might have played soccer at one time. The weird part was he did well and the sun stopped in the sky. I know, I know. It sounds impossible but it happened. Adu set up a goal.
        Now there is a 40 year old "cowboy" butchering "She Thinks My Tractors Sexy". But to be fair it's like ground beef through a blender. You'll know what you did tore it apart but really, the damage was done before you got there.
        Now a guy is singing a song that I believe is called "Now Show Them Titties". This place is like an episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Am I at Patty's? One Thing is for sure though. I am not going to clean this table. That's Charlie work.
        NOW THE GUY THAT HELPED ME AT WALMART IS SINGING RAMSTEIN! That's it. This is the weirdest place on the planet. It's like the Bermuda Triangle of bars. No that doesn't do it justice. I love this place/am very scared.
        Honduras has just taken Mexico to extra time. This could get messy pretty soon. Damn, Mexico just scored. Well, there goes that dream. USA/Mexico final everyone. Guess we still have to find a way to stop Chicharito. And they scored again. Man...