You must cut down the largest tree in the forest wiiiiiiiiiiiith a herring!

The pops rolled into town on a whirlwind visit. We did everything in true Dutch style, including public transportaion, biking through tulips and of course, eating herring. Check out the tasty photos. Now, look cloesely -- check out all the people in the background really jonesing for their RAW herring slathered in chopped onion. There is even a communal hand washing bin with lemons in it to get the smell off. Even my dad -- who really likes to do things because they are healthy (like deprive his growing children of sweets so they don't end up fat -- yeah, lot of good that did -- man, I used to open jars of sweetened condensed milk I wanted sugar so bad...yes, I am disgusting) didn't like it. This is also a guy who will eat whitefish salad straight out of the tin. I actually thought it would appeal to him, but guess I'm wrong. Whatever, its tasty....on bread.


Quick aside -- so last week I was talking about the search function on the blog and not being able to find it...well I did. But this reminds me of the very obvious gap between us gen Yers and our booming parents. Watching my father use a computer might have been the most frustrating thing I've seen in recent history. I don't think I've watched something like this...since...since watching ATD ice a cake. It's soooooooo painful. The hunt/peck typing, the needing to check the email everyday (trust me, the world keeps spinning when you are on vacation). It's almost as bad as when he answers his cell phone when he's at dinner with my brother, his "life partner" and I. Dude, we are the ONLY three people who ever call you. (serenity now) On the bitchy computer note -- the spell check on this blog isn't working. Do you guys remember when spelling was impotent? Do kids still have to do that stuff? (FYI -spelling error in previous sentence intended).


We then took off for Prague, which was beautiful. I think I walked every inch of the city. Yeah, was thinking about doing a destination marathon there, but fuuuuuuck that -- cobble stones suck (still need to go back and party, though). I also learned all about the Czech Jews who apparently have been persecuted for millions of years (big suprise on that one). Interesting tid bit from our crappy guide book: In addition to Prague as a city and the old Jewish quarter (ahem, ghetto...yes Coltrane, it was for the Choosen people first...much like the NBA) not being bombed in WWII, apparently Hitler's grand plan was to use the area as a type of museum on an extinct race. Kinda like we do with the Mayans...and pandas.

"You've never been on a plane." "I know, but the joke's better if I tell it in the first person."

As an intro to this post, I was all psyched to rag on the one person I know who is actually half-Indonesian. Then I realized 1) I don't know any Asian jokes and 2) he doesn't read this blog -- but will change that...Krishna will get the link later today. This means, however, that we are "formerly" opening up this sucker to a male audience. Not like I'm good at editing myself anyway, but this might mean less tampon talk and more poop stories (more on poop later). Anyway, despite the plethora of jokes I know about women, Jews and Michael Jackson, there are only two jokes I know about Asian people; neither of them are mine and neither make sense coming from me...but doesn't mean they aren't funny.

1. "What's better than sex with a 6-year-old Vietnamese boy?" "Nothing." (courtesy of WWJDD)
2. Once you go yellow, you basically go back to whatever it is you had before (stolen from GR's buddy in L.A., who actually did stand-up for awhile and was excellent NYE entertainment)

Aight, back to the Indonesians. I think I might have written a post on this before, but I can't find the search function to check and I'm too lazy to go back and do it manually. As many of you know, I like telling the same stories over and over and over...and over again anyway, so if you aren't used to it by now, tough.

Post our mini-bender, work buddy #1 met up with another work buddy who was in town with a couple of friends and I took them to the much acclaimed (by me) Indonesian Rijsttafel. (Any time people come to visit and ask about trying Dutch cuisine, I take them to Indo food b/c Dutch food is either a) nasty, b) fried or c) fishy.) Rijsttafel is literally "rice table" in Dutch and is a reiteration of Indonesian food that one cannot actually get in Indonesia -- it's the Dutch way of eating Indo (kinda like how Tikka Masala would not exist in Indian cuisine if some British dude didn't freak out about the spice and drop a bunch of coconut milk into some dish. Goooooo imperialism!). For anyone who doesn't know their Dutch history, Indonesia was a long-held Netherlands colony and played a big role in the Dutch East Indies Trading Company.

Needless to say, we johnblazed, then walked over to a spot I know, where I made a poor attempt at explaining what the hell we would be eating. The concept is something akin to tapas, except you don't choose only a couple and they come when they are ready like en España, but rather they lay it alllllll out in front of you on plate warmers in one big flourish. And it's a MASSIVE amount of food -- they bring out anywhere from 12-20 plates, a couple things of rice and some prawn crackers to help you shovel the food into your mouth.

Indo food in The Netherlands is great -- for anyone who hasn't had it, think IndianThaiVietnamese-esque flavors, with lots of coconut milk and peanut sauce. Indo food in Indonesia, however, I must say is kinda boring -- maybe that's just because I don't get the over-easy egg thing. Why the hell would I want a fried egg on top of my noodles? (other cultures put fried eggs in weird places too -- in Peru they put them on hamburgers, y'know, just in case your arteries weren't going to get clogged enough). And maybe b/c half the dishes I like here are beef and there wasn't a whole lot of that on the Hindu islands.

So we wolf it all down and my buddy JZ was finally satiated after doubting my food-choice skills (please, eating is one thing I know how to do...perhaps too well). Then we go off for a tour of the red light district and quickly go our separate ways due to food coma.

Now, like Indian food, Indonesian food uses a lot of different ingredients that the average white-devil stomach is not familiar with. I hear from JZ and buddies a few days later and they had a little Montezuma's Revenge (or Suharto's Revenge?) and he proceeded to make fart noises to illustrate his point (by the way -- this gives me hope. Good to know it is still okay to make immature sounds in your mid-30s). Okay, not a great poop story, but I don't have babies or students who piss on floors, so give me a break.

[ha ha ha]...flashback humor

It's been awhile. Lots of good stories and too many to waste in one post as I'm going "wet" for the next couple of week in anticipation of a) a real Queen's Day (read: without Frankenstef stitches and a cast) and b) vacation with my mom, who arguably throws down harder than I do (is partying genetic?). What does wet mean you ask? (not that kind of wet...I mean, I wish that was all I was doing for the next couple of weeks...) Well, I won't go so far as to say I'm holding myself to a 3-drink maximum, but I won't actively be seeking it out. Sigh...I really wish we had made "Our team is moist" t-shirts in college. Alas, not a joke (given my sophomore year performance) that many would find funny...but you know you love/hate the word: moist moist moist moist moist moist moist. moist.

Before delving into April shenanigans and viajes, a quick recap of all things NYC. This lil' trip was great -- crashed with JM & the Three Cats (that's the name of my new lounge band). I'm locked in for kitty-sitting during the honeymoon (early to mid July), so if anyone is around, holler. Anyway, commute was surprisingly short and non-stressful (sorry Coltrane): UWS 0. Bococa 1. (Bococa is the Brooklynite name for Boerum Hill, Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens -- like Tribecca is the Triangle Below Canal and Soho is So your mother's a Ho, etc).

Sentimental note: Got a chance to see the bro in action in the classroom and he is truly a great teacher (I now understand Macbeth). And he's also great with the cats (kinda surprised since we were deprived, animaless children...dead fish and hermit crabs don't count). I think these two things combined means he's gonna be a great daddy. And a great husband. I simply can't wait for the wedding as it will be THE biggest party of the year (don't worry CGF/P -- yours will be the party of the year in '09).

Anyway, finally rolled back to Le Dam a couple Saturdays ago, met an old colleague at the airport and promptly went on a 48-hour bender. We soldiered up for a rookie night at Paradiso. This spot gets lots of major acts in a variety of different genres. Phish played Pardiso, JT played Paradiso, Tiesto and Van Bueren have played Paradiso, etc. Anyway, it's a club/music venue in an old church (I think...). I've heard that the place is great and apparently I now know it is great. I say "apparently" because I had one of the few (seriously, only a few...Stef does not black out, she just checks out early and passes out...or pukes...maybe a little from column A and little from column B) evenings were it's a bit fuzzy around the edges. Regardless, some chick spun a great set and speaking Spanish was involved. In true Amsterdam style, our "hangover" cure was fungus and muffins. So good to be home.