You're wearing the shirt of the band you're going to see? Don't be that guy

I learned this weekend that I am a close, personal friend of Arcade Fire. Closer than six-degrees of Kevin Bacon close. In high school I starred in a student-directed, one act play with Will Butler -- well, in truth he starred in the play and they let me have a part because it was high school and like only six people try out for student-produced plays. And yes, the acting is as bad as it sounds: Will's stage presence tended to be the exception whereas mine tended to be the rule (i.e. mediocre at best).

Anyway, this is definitely one of those circumstances where I remember him but there's no way he remembers me, especially now that he's famous and dances shamelessly in public the way I (shamefully) do when no one is home. Sigh, talent gets all the perks. I wish I had known that I knew him when I saw them in concert last year. His bro and front man kept giving the crowd crap for not being rowdy enough (we weren't, but that wasn't my fault -- blame the Dutch...they can be awkward). I could have given a high school shout out or tried to weasel my way back stage for one of those "Hey, remember me?" awkward conversations you have with people you don't really remember, but pretend to so as not to be rude. (last time I forgot to pretend I knew someone, they reported back to Coltrane that I was an evil bitch -- hey, not my fault if you are just another rower I don't know.....oooooh, now she really is a Ceee U Next Tuesday).

I was informed of my semi-relationship to this semi-star over the weekend when Charlo "I now give wicked good hugs" T. was in town for an Amsterdam quickie from London. Joined by another friend of hers who was also an ex-rower, ex-New Englander type, we spent the weekend playing the name game and generally reminiscing about the good ole days (in truth boarding school was my own personal social hell, but hey, if I had actually had friends I would not have been able to pass classes).

Highlight of the weekend was not the Dutch losing to the Russians (Holland Hup no more...), but rather gettin' busy to Arcade-esque music at the best sweaty club ever. We checked out Club Rascal -- an Indie disco night that rotates locations every month or so -- on the top floor of some building in the west of the city. It was like hipster heaven except people were not afraid to admit they enjoyed dancing (I saw at least 40 people smiling...oh the irony). Unfortunately, it must have been 35°C and we were not the only people removing clothing on the dance floor and taking "glistening" to a whole new level. "Then, we tried to name our babies, but we forgot all the names that...the names that we used to know (doo doo doo doo)....(doo doo doo doo)..."

You've got mail!

In the digital age, I get really excited about "real" mail. To foster my need, I send postcards in hopes that someone will get the hint and send me some postcards back (that doesn't seem to be working, so consider this also the dropping of the hint). I'm down to hoping more people get married just so I can get mail.

So, yesterday I received an envelope without a stamp, but with my name neatly typed on the front with my address. Curiosity peaked, I browsed the mail pile on the stairs and noticed one of my neighbors had also received the same thing. Figuring it was junk I took it upstairs with a pouty face and was flabbergasted to see that I had been sent a PERSONALIZED note regarding Chlamydia screening with a personal login code and everything.

What.the.fuck.

First of all, how one tests for Chlamydia online is beyond me (my Dutch isn't good enough to reach the whole letter...just to see the word "Chlamydia" repeated, oh, 80 times). Second of all, why out of the 5 women who live in my building did only 2 of us receive these letters? Third, do I really need a personal letter about VDs? Kid you not, it reads "Beste mevrow Levner, Via deze brief nodigen we je uit deel te nemen aan de Chlamydia Screening Amsterdam." Fourth, why would anyone testing for VDs "invite" you to testing -- is this a party? Will there be punch and pie? Fifth, what have I done in the last 6 months that would put me on the target list for this. Please let the answer be "not turn 30" (y'know, like all women in Amsterdam from ages X to Y received this or something) instead of "makeout with some random dude at Odeon. We saw you and we hunted you down because he looked dirty and you looked like a hoodrat hoochie mamma."

Chlamydia is not a flower. Golden Shower, however, is (it's an orchid).

You could be a farmer in those clothes

I have finally been wowed by a "rural" city. This is groundbreaking because I am a horrible east coaster that always rags on farm towns (i.e. the entire Midwest) and loves to tell anecdotes about gas station chains called "Kum & Go" and the number of Cracker Barrels per square mile. Farmland in The Netherlands is a little different because hey, it's Europe, and far be it for a small town reputation to prevent them from knowing how to party (that and "the middle of nowhere" is actually pretty close to civilization given the lack of land mass).

To be fair, Groningen is actually a university town, but it kicks the ass of any rural university town in the U.S. that I've ever visited. I went this past weekend with my colleague, Mirjam (which is pronounced "meer-yam"; J is a Y sound in Dutch....though Meerjam would be a pretty sweet name too) to her home town to see the sights and get fed by her parents.

The weekend started with an exciting car ride past modern windmills and a chemical fire and ended with a hangover. But the hangover was WORTH IT. After visiting the small suburb where Mirjam used to lived (ponies! geese! beetroot!) we rolled into the big city for a crazy Saturday night. I'm thinking we're going to just chill at a local pub, drink a bunch of beer and be in bed by 2am. But ahhhh, so good to be so wrong.

After meeting like 80 of Mirjam's friends randomly on the street (yes, it is that small...) we set up at some swank lounge bar and proceeded to get warmed up before heading to a club. I'm sitting there thinking we are going to go to something like the Kong, but it turns out my college town left something (everything?) to be desired in terms of clubbing spots. Hidden by a typical Dutch facade, we walked in to this modern four-floor party haven called En Zo (And So…). Arguably coolest club layout I've seen yet in The Netherlands. After dancing forever, we ended the night/morning with a little sight seeing (on the right is the famous Martini tower at 5am...and happy partiers post some fries and mayo).