Stef Loves Amsterdam: December 2008

Monday, December 15, 2008

'That's 72 unforced errors for Richie Tenebaum. He's playing the worst tennis of his life. What's he feeling right now?'

When it finally came time for me to hang up my basketball jersey in favor of endurance sports, my father said to me "I love you, but you have chosen the two most boring sports in the world to watch."

And he is right -- no matter the ratings at these last Olympics, swimming is boring. Have any of you actually had to sit through the entire swim meet waiting for someone's event? Even when I was racing, the length of meets was depressing. At least in rowing you get to be outside, maybe even on launch, kick back and enjoy the scenery while the first 4 minutes of little blobs on the horizon come closer. (In the UK, they've got rowing it right -- spectators get hammered. Legitimately, they make you wear silly clothing, but at least you can have a Pims).

In addition to being extremely boring to watch, both rowing and swimming are not particularly social. That's not to say that it isn't a lot of fraternizing surrounding the them or that we aren't into our own kind (ask me what I'm doing in DC next weekend, just ask me), but rather that they are races, not games, and therefore you never talk to your teammates while performing. And no one gets yellow cards, or fouls out, or tells Rick Pitino to go fuck themselves.

So I've started playing tennis (true, it's not everyday that you see tennis players telling their coaches to fuck off, but baby steps here...I'm not good on skates so hockey wasn't an option). Playing might be an overly aggressive phrase at this juncture -- how about I've started holding a racket and hitting little yellow balls. At this stage, it's not interesting to watch in the sporting sense, but it is interesting to watch in the "I never knew people who claim to be athletes could be so uncoordinated" sense.

But look out Serena -- I look frickin bad ass with a weave.

Friday, December 5, 2008

It's Friday. You ain't got a job and you ain't got shit to do.

This time last week I was making pie crust while hungover. What a sexy image.

LKP and GMR hosted the second annual Thanksgiving in Paris last Friday. The two imports who have joined the Turkey Day vacation train from NL to FRA hopefully concur on the awesomeness that is T-day in Europe. I hate turkey with a burning fiery passion and could do without Thanksgiving food in general, so I might be biased -- but the times I've celebrated the holiday on the continent have always been the best (perhaps with the exception of the year my grandpa decided he wanted lobster...that was an interesting one).

Leigh and Greg are the best hosts. Firstly, they let me take over their kitchen, but will do all the cleaning up. Secondly, they like to take walks. Sometimes these walks are true trips, but even when they are not, I have to sing their praises. I know it's pretty normal for families to take walks together on Thanksgiving, but that wasn't a tradition in my house (we drank gin and watched Holiday Inn instead). It's nice to be older and decide which traditions you want to add (walking), keep (I still like drinking on Thanksgiving) or throw away (turkey, duh).

Not only foreign, but also Friday Thanksgivings are extra special. Five or so years ago, in Madrid, LKP and SAC cuddled up with me in the dorms at the universidad. On Thursday we were too busy watching flamenco to do anything other than eat bread and cheese. Next night we went out for a huge Americano-type meal and drank a LOT of red wine -- I got to see it all again, so I remember. This was supposed to be the night Leigh and Sara learned about the miracle of Agua de Valencia, but - as you all know - I can't hold my liquor. Maybe three sips in to this scorpion-bowl-type serving, I was out the door. Classy, really. But the visit was awesome: Suckling pig, a whole lot of chicken nuggets, and dancing with my sleeves. I wonder what ever happened to that shirt...