"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.

Chill Winston! It's me, Charlie knows it's me, so what's the problem?

J&M rolled through for an extended weekend which was AWESOME. Was so nice to have (some of) the fam finally see this place. What was not awesome was the weather, which consisted of every type of precipitation know to man, including those little round hail balls that look like foam packaging stuffing. Except they hurt when they hit you. Anyway, Noah's Ark 2008 was a bit of a downer, but we did survive...mostly on chocolate eggs since this country feels about Easter the way that I feel about cheesy techno (loooove it). Thankfully, not in any "We Love Jesus" sort of way, just in the eggs/chickens/chocolate kind of way. Not a lot of bunnies though -- I think that's an Americano adaptation.

Fun new activities included the zoo (and a crappy Plane-arium), a brewery under a windmill and a cute Belgian beer bar. Despite my beer-hating tendencies, the brewery beer was sick-tasty and uber alcoholic...had a very Brooklyn Brewery feel to it (read: sparse with shared tables and lots of 30-something drunk people. jam!).

The bro also brought out some long-missed DVDs, including a pair of key Guy Ritchie flicks. Sigh. Is he ever going to do another one? I don't care if they are all similar, I like them. And since it was/is still raining/snowing, I definitely did not feel like a waste of space watching them both in a row (though to be fair, if it was sunny and in the 20s I probably still would have had a futondoublefeature). This place shuts down like suburban DC when there is slush -- a colleague worked from home today because there was FORTY ONE KILOMETERS of traffic. I mean, that's almost half the width of the country...

Carnies....Smell like cabbage. Small hands.

I get a lot of questions about Amsterdam that are pretty similar to all the questions that I have about Las Vegas. They are all along the lines of "Is it really as crazy there as I think it is?"

Usually, my answer to this is no (but I hear in Vegas the answer is "yes"). The Dutch are just like everybody else -- some people smoke pot, some people take hallucinogens, some people visit prostitutes and some people have never tried hash, shrooms or women. Like the U.S., The Netherlands has a Christian Right (who is just as scary -- see the recent news on an anti-Muslim film) as well as nuclear families and regular old folks who just aren't into these things. For example, one of my coworkers noted that he's never tried marijuana. True, that's kinda like telling me he's never had a drink given the laws here, but I usually have a similarly visceral reaction when someone from the U.S. tells me they've never tried the sweet sweet sensi. So while yes, approximately 30% of Amsterdammers have tried Marijuana, approximately 35% of New Yorkers have (booyah delivery service).

Now, recently there was a TV movie screening on NATIONAL PUBLIC TELEVISION that has made me think twice about my "The Dutch are Normal" response as outlined above. Deep Throat (no, not a documentary about Watergate, but the 1972 porno) was shown on late night TV on February 23. AND they must have shown it again at some point, b/c I forget when I saw it, but I was out of town on Feb 23, so it means there was definitely a rerun screening.

So, I'm no porn connoisseur (jokes about homemade porn, by the way, are not funny and I do not recall that incident Senator). But this movie was friggin' hilarious. I was flicking through the channels and came across it while the main character is giving an inverted blow job (not sure if that is correct terminology...use your imagination), but all you can see is her face all over this dude's cock. Indeed, this dude was hung and indeed, she was going to town like a kid at a carnival. A carnival you ask? Well that's what it sounded like...

In my narrow experience with the genre, I always thought there was cheesy romantic music or grunting and semi-fake orgasmic screaming. But this movie played Ferris wheel music. Think dancing midgets, house of mirrors, etc. I couldn't get over it. Big hairy cock? yeah yeah yeah, what's the big deal. Big hairy cock set to state fair music? now you've got my attention. Of all the porn films to choose to play on TV...

(doo doo doo to too too doo doo do to too, etc.)

You mean I'm black?! Does dad know?

This entertained me almost as much as www.overheardinnewyork.com. Yes, I am slightly uncomfortable being an upper-middle class white girl who, with the exception of wearing shorts, probably fulfills most white stereotypes (I like Kayne West...so do you). There is now a special name for the cross-generation mix of slightly-concerned, over-educated (usually) white people: We're called "Cultural Creatives" and are now almost as high on brand target lists as soccer moms (I'm sure ATD could tell us more but she's too busy making ecologically conscious shampoo bottles to read this). I'm building millions of campaigns to get us to buy fair trade coffee, green tea, smart wool socks, energy saver washing machines and dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof that they were crafted by the honest, simple, hardworking, indigenous people of....wherever.

Are the 3.2 people out there reading this blog too young to get the title movie reference? Ahh, the joys of exposure from liberal ex-hippie parents. We'll also have to sit down and watch Repo Man together, even though I'm not sure if "quality" and "Emilio Estevez" in the same sentence is an oxymoron...

English, motherfucker, do you speak it?

Everyday I get questions that I wish I knew the answer to (like how do trains go uphill?). As the bullshit artists that we all are (okay, maybe not all of us, but at least achtentachtig percenten of us) we like to, what I will diplomatically call, "intuitionalize" a reason or cause of something even if we have no.fucking.clue why something is the way it is. Three cheers for liberal arts degrees.

So, all you educated souls, what exactly is a douchebag?

I think we all know what the slang term means (please visit whitehouse.gov for further clarification -- can't hyperlink that one or the random man monitoring phone calls and emails will hunt me down for the threat to national security that I am. But perhaps I'm worrying about the wrong government... Fun Dutch fact: The Netherlands is the most wire-tapped country in the world), but that's not where I'm going.

A Dutch guy asked me this somewhat recently, "What is this douchebag?" seeking the actual definition of the term, not the slang (how this got to be slang, by the way, is beyond me and sadly, Wikipedia doesn't have all the answers...yet...any cunning linguists out there who research this further, please update the "douche" entry when you get a chance). I felt a bit like a mom explaining the birds and the bees while this blue-eyed student stared at me expectantly. Using my extensive knowledge of French, I explained that douche in French means to wash and women used to use a, uh, turkey baster of types to uh, clean themselves. So uh, therefore douching is uh, a woman cleaning herself. Pass the tequila.

Of course in that explanation, there is no bag mentioned -- turns out the turkey baster is attached to a baggie of water/vinegar/bleach/poisonous cleaning supplies/etc. Coming from left field here, but has anyone out there every actually seen a douche bag? (seeing Karl Rove on the street doesn't count.) How many generations ago were these things a birth control of choice? I know they went out of vogue because they used antiseptics which can cause "an imbalance of the natural bacteria in the vagina, also resulting in an increased likelihood of infection" but that doesn't tell me what percentage of the population was down with this system.

I'm super tempted to take this strain of conversation into a general birth control discussion, but I'm sure I've grossed out enough people for today (including myself), so the sponge vs. rhythm method battle will have to wait. My work here is done.

Fifty-three dollars...would you pay someone that much money every week to kill you?!?

Just back from biz in NYC, where I spent 4 days trying to bond with thecitythatatemysoul. I was unsuccessful. But did come to the conclusion that my soul can be bought. Maybe for the price of one jelly donut (someone get this reference, please).

I also blew a bunch of cash. Yeah, I was visiting and blah blah blah. But I think I have an addiction to yellow cabs (especially since now there is Diana and Sade giving me some of the softest news stories I've ever heard and they take debit and credit -- not Diana and Sade, the taxis). I could definitely feed 25 Somali children for 835 years for the amount I dropped on rides. And expensive coffee. And microwave popcorn. And sushi. And a prostitute. And a mani/pedi. And organic sorbet. Next time I'm there I'll have to play the "Can I walk out of [insert apartment at which I'm crashing -- Governor, you're next unless you are on the GBR, in which case maybe Johnny will let me have the closet and give me Halo lessons]'s place and not spend any money all day. Period."

Sadly, I'll think that game is a little too aggressive, so maybe I'll just cut the whores out of my budget. No whores and no taxis. Definitely no whores in taxis, b/c that's just asking for a VD.