'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.

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...

The usual. I bowl. Drive around. The occasional acid flashback.

Today we are going to play a fun game called "Who's Acid Trip is it?" Is it a) Kanye West, b) Coltrane or c) both?

1.

2.
















3.















4.















5.















6.
















7.

Team America, Fuck Yeah

Team Berlin, now Team Europe, took a weekend in Amsterdam a few weeks back. Our team needs a better name. For awhile, I wanted to be Team America -- so that I could say it with the self-hating cynicism that is the patriotism of Brattle Street liberals like myself. But since the election of Barack, being Team America wouldn't hold the same dark humor, since he's our get out of jail free card: "The U.S. is responsible for plunging stock markets around the globe? Well, Obama will be president in February, so, uh, isn't that enough?" Also, we can't be Team America because a few Brits are part of the crew-- and we don't want to kick them off the island because they say funny things like "rubbish" and "driving a scooter does not automatically disqualify me as straight."

What is Team Europe? We are all expats living somewhere on the Continent trying to squeeze as much sightseeing (read: partying) into as many European cities as possible before we leave. Together, we speak a total of four languages, which is about the same number as a normal EU citizen. And some of us are consultants, meaning yes, there is a spreadsheet dictating where we are going and when. It's all very organized, really. Somewhat like herding cats.


Amsterdam was weekend two in this great experiment and a great experiment it was, let's just leave it at that. We also discovered a toothpaste that makes your mouth feel so fresh you actually think your teeth are vibrating (reminded me of my very first trip to the city with Team Family in '01 "My lips are talking to my teeth!" Man, I hope my bro actually reads this blog so I don't sound crazy. Someone needs to laugh at that).

That was so fucking money. That was like the Jedi mind-shit.

This will be short and sweet -- it's been a good week. Sinterklass showed up on his boat from Spain (he'll be here until December 5), I got a spiffy new fiets (well, a "new" used bike) and learned that I have to pay no damages to the taxi that side swipped me a year and a half ago! Not only that, but they owe me mad €€ (hmmm, doesn't look quite the same as $$).

Bunch of savages in this town

I am bike-less. My craptastic fiets with stolen. It was the biggest piece of scrap metal, I can't believe they even bothered. Maybe it was my uber cool teal green saddle bags that seduced them, the wankers. I don't want to run out and get another one, because what if I don't stay. But 1) I also said that about getting a cat and that was over a year ago and 2) bike:stefinamsterdam::car:suburbansoccermom. Getting home, ESPECIALLY when it is raining (which is seemingly 103% of the time) now takes forever. And my dishwasher is broken. I am pouting.

In some more positive, prestolenfiets news, just got back from Berlin where we had pan-European team bonding. Folks came from Frankfurt and Geneva and we did a good job of touring the city and getting drunk. Thankfully no one insisted we actually go into museums which made me happy -- I'm as cultured as the next schmuck, but when you've got 24 hrs to see shit, the last thing I need to see is art by some guy I don't know or by some guy who's best stuff is in the MET.

A neat thing about Berlin is it really is a city, not a European village. There are fancy schmancy cocktail bars, two different subway systems, a department store that makes Harrods look like a country general store and reasonably not-disgusting sushi. Lots of contemporary buildings juxtaposed by aging churches and 1970s Soviet architecture (and, in the case of the photos to the right, chicks eating sausage).

Also, Berlin has a TON of freaks in it -- makes Amsterdam look like Springfield. We saw at least 20 Rod Stewart look-alikes (men and women) with even worse hair-dye jobs (if that's possible). Good news is, bright blue tights are therefore fully acceptable (as most of you know, there is a side of me that wants to be a freak as much as there is a side of me that likes to pop my collar...I maintain there should be a way to do both at the same time).

America is great indeed. Imagine a country so free, one can throw glass on the streets.

Nederlanders and expatriates all went out for the election, which was a pleasant surprise. (shameful fact: I do not know the name of the Dutch PM...I just wikipedia-ed it so I can feel educated -- his name is Jan Peter Balkenende. Can you imagine a bunch of Americans celebrating the fall of the Christian right in the NL? Watching European football is about as close as we would ever come -- I may not know who the PM is, but I do know who Marco van Basten is.) Pleasant, but also annoying because there were no tickets left for events. It is rare that all the clubs in Amsterdam are packed on a Tuesday night. Rarer still that this would happen for anyone other than a famous DJ (Obama is the new Tiesto).

And, Mr. Smith goes to Amsterdam! It was nice to have a familiar American in town last week -- though she is also an expat in a foreign land. (For any rich people who come to visit, get a reservation at the Dylan Hotel -- Megan and Sylvana had a room that looked like a ski lodge. Some days, I want to be a reporter.) We stayed up late, drank scotch and generally felt good about the state of the union.