Before the merriment of commencement commences, I hope that your years with us here at Rydell have prepared you for the challenges you face

Happy Inauguration Day -- also known as Big Sigh of Relief Day. Also, happy 2009. And happy holidays. Happiness all around to everyone. (This week marks the beginning of my personal "Stef does not hate New York...really, I swear" campaign. That's right folks, only 39 more days of soft drug laws and a washing machine on home premises. My "Stef hates New York...I swear" tirade officially ended midnight on Sunday. Only positive thoughts from here on out).

Oh, and happy stream of consciousness day. I have nothing interesting and/or thematic to talk about.

Please note for the record that I despise Beyonce's "Put a ring on it" and if I'm signing it, please slap me. Hard. Maybe twice.

Recently returned from home. It took me a week to recover. In fact, parts of me are still not recovered. Certain toes have maintained an "asleep" feeling since A&C's wedding (congratulations!) -- was it the dancing? was it the shoes? was it walking in the snow? Ten days later, I am considering medical attention.

Speaking of medical attention, I should probably get as much as possible before I have to go home and pay for it. Fun prescription comparison: Birth control in the U.S. is usually $20 a month -- even with insurance subsidies. Birth control in NL is €20 for 6 months and with insurance it's free. (gentleman: sorry if talking about birth control offends your sensitivities, but a) you are a grown man and if you have sex, you should be able to talk about BC -- someday it might be you taking it, and b) I'm not on anything else so can't compare.)

But get this, my dentist stabbed a coworker in her lip (correction: THROUGH her lip) while cleaning her teeth. Just cleaning her teeth! So I should go get a new dentist. But I'm lazy and leaving and excuse excuse excuse. Well, if she stabs me in the lip, I'm suing, American style (lesson learned from playing nice w/ bike accident people...).

I have no weekends left in the Netherlands. Team Feb 4 is having bdays in Geneva! Fondue!

I'm actually considering shipping my cruiser-esque bike home. How else can I integrate into [insert anti-hipster/hipster recently or not so recently gentrified neighborhood in Brooklyn here]?

When the hell is the Arrested Development movie going to become a reality?

There were about 80 good movies out while I was in the U.S. but I saw none of them because I (finally) developed an addiction to The Wire. TV series on DVD = best invention ever. Okay, maybe not ever (what would we do without fig newtons? fruit and cake? c'mon!), but pretty close.

Not surprisingly, The Wire is on this list.

A lot of frickin people are getting married in the remainder of 2009. I think I've pre-spent all my paychecks on wedding trips (thank god none of you are marrying hot Swedish chicks in Stockholm). Good news is, they are all in exotic places I've never been, like Beverly, Massachusetts. And that hotel where Travolta's son had a seizure.

I am going to Tanzania next week.

And I like marshmellows.

'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?

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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).