Funkalized plays live at OT301

Funkalized tops the charts as my favourite live band in Amsterdam. Last night they played at a club called OT301 and I recorded a few snips of the groove. It hardly does the band justice.

Who are you?

It is one of the principle differences I notice between life in Europe and life in North America; in Europe, what you do for a living does not define "who you are". In North America it often does.

I remember, long ago, being proudly told by a Dutchman that you can often find a millionaire, a working man, and a homeless man sitting at the bar together, drinking and talking as equals. My own experience backs this up and I remember when friends I had known for long time periods were surprised to find out I was an engineer. It had just never come up in the course of dozens of conversations. I'm also a "writer" and a "diver" and a "teacher" and these are just as likely to be discussed as the day-to-day activities that pay the bills.

It is my experience in North America, when two strangers meet, that "what you do for a living" is almost certain to be amongst the first three questions discussed. In Holland the question instead is "where are you from?"

Worse still, I remember a friend who completely defined herself by her job. And when, through no fault of hers, she was stricken with multiple layoffs over multiple years, it devastated her.

I always felt that that was wrong. A part of who we are is what we do for money, but shouldn't we all strive to be so much more?

If the bar conversation includes me saying," I've lived and worked in Amsterdam for a number of years now," then a Dutchman would ask," How long?" while a Canadian tourist would ask," What job?"

Regardless, my standard answer is," Many jobs and many years," and the conversation moves on.

And it was with this perspective, because of it, that I was beginning to feel guilty. For days now I've been excited and nervous over a perspective job. Overly so, I was thinking.

I've always been proud of my career. But I've also know that "talking shop" can bore people to death. Anything beyond a 20 second description and people's faces glaze over. But if I am lucky enough to get this new job, I can imagine talking non-stop about work, work, work, work, work.

And so the voice of balance speaks from the back of my thoughts. It reminds me that I can share my enthusiasm, but not to excess. Jargon and shop talk will always bore people outside the office. And too much enthusiasm, shared, can be unwelcome. But being enthusiastic about and motivated by your work is a great thing. I look forward to applying this energy at work, to work!

And if the job comes to be, I look forward to celebrating by buying a round, and then asking my friends how their days went. For in the end, I would rather be the good friend who listened well, than the designer of X or Y. It frees up time for more interesting conversations, about who we really are.

Raving in Amsterdam

Overall, I act my age, or at least one close to mine. Sometimes I step beyond the norm and act a completely different age. Thankfully Waking Up In Amsterdam provides just the right venue to blog about it.

Bill Cosby Understands

I had a weird moment last night. I described the experience in a guest post at Waking Up In Amsterdam. But Bill Cosby can describe it even better.

"I said to a guy, I said, tell me. What is it about cocaine that makes it so wonderful?"

"And the guy said,' Well, it intensifies your personality.'"

"And I said yes, but what if you're an asshole?"

Guest Blogging

I first met my friend Todd at a whiskey tasting competition. Since then, I suspect we've had lots of deep and interesting conversations, although I can't actually recall any of them.

Todd has quite a set of stories. He's lived in Amsterdam almost as long as I have, is retired from the U.S. Army and has an extra impressive tale about walking away from his wheelchair. Most of these stories, and a few others, have been detailed in his blog Waking Up In Amsterdam.

Alas, Todd is on his way home to America. Soon he'll be waking up in Seattle. But while he's gone I'll help out with occassional content from here.

Today I made my first guest post on his blog.

I feel numb

Not good, not bad, I feel numb. Me and my cousin and aunt have just spent the whole day in the basement of my Dad's house. We've sorted a billion boxes of crap in preparation for an upcoming yard sale. And under the crap, a billion memories.


People's exhibit one. I can't believe this was me. Who? How long ago? How? Was I ever this young? And was I really this happy and hopefull?

Okay, this picture was taken the "day after" the first time I ever made-out with a girl. I was on top of the world!

In addition to pictures there were "artifacts" of my past. Heck, my whole past! Every test, every textbook, school project. My mother threw out nothing. But today I thew out most of it.

Someday I'll regret that. For now I'm impressed by the empty spaces in the basement, and the fullness of the garage. And I'm impressed that I have memories dating back 10, 15, 20, and 25 years.

The above picture was from 1985, and last year I was dating a girl born in 1984.

At first I just felt old. But honestly now, I just feel numb.

He Doesn't Care

A few weeks ago I received my new punching bag. A floor standing "heavybag" intended for boxing and kickboxing practice. I use it to train the skills I'm learning in karate. It makes for excellect cardio excercise and builds strength too. But, it's 100kG weight sits on the floor and transmits much of the force of a punch or kick through to the apartment below me; or so I feared.

When I first got the bag I took multiple steps to mitigate noise problems. One was to add thick foam padding to the underside. Another step was to send a note to the neighbours. I figured that by anticipating the problem I would reduce the severity of noise complaints.

I met the downstairs neighbour yesterday, in the elevator. I introduced myself and asked about the noise.

"Huh? What? Oh, we never hear anything. And we're moving any way."

And we're moving any way?

"Oh, ok," I said," So the new neighbour won't have a noise problem? Good to know."

"Huh? Uhm, sure."

There was a look in his eyes. It said," Do you see these children I'm with? You could launch a nuclear strike and I wouldn't hear it over the noise these little demons make." He didn't say this out loud, since the little demons where right there at his feet. But I'm sure that's what the look said.

I expect that some day soon I'll neet the new downstairs neighbour. Thanks to the look from the old neighbour, I suspect it may well be regarding a noise complaint.

I think I'll name her Betty

It's here, it's here! My new granny bike (omafiets) arrived yesterday!


She arrived with a new (used) rear wheel rim and a bunch of fresh spokes in both wheels. The rust (an anti-theft approach) remains but the bike is quite smooth to ride. Bertus was even kind enough to help me adjust the seat position.

Last week I went out and bought a new chain lock and front and back lights. Yesterday afternoon I picked up a new rear-wheel lock and a bell. (This is Amsterdam where "anything goes", but the police have a zero tolerance policy regarding bikes without lights or bells.) As the sun was setting I finished adding all the accoutrements. It only took a few screws and four zip-ties, but it makes Betty feel like my bike.

And now? It's time to ride.

I think I bought a bike...

I love my mountain bike. It`s a Kona Kilauea and was the Bike of the Year when I bought it. I used it for racing for years and have not only kept it maintained, but flourished expensive upgrades on it. And in addition to being expensive, every part of the bike shares an important racing-bike property; they can all be quick-released from the bike in a second. The wheels, the suspension fork, the seat and post, the lights, computer, titanium bits... it is impossible to lock securely. And so here in the bike theft capital of the world, I don`t ride my bike much.

I have often explained to people that bikes aren`t purchased in Amsterdam, they are meerly rented for a limited period. Collectively we share a pool of bikes that slowly rotate owners through a dance usually performed in the wee hours of the morning.

And last night I got approached for a bike. But in a slightly different way that makes it all seem more legitimate than normal. I met a man I`ll call a bike-repair entrepreneur. He was riding his own bike down the street when he suddenly stopped, jumped off, and picked up another bike from the side of the road. Then he grabbed a lock off his bike and started to chain up the bike he`d just picked up.

I was walking past at the time and had to stop with curiousity. He explained he repairs abandonded bikes and sells them again. Abandonded? He pointed out the huge bend in the back wheel. It had been run over by a car, apparently. And instead of locked with the other bikes in the rack, it had been left unlocked and laying along the side of the road.

Some time today Bertus (the bike repairer) will return to that spot, unlock the bike, and he will walk it home. In the coming days it will get a new rear wheel, a few little fixes, and then one more city bike will be back in service. In my service!

In Dutch it`s called an omafiets, which means grandma-bicycle. No gears, no hand brakes, wide handlebars and an upright position; I`m going to feel so Dutch going through town. I can`t wait!

Perhaps I should send a message to Bertus, just to make sure he doesn`t forget, I`ve got first dibs on the new omafiets.

I've got nothing to say

This blog has always been, primarily, about writing. I take my ideas and practice conveying them with written words.

Today, however, I have no ideas. I want to write. I want to blog. But beyond," I'm okay," I don't have anything to convey. I've got nothing to say.

Perhaps I'm living too much inside. Not just inside my apartment, but inside my head.

I have been out. I've been dancing with the glitterarty. I've been social with my friends. I've even escorted a lovely woman through town for drinks and food. I've exercised and been to the dojo. I've kicked and been kicked. But the best description I can come up with is that it's largely been on "auto-pilot".

Not to say I'm ignoring my friends! In a conversation, one-to-one, I'm there. But the surroundings aren't. The area beyond my friend, or laptop, or book just disappears.

I'm looking for the words. Just the right way to express the feeling. It isn't numbness, it's not emptiness. It isn't loneliness or longing. It's not about sad or happy or busy or bored. Is there a word for "inside-ness"? Is there an english word for the feeling of being protected inside your head regardless of where your body is?

So I wanted to blog. I wanted to write. I wanted to open a small window to the inside-ness and reach tentatively outside. But I've got nothing to say. My mind, like this post, is full of words but without a point.

Three Little Words

Three little words can,
mean a world of difference between two.
Three little words can,
hold or strangle; bind or repel;
mean so much or so little.

She told me in Hungarian culture,
the three little words rarely pass lips.
The goal is to show it,
it and "not just say it".

And so I've never told Her.

Instead I unviel the table,
because, it's Wednesday. And that's enough.
Because I want to show Her,
in my every move and word,
how I feel for Her.

And because I know She feels,
the same about me.

In the Princess Bride,
the stableboy had "As You wish."
Well I wished for She,
perfect ying and yang.

So I try to show,
those three little words in my every way.
It's in what you do,
not just what you say.

(Author's note: I wrote this entirely as prose. It was only on the proof-read that I realized that a "poetic style" of punction and spacing was more deserved. I changed but a word or two. It's not intended to rhyme or keep a good beat.)

What's Music Without Sound?

Nope, this isn't going to be deep. Just a little prayer of thanks. And since electronics were involved, what better way to pray then via the 'net?

Today wasn't a bad day. It wasn't particularly intense, but dense. Busy and constantly so. So when I got in from the office a few minutes early I felt no guilt about sitting for a moment and just enjoying the stereo. I picked a good song and decided to crank the volume.

It almost sounded good. But mostly it sounded, bad. My subwoofer wasn't working!

I would be an excellent writer if I could convey that moment of emotion when a bachelor thinks his stereo is broken. Alas, I can only tell you it was like heartbreak and pain and loss, with contempt and anger, and of course denial.

The Engineer inside awakes. " Huh? I thought we were done work. Wha? The stereo!?!"

Starting at the back end of the signal path, I checked the subwoofer. Checked its connection to the stereo. Checked the stereo. I checked the wires from the stereo that wrap 'round the room to the computer. Wiggle wiggle, check check.

There are three stereo-plugs from the receiver to the PC. I pulled the first one...

The front speakers died. I put the plug back. I pulled the second one...

The back speakers died. I put the plug back. I pulled the third one...

Nothing happened. It was the center-channel and subwoofer connection. The center-channel speaker wasn't in use and the sub wasn't booming, so no surprise so far. I put the plug back.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

And my face had a smile on it.

I'm listening to the Beatles. Like I remember it with headphones, except this is my stereo simply with all the speakers working again. Life is good. One more problem solved.

Musical Mood

Synchonicity is the grouping of coincidences. Just after finishing that last post, my computer picked a song that I like. But I didn't know what the song title was. So I was shocked to see it was "Ice Queen". Here's Within Temptation....

Thinking of Omar makes me think about System of a Down. They make Within Temptation sound really quite soft.

I chose the Lego version of that video (well done!) to make it more family friendly. ;)

Working with the military for a week was a blast. Military bases look and feel and smell the same every where. And since I spent a lot of time in my youth staying on bases it brought back lots of great old memories. Thoughts like," Oh I'm so glad I don't have to [enter painful activity here] any more."

Lynyrd Skynyrd would be the best way to summarizes the feeling.

Oh hey, this week's mail brought along a treat. TicketMaster sent me my ticket for Snoop Dogg, coming to Amsterdam in late September.

Snoop is famous for really enjoying his trips to town.

Mostly A Good Week

That was a good week. I spent 3 nights/4 days away in Belgium to train NATO soldiers (mostly Air Force) on the intricit subtlties of my employer's software. The town of Mons is lovely to look at! So nice to walk through. So boring to stay in.

But the boring evenings were made up for three-fold by (1) Terry Pratchett, (2) French cuisine, and (4) uhm, (3) Belgian beer! The days needed no making up for. I was teaching people whom I very much enjoyed being with and working with. Lunches were always fun and class participation was high. I even got to attend a change of command parade and congratulate the new sector commander.

But amongst the enjoyable times, there was also a very sobering and nasty moment thanks to the BBC. Previously I was unaware of Omar Khadr, a Canadian citizen, who was visiting relatives in Afghanistan when it was invaded by the United States. On July 7th, 2002, U.S. soldiers attacked Omar's location... a "terrorist camp." He was the only person to survive (although gravely wounded) and arrested for the "murder" of the one U.S. soldier lost in the attack. Since that time, Omar has been held and tortured and has spent roughly 1/3 of his life now in Guantanamo Bay. A third? That's right, because Omar was only 15 years old when he was arrested.

Omar is the last Western citizen still in custody in Gitmo. Why?

Just incase Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper reads Blogger... let me state for the record that this makes me incredibly angry, ashamed, and quite frankly, left me feeling sick! Mr. Harper, I'm now feircely looking forward to voting against you! And I think this time around I'll do some campaigning around my expat communities, making sure Canadians are registered to vote. Until then, be warned that by writing this blog I've now informed my mother. You're in trouble mister!

The timing of this information was ironic. Just hours earlier I had stopped at an old palace in Grand Place (the town square) and read a plaque commemorating how Canadians liberated Belgium in the First World War. The last shots of the war were fired there, November 11th, 1918.

In happier news, Happy Birthday to the Ice Queen! July 17th was cellebrated the world over by people thankful to know her.

Inspite of a few rough patches in the middle, the training week went well. It ended on a good tone and included me staying on base a bit past class-time to enjoy some 1 Euro beers with the Comms guys. They were fun!

Finally home again, apparently for 4 weeks now, all I can say is that it is, of course, great to be back! 10 hours of sleep and a slow, quiet day have helped rejuvinate this old body. I'm hoping the clearing sky and improved weather will stay around while I head out tonight and rejuvinate the spirit. ;-)

Hardly a Honeymoon

It was a long week, but I'm glad I went. As well as seeing my parents, and relatives, it gave Nancy and I a chance to push the fast-forward button and see the future. And the future wasn't pretty.

The "math" roughly works out as "knew eachother for four weeks", then "booked the trip", then "got to know eachother for four more weeks." I told a friend afterwards that I felt stupid for rushing so quickly. They told me that at least I had tried, and that was the important part.

And I agree. I don't really feel stupid for trying. I can't regret that. And Nancy has some pretty amazing qualities. I can't deny that. But it's clear to us now that our qualities don't combine.

So I'm focusing on two apects... as least we tried, and no one got seriously injured.

I don't feel older...

I attended a collective birthday party on Sunday. It was for Nancy's sister, niece, nephew, and myself. The freshly-turned 6-year old niece was clearly now SIX. It was a milestone for her... finally no longer five... a big event!

But I'm not feeling a change in myself with the change of date. Counting in years only, I'm 2.8% older than last week. Counting from day to day, my age actually only increased 0.007%. Realistically I do feel perhaps 0.007% older than yesterday. But making the coffee 0.007% stronger seems to compensate nicely.

While the age itself was no milestone, the day was memorable. A special thanks goes out to all of Holland. The whole country mobilized yesterday to celebrate my day with me!

Okay, they might have been cheering on the national football (soccer) team. And the partying and drinking might have been a bit heavy due to the 3-0 trouncing of world champion Italy. But it was still wonderful having everyone out and singing and enjoying.

Thank you everyone who sent happy wishes, and to the millions in Holland who helped me celebrate. What on earth will I do next year to top this?!?

Life Update

Well, I believe I haven't had a blog-gap this big since beginning blogging back in 2006. So technically I should have lots to say and write. Life has been crazy busy lately, including some national holidays here in Holland, a 3-day business trip to Denmark, and a lot of personal changes.

Most noteable is a specific addition to my life. One that leaves me nearly speachless. So rather than stumble over my words, I humbly suggest that this post says it better than I could.

I'm Paid to Not Know

Some days I feel like they pay me to live in ignorance. I never know in advance what's about to happen. This, in particular, applies to my travel plans. The trip to Denmark that didn't happen in February and didn't happen in March has long been scheduled for next week. Yet I still don't know if it's going to happen. I have no arrangements or plane tickets, even though I've spent weeks reminding others of their roles in the process.

It's like working on-call. But not. I'm not paid to carry a pager or accept 2am calls. Yet 6am flights (meaning waking up at 2am) with just days notice seems to be the norm.

This is part of the reason I strive for more stability in my personal life. What's troublesome is that as I work to that, life is actually becoming less stable. Far less stable. But interesting!

Is The Clock Broken?

Time is personal. It flies when you're having fun. It slows when you're bored. And according to the clock in my office, I think it is now going backwards.

It's been a busy week. Every evening has been full. Joby was in town so certain (excessive) amounts of drinking had to happen.

And the weekend is promising to be full and interesting!

But how much fun can I have if I don't get a little sleep? Hmmm, I guess then it's a good thing that time has stopped, an hour before the end of the work week. This gives me more time to recover from my week, before going out and having a weekend.

Party Pics...

Okay, these are all stolen pictures, courtesy of Kryte. Thanks!

Clearly I have a problem. I need a bigger bed!

By midnight I was still able to recognize cameras.

But seriously, should I have invited men too???

More can be found at http://www.majta.se/Amsterdam_2/ Pictures 5 through 31 were taken at the party.