Andy in Amsterdam

During the Olympics, I participated in the Ravelympics. I wrote about it a few posts ago. The basic idea was that participants were supposed to complete a project within the two weeks that the Olympics were going on. I think the idea was to watch the Olympics while knitting, but that didn’t happen much on our couch. Every time we turned on the TV, it was something like the zillion mile (excuse me, kilometer) ice skating marathon and neither of us were very interested in that. Had it been ski jumping, snow boarding or figure skating, I might have watched it. But I’m not really a sports person. Participating in an event that ends with ‘-ympics’ is about as close as I get to sports.

I started off a couple of weeks before the start date knitting the pattern I wanted to knit, but in a different yarn, an extra yarn that I had just sitting in a box. I wanted to see if there were any sticking points I could figure out before jumping into a project with a time limit. There are two sizes to the pattern I used: small and large. After I’d knit for a while, I realized that I had passed the changing point for the small pattern, so I kept knitting. I thought I’d just make the large. Not big deal. I have plenty of that yarn. Then while I was doing the lace pattern, I realized that I’d screwed up somewhere along the way and that my stitch count was off. What…ever. It was almost time to start the other shawl - the real shawl - anyway.

The real shawl was finished within a week and I qualified for a Ravelympic gold medal. (It’s not a competition. It’s more like the Special Olympics in that even if you finish late, you qualify for a medal - albeit bronze.) The pattern is Ishbel. It’s a very straight forward pattern that makes a nice looking shawl. I used Noro Kureyon Sock yarn, which I would never use for socks. That’s it in the photo above. Here it is folded up.

It’s a triangular shawl. The small version is sort of neckerchief sort of thing. Fred says it’s the perfect size for a midget. That last pink stripe just happened organically, but I saw it coming down the pike and I would have made it happen if it had not done it itself. Notice, by the way, the different between Fred’s photo at the top and my photo right here. He’s got better control of all the buttons and switches on the camera. Ain’t he handy to have around.

Anyway, with the second shawl done, I decided to rip back the first shawl and see if I could finish it before the Olympics were over. I wouldn’t qualify for a medal because I started it before the start date, but a goal is always good. I’m good with deadlines. It ended up being a fun knit. It was sort of endless in that it’s always the same basic pattern, but it looked nice while I was knitting it and thinking about the thrill of blocking it drove me on. I finished it last Saturday night and blocked it on Sunday. (Blocking is when you wet it and pin it out flat.) Here’s Fred’s arty shot of it.

This may be my favorite of the two shawls. It’s pretty big. It’s the size of a normal shawl - like it goes over the shoulders. And I love this yarn, which is Rowan Yorkshire Tweed 4-ply and was discontinued a few years ago. I’m going to do something for myself in the next month or so. I found a pattern called Daybreak (and met the designer who was in Amsterdam recently. Hi, Stephen.) As soon as I can wrap my head around the increases, I’ll start on it for my knitting night project. Lace and me at knitting night don’t mix. Here’s a close up of the shawl so you can see the color better.

So this is my year of lace. I have a good amount of lace yarn in my stash that needs to get knit up and I’m finally in the right mind to do it. Interestingly, I recently heard an interview with two big lace knitters - two straight male lace knitters. It always seems totally faggy, and it probably is, but lace is interesting and offers a lot of different challenges that the stuff I normally knit does not. And that’s a huge part of the appeal of knitting. Besides, it’s been years since I’ve been concerned with what people think of me doing faggy things.

Incidentally, I had a little discussion with a woman last night about the concept of ‘lace for men.’ When she asked me what I thought about the idea, I said, “Well, it would have to be…a certain kind of lace.” She suggested geometric patterns. I said that it would really have to be the right fit as well. It’s an interesting concept, not something I will be doing in the immediate future. But I’m open to the idea. I’m very open minded.

Thanks to Fred for the beautiful snaps.

And in the theatre I want to change my seat
Just so I can step on everybody’s feet.

- I Want to Be Evil, Eartha Kitt

Last night, Fred and I went to the ballet. It was Het Nationale Ballet doing Don Quichot. I’ve said this before here, but when Fred asks me if I want to see a ballet, I always ask, “Traditional or Modern?” At this point, he knows the answer is Yes and No respectively, but I still ask. I have see one really well done ‘modern ballet’ here, but it was more modern and less ballet. It was totally stylized, on a big black set and everyone was in white. It was totally wack. I’d see it again in a hot minute. But as a rule, I don’t like the modern ballet.

We tried reading up on the story so that we’d know what was going on, but the story in this one (as with most) is really incidental. It’s just a frame upon which they hang various dance solos, duets and other numbers. The two main characters (Don Quichote and his side kick, Sancho Panza) were played by Mini & Maxi, a pair of Dutch comedians. They were perfect and they set the tone for the whole show. Like most Dutch comedians, they do that very broad, exaggerated comedy. I don’t particularly like Dutch comedy (read: I generally avoid it), but in the context of a ballet, where everything is pantomimed and exaggerated, they were spot on (as the British say). The ballet was a comedy. Maybe it wasn’t written as a comedy, but with those two, it definitely wasn’t a serious drama.

The first act was one of those village scenes where certain people (and groups of people) come in and dance for a while and the whole village looks on. As it’s supposed to look somewhat natural and organic, the villagers are in the background talking and busying themselves with some kind of ‘business’ like talking or eating. The problem with the villagers in Act One was that their business was often so big that it was distracting. For instance, there were some kids playing in the background and I was watching them (there was a whole thing because one of them fell) for so long that I realized I wasn’t watching the dancers. Then there was a woman knitting (I know!) on a small balcony. When her ball of yarn fell, someone threw it up to her, missed, threw it up again, missed, threw it up again and I realized I wasn’t watching the dancers. On the bright side, there was a female Asian chorus dancer who I couldn’t keep my eyes off of. The rest of the girls were doing fine, but this one Asian girl was fully committed to everything she did. There was also a whole thing where the men danced with capes. It was a total throwback to the Nineties and flag dancing.

The second part of Act Two was a scene in the forest. The curtain had only been down for a few minutes and when it came up, it was completely different. The scene change and the set got a nice round of applause from the audience. Lots of shiny green and dancers in white. There was a fairy who was wonderful.

One of the things that Het Natioanale Ballet often screws up is when there’s a whole line of dancers doing exactly the same thing. There’s always someone wiggling or their legs don’t go up the same height or they’re not in a straight line. There was a scene in the last ballet we went to - La Bayadére - that was just painful. I swear, if you can’t do it well, just don’t do it. People are paying money to come see these girls squirm around and walk through a performance. “Ballet is hard.” Yeah, it is. If you don’t like it, go work at a bank.

On a lighter note, the main two dancers were pretty amazing. The female dancer was tiny and limber and fearless. The male dancer was your standard issue gorgeous guy with amazing legs who could jump and twirl endlessly. They worked really well together. There was also a couple who wore black in red who were pretty great.

They wrapped up the story at the beginning of Act Three and then it was just another 45 minutes of dancing. At the end of it, Fred said, “I think Wikipedia had the story wrong.” I think the director played around with the story. No matter. You don’t go for the story. You go to see people dance. My only complaint is that since it’s our national ballet company, it should be flawlessly good. If I’m in the balcony and I can see you twitching, that’s a problem.

As we were leaving, Fred gave it one thumb up. I gave it two. The photo above was snagged from the Het Nationale Ballet website. They’re the two leads.

School is out for what they’re calling Voorjaarsvakantie. That’s Spring Vacation to anyone who doesn’t speak Dutch. It seems a bit early, but I’ll always take a break from them kids. Plus, I’ve got so many other things going that I need some time. The beginning of this year has been a terrible time for me as a blogger. I start the day thinking that I have plenty of time to blog and then at the end of the day, I haven’t done it. Stay tuned. I do a lot of things like that: knitting, compulsively watching television, working on that novel. I’m all go go go and then I’m on to the next thing. There are so many things to do. I’m rarely bored. I’ll be back to regular blogging soon.

My third year students are an interesting bunch. They’re mostly girls. (Have I talked about this? It feels like I have.) Since we’re in the part of the year leading up to their big speaking test, I thought I would try to get them to talk. But how? Bring in all those art therapy skills I honed for all those years while working with the mentally ill chemical abusers of Brooklyn, NY.

As this class is mostly girls and as they’re completely self-involved (they’re teenagers), I thought they would enjoy a technique I used to employ back in the day. This was also an ideal project because materials were limited: paper and a pen. I had them take a piece of paper (landscape) and divide into three sections. In the middle section, I asked them to draw or write something about how other people see them. On the left side, I asked them to draw or write something about how they ‘really are’. On the right side, I had them draw or write something about how they see themselves in the future.

After giving them a while to work, I started asking questions. How is the first image different from or similar to the second image. Are the two images really alike or pretty different? How do those two images figure into the third image? Is there anything surprising about what you drew? Which one did you draw first? Why? Was one image more difficult to draw than the others? Was one particularly difficult? And so on. I went around and asked different people to talk about what they’d done. They were as open (or not) as they wanted to be. It’s a pretty safe technique. There was a lot of talk about first impressions.

It was during this that one of the girls said that she really didn’t know how other people saw her. I was surprised. This is their third year together. They spend a lot of time together. You’d think that they’d have an idea, but she said she really didn’t. Others agreed that they also didn’t know how other people saw them.

The next day, I said, “This is just an idea. What do you think about the idea of taking a piece of paper and writing something - a word or a phrase - about everyone else in the class. What is your impression of everyone? Not your first impression, but just write down what you think about when you think about each person.” They loved the idea. Everyone agreed to participate and started writing. At the end, I took all the papers and read the statements so there was some bit of anonymity. Some of the students were really thoughtful. Some just wrote a word: “Sweet” or “nice”. There were a few stones thrown, but nothing unexpected or really hurtful. I had to edit out very little. The whole exercise was great because they had to find ways to express what they were thinking in English. “Mr. Baker? How do you say lui in English?” I really enjoyed it. I’ll save this one for later and use it again on another class.

This is the class where I’m going to try to get a dance therapist in and give them a taste of dance therapy. Then I’ll have them write about it or something. I found a German dance therapist who I’m going to barter with. The English on her website needs a little attention. It’s the end of the year and we’re all getting a little restless. I think this is just what we need.

The photo above was my idea, but Fred took it. I said, “Don’t clean up the tulips yet. I want you to take an artsy picture of them.” He did. (But he doesn’t always follow orders so well.)

If you’re not a knitter, you might not know that during the Olympics every year (and for the first time…last year?) knitters around the world take part in the Ravelympics. The basic idea is to start a project when the Olympic flame is lit and have it finished by the time the closing ceremonies are officially over. I didn’t take part last time because I didn’t really know about it. But this year, Alex and some other local knitters started organizing early and we actually have a team - and even in Dutch, there is no I in team. There was some discussion about a name for our team and the team name that was chosen is Pootje Over. It’s pronounced pote-je oh-fer. Fred just explained to me that it’s a skating term. Poot is literally a leg of an animal. They’re using to mean (a human) foot. It’s when you go around a turn and you put one foot over the other. (It had been explained to me before, but I needed a refresher.) The logo is above. Those are Alex’s socks and Nancy did the graphics. I don’t particularly like that there’s the word ‘poot’ in our name, but the ten-year-old in me giggles at it occasionally.

In preparation for this big event, I decided to test knit a couple of things. I’d already decided on a shawl. The event I’m participating in is called Short Track Shawl. I’ve decided that what I’m missing in my knitting knowledge is lace. I haven’t done a lot of lace - and only one shawl. Granted, there’s not a lot of opportunity for me to wear lace, but it’s something I feel like I should know how to knit, so I think this year will be the year for me to do a lot of lace. It probably makes a good gift, and it’s supposed to be fun. We’ll see.

The first thing I test knit was a Bone Yard Shawl - shown here. I had some Noro Kureyon Sock yarn left over from the Clapotis (does not count as lace) that I did for my mother. She liked it, by the way. I decided I would just knit until I rant out of yarn, because that’s the kind of pattern it is. I finished it with less than a foot left over and I blocked it. It’s a tiny bit smaller than it’s supposed to be, but it’s a decent size and will be sent off to the recipient very soon.

I like the Bone Yard, but as you can see by the photos (if you can read knitting at all), it’s basically stockinette with the occassional purl ridge. It’s sort of a snoozer. It would be no challenge and the only lace elements are the yarn overs that I threw in (not my idea, but not in the original pattern either.)

I’ve decided on a pattern called Ishbel. There are almost 5500 of them on Ravelry. There’s about to be one more. I thought I could get one made before this whole Olympics thing started, but I wasn’t able to get it done because I knit past the smaller size and then I got busy and didn’t have time to finish the big one. It’ll save until I’m done with this one.

There was a hat for Fred on the needles that he guilted me into finishing last night right before the start of this. I would count it but (in the WIPS-dancing category) but it was really just about two hours of knitting, so it wasn’t any challenge at all. It was the crown of the second side. The hat looks nice. It needs to be washed and blocked, but Fred is going to wear it because it’s really cold here. (Darn you and your global warming, Al Gore!) My own fabulous hat is slightly flawed, but I’m enjoying it during these cold days here. I’ll have to put up a picture of that.

That was really tangential. Did I have a point here? Thanks to Fred for the photos and for putting up with me trying one more thing all afternoon last week.

Anyway, I need to cast on. I’m a few hours behind my team.

Last Saturday, Fred and I went to two parties. In the mid-Nineties it was nothing for me to go to two or three really great parties on the weekend. Ah, youth. Anyway, I knew about the one party. It was a 40th birthday party for one of Fred’s nieces, Monica, and it was a themed party: Seventies and Eighties. I was up in the air about what to wear. I didn’t want to buy anything. I figured I could find something in my closet and transform it into something that would pass. Plus, the whole ‘dress up’ thing doesn’t really go over big here. People don’t (in my experience) generally participate. Plus, when you factor in who would be at the party (his family), there was little chance that there would be a lot of participation in the dress up part of the evening.

When we were a few hours from take off, Fred sprung it on me that we would also be going to Ingrid’s 5oth birthday party. We had discussed it and had decided that since it was in the middle of nowhere, we could bow out gracefully. Plus, it’s that whole crowd (with a few exceptions such as the folks from our eating group). However, Fred said we would take a taxi so it would be a less painful experience.

The first party was in the Caribbean Club, a small themed room in a bowling alley in the North of Haarlem. (Picture any bowling alley in the world on a Saturday night, but in this one everyone was speaking Dutch.) It was the usual suspects: Fred’s family, plus a few people from Monica’s life. A few people put a lot of effort into dressing up. Most people were on par with Fred and me, that sort of outfit that you think, There’s just a little something off. Walking down the street, most people wouldn’t have gotten a second look. But it’s the Netherlands, so it’s already about twenty years behind the rest of the world. I’m kidding! (I’m not kidding.) Fred and I both wore shirts with vests and jeans. Fred’s looked more authentic, which is interesting since he just bought his and mine is ‘as old as the hills’ as my mother would say. I wore beads and, since I inherited the ape gene from my father and have a hairy chest, I wore my shirt opened to my…sternum.

The party was pretty regulation. The hostess wanted everyone to dance. However, the family did its thing and just stood and talked and drank beer, wine or juice. Plus, there were kids (pre-teens and younger) running from here to there the whole time. Sort of not my idea of an adult party. They dressed up and they danced.

My Dutch was awful that night. Sometimes it just doesn’t sync up. For some reason, I had about 23 words to work with and even those got mixed up. Add lots of ambient noise to that and it was a lot of standing and smiling for me, although one of his nieces got me to talking about television series and I was off to the races. When we were leaving, the hostess expressed disappointment at the lack of dancing. Oh well. Kiss kiss kiss. Off to party number two.

Ingrid’s party really was in a club house behind a grove of trees by a canal outside of a suburb. It was also a themed party: Hollywood this time. Fred decided we were Starsky and Hutch - in a parallel universe where the two stars are over the hill and bald. That was the party where Monica should have been. Fred said, “Let’s call them and have them come here!” I said, “No. Just call Monica.” There was lots of dancing - they had a much better DJ - and everyone was lubricated with their favorite beverage, if you know what I mean. Plus, everyone was dressed up. There were a lot of hospital people, which can be a crazy crowd. (They work on a mental unit.) I worked on a mental unit. I know the crowd.

We saw two people who Fred hadn’t seen in years. Strange to find these pockets of people from his former life that I’ve never even heard about. And the eating group was there, which was nice. Always good to see some friendly faces.

We got home at a reasonable hour and then we sat on the couch until three in the morning. Interestingly, we were up the next morning at about 7:30.

That photo above is from 1983. I believe it was the Choir Banquet. That’s Patty. She still wears that dress on formal occassions.

I’ve been freelancing here for about a year. I also have  contract (about half time) with my day job - at the dance academy - but I had been working at the language school and someone suggested I go freelance. Part of the reason was that the pay differential between a zero-hour contract (like I had) and a freelancer contract is about five euros an hour - nothing to squawk at. The other part is that I was coming up on my three years with the language school and after giving me three one-year contracts, they would have either had to give me a permanent contract or let me go. I knew that if I made them decide, they would drop me like the proverbial hot potato. And with this economy, they’re being pretty lame about getting me work any way.

Becoming a freelancer isn’t complicated, but having my own personal translator (who is also good with figures) helped immensely. Alastair did it on his own (shout out to Alastair), and I probably could have, but I’m glad I didn’t have to. We had to go to the Chamber of Commerce and then to the tax office. I had to register in both places and get special numbers. On one of the forms, I had to estimate how many clients I would have during the year. The choices are (I think) ‘less than three,’ ‘three to seven,’ and ‘more than seven.’

I think with less than three, they turn you down. If you’re only going to have one client, then the client becomes sort of an employer. Anyway, I chose three to seven. And, wonder of wonders, I got the three that I needed plus another, just in case. One is the language school and the two others are two very big names who I won’t mention here by name, but whose names I love to drop at parties.

I got one of the jobs because I knew a guy who knew a guy. Actually, I knew the guy with the job, but I got invited to the party where they guy was because of another guy, the contact guy. It’s all about knowing people, isn’t it? The contact guy has some other people he’s putting me in contact with, which is nice. He gets a nice kick back. It’s a sort of ridiculous percentage, but I’m willing to pay it if he’s going to bring in the work.

Last Tuesday, I signed my first contract. I haven’t really used contracts before. It’s just been a verbal agreement and they send me the money. This time I actually went to a meeting, had the woman sign the contracts and handed her one of my freshly printed (and hand cut) business cards.

All this is to say that it’s a lot of work to get all this started. There’s the name of the business, which I went back and forth on. There are the business cards, and I need to get real ones designed and printed. There’s the contract, which was a total mind blower. There’s my signature for emails. There’s the website. It’s a lot of deciding. It’s not exactly tattoo territory, but there’s a feeling of permanence. You can’t keep going back to people and saying, “Yeah. I came up with a new name - again.”

By the way, the business is editing, translating and writing. It’s a lot of website stuff, but I’ve done some newsletters, booklets, business correspondence, CVs and ‘covering’ letters, which I found out is British for cover letter. And it’s a lot of work. I spent two days here last week writing and researching and looking stuff up. And then I go to work on the other days and deal with teenagers.

The photo above, by the way, is an elephant statue I bought for my favorite sister, Kathy. It’s the mammoth elephant from the elephant parade that was here several months ago. I thought it would make an nice housewarming gift. I said, “Fred, can you do something artsy with this for the blog?”

Good ole Fred.

We had a potluck dinner here last night. It was the second meet up of a bunch of local bloggers. It was very imformal and was the follow up to the pub meeting we had several months ago. When I talked about it (as an impending event) to someone this week, she said, “Oh yeah. They do that in America, don’t they?”

I said, “Do you really not do that here?”

She said, “No…no, not really. Well…we do, but we call it an American party.”

I don’t really like the potluck dinner being labeled as an “American” party. Is it the only kind of party Americans have? Is it called that because Americans are so cheap that when they have a party they ask their guest to bring food? It reminds me of this stuff they have here that’s called “Filet Amerikaan”. It’s basically beef tartar: an idea which has never appealed to me. My kids at school eat it. It’s been spread on crackers and passed around parties that I’ve been at. It’s one of those things that lots of people except eat (and I will eat almost anything). The idea of raw beef with spices is sort of repugnant to me, but what I really hate about it is that it’s called Filet Amerikaan. Seriously? What the H-E-double toothpicks does that have to do with America? I mean French fries I get, but filet Amerikaan? Really!

Anyway, everyone showed up about 18:30. (And some people were only on time if their clocks were set to Romanian local time). We had a nice selection of food. Because we had a number (the number was four) of vegetarians (including one vegan), I’d sent out a message with the invitation that they should keep in mind that not everyone is a meat eater. The selection (in the tradition of a true pot luck) was as quite varied, as you can see by the following:

Anita brought fish, Bahian style (white fish in a coconut sauce, shrimps and sprinkled fresh cilantro) plus creme brullee for dessert. She also brought Stella, an Argentinian friend of Italian and Armenian heritage. Stella was a guest and was not on the menu.

John brought David and two quiches, one with bacon, one without (ain’t he nice for thinking of those vegetarians?) I had the left overs for lunch today.

Steph and Pat brought a vegetarian mushroom stew and then a crazy root vegetable that Pat grows in his garden that is like jicama, but different. (Have you tried jicama? You must try jicama.) He left me with one. It’s crisp and fresh. What’s that thing called? It’s quite exotic.

Amanda brought her husband, Dave, and a chickpea and green pea concoction that has a little bit of curry and that we’re going to finish off tonight for dinner with the rest of what I made. And for desert we’ll have the extra creme brullees that Anita left. Thanks, Anita.

I made beef bourguignon. Having made sure the vegetarians were taken care of, I thought I’d provide some animal protien to those with a taste for meat (and because it’s a Julia Child recipe, lots and lots of butter). Fred made a trifle, which is one of his go-to dishes. It’s always a hit. Strawberry yoghurt infused with white chocolate with fresh strawberries and cake at the bottom. Lekker!

Pamela was going to bring vegetarian rice and chicken wings, but she had a little problem getting here and, unfortunately, was not able to attend our little party.

I’d mentioned to Amanda that we could possibly play Celebrity, and, as if on cue, she said, “So Andy, what’s that game you mentioned?” Since it’s the funnest game in the history of the world, I like to expose as many people to it as possible. Click on the word Celebrity above and it’ll take you to the Wikipedia entry, which is a good description of how it’s played. We played three rounds. The second was with two words and the third with only gestures. If that didn’t make any sense, it’s because you didn’t read the Wikipedia entry.

The list of people invited to the party was certainly not an exhaustive list of local bloggers. Any knitting bloggers were excluded because they were at a knitting event, which I was informed of right after I’d set the date for the party. And there are other people, like AmsterZanne, who I didn’t think of because…I just forgot. (I was working from an old list.) It was a fun evening. I’m always amazed at how easy it is for people to mix and talk. It’s a nice group of people.

Everyone left just after midnight, just missing the public transportation, which most people used. Why in the world does public transportation in a city like this stop running at midnight? I really do need to run for city council.

Thanks to everyone who came last night. It was lots of fun.

Oh. And for anyone taking notes, it snowed again yesterday.

Our new downstairs neighbors are having some work done in their apartment - a lot of work. They haven’t moved in yet, so they’re having the place renovated: new floors, new kitchen, new walls, etc. These are the people who - according to local legend - were visiting our former downstairs neighbors when they said something in the way of, “If you ever think about selling this place, give us a call” and six months later, our apartment was filled with the sounds of hammering and sanding. The economic crisis is over!…for the workmen downstairs.

I came home one day and I could hardly breath because they had varnished the floors downstairs and the fumes had made there was upstairs - as fumes will do. And one day I was running from room too room trying to hear the person on the phone because the noise was everywhere. It’s been an annoying process, but it’ll be over soon, and I generally have an amazing capacity to put all that noise in the background.

Some days at school, when I’m teaching and the walls shake from the music and dancing going on in the room above my classroom. Sometimes the beat of the music hits the door just right and the door shakes and makes a buzzing sound to the beat of the music. The other day I looked at the buzzing door and said, “When I tell people I work at a dance school, this is not what they picture.”

Anyway, back at the house, the day before yesterday, a man came up and asked if they could use the hook that is outside one of our front windows. I said, “Natuurlijk!” He came back yesterday morning (I was working from home) and he and a co-worker put up the pulley and rope that you see in the photo. They were both fairly large guys and one of them was leaning out the window trying to get the pulley onto the hook. The other guy had a hold of the first guy’s thigh. And I thought, Man, if you fall, he’s going to need help pulling you back in the window. Please don’t make me get off the couch. I’m..working.

We talked a bit while they were setting up. One of the men asked me if I could hear them working downstairs and if it was annoying. I said, “Now and then, but it doesn’t…last too long.” I was speaking in Dutch and had to search for the word “last.” The guy just smiled and nodded and kept talking to me in Dutch.

I love Dutch people who just continue speaking to me even when I’m doing a terrible job of  speaking their beautiful and melodious language. At the time, I was in the middle of doing something in English, so I wasn’t really prepared to have a conversation in Dutch any further than a little nodding and a “Ja, zeker” or two.

Sometimes at school, a kid will ask why I’ve never learned Dutch. Certain people (read: teenagers and people with teenage-sized brains) tend to assume that because I’m speaking English to them at that moment, I can’t speak Dutch. At school, I think it would be ridiculous to speak to the kids in Dutch. It’s English class. However, I apparently promised one class that I would give a five-minute talk in Dutch after they’ve all given their five minute talks in English. That should be interesting. The difference is that I’ll prepare for my talk.

A couple of weeks ago when Fred and I were in Budapest, Fred said, “How long do you think it would take us to see all the capitals of Europe?” He suggested that we set a date and try to visit them all.

I said, “How many are there?”

He didn’t have a number, so I took out a piece of paper and did one of my favorite things: I made a list.

This is the list of capitals that we’ve both been to (either together or separate). They are in no particular order:

1. Netherlands - Amsterdam

2. Hungary - Budapest

3. Denmark - Copenhagen

4. Germany - Berlin

5. France - Paris

6. England - London

7. Scotland - Edinburgh

8. Spain - Madrid

9. Austria - Vienna

10. Italy - Rome

11. Poland - Warsaw

12. Czech Republic - Prague

13. Croatia - Zagreb

14. Belgium - Brussels

15. Cyprus - Nicosia

16. Vatican City - Vatican City

Fred has been to another number of capitals without me and will have to go back to each of these if we are to complete our mission. The list includes the following:

17. Sweden - Stockholm

18. Luxembourg - Luxembourg

19. Portugal - Lisbon

20. Greece - Athens

21. Ireland - Dublin

22. Andorra - Andorra la Vella

23. San Marino - San Marino

24. Monaco, Monaco

Then there’s a list of the countries where one of us (usually him) knew the name of the capital but neither of us have been there yet:

25. Estonia - Tallinn

26. Finland - Helsinki

27. Norway - Oslo

28. Wales - Cardiff

29. Slovakia - Bratislava

30. Slovenia - Ljubljana

31. Serbia - Belgrade

32. Albania - Tirana

33. Romania - Bucharest

34. Bulgaria - Sofia

35. Malta - Valletta

36. Russia - Moscow

37. Ukraine - Kiev

38. Iceland - Reykjavik

39. Switzerland - Berne

Lastly, there’s a list of countries whose capitals I had to look up:

40. Lithuania - Vilnius

41. Bosnia and Herzegovina - Sarajevo

42. Latvia -Riga

43. Moldova - Chisinau

44. Macedonia - Skopje

45.Montenegro - Podgorica

46. Belarus - Minsk

And lastly, there is the list of countries we didn’t remember existed:

47. Georgia - Tbilisi

48. Kosovo - Pristina

49. Liechtenstein - Vaduz

So that’s about 50 capitals and we’ve both been to 16, so we’ve got to visit about 33. How long did we give ourselves? Ten years. Yes, that’s three or four a year for the next ten years, but a lot of those Eastern European countries are about the size of states in New England. We could hit five or six on a two week car trip of we plan it right. And no one’s holding us to it. We just thought it was a nice goal.

It seems like a lot of those Eastern European countries would all be the same. The food is certainly similar: meat and potatoes with not a lot of vegetable choices apart from red cabbage or…or a different kind of potato. I was amazed when we were in Budapest, Warsaw and Prague. They’re very similar, but very different. It’s sort of like states. I’m sure to a Southerner, New Hampshire and Vermont seem like twins, but I bet the locals see lots of differences. I’m sure it’s like that with those little countries. They have their traditions, their history and their culture.

We had a short discussion and decided to split the UK up into Scotland, Wales and England rather than just mark of London and move one. I’m sure it’s the same there. Don’t call those Scots ‘English.’ They’ll correct you. They’re British, but not English. Plus, I’ve had a fascination with Wales for a while. Possibly because Brenda Dayne is there, but also because I recall one of my parents saying we have Welsh ancestors.

My maternal grandparents visited every state in the US before they died, and my mother only has Alaska to go on her quest to see all the states. I would probably do the state thing if I still lived in the US. As it is, I’m here, so why not make a list and mark them off? If all goes as planned, we’ll be a spritely 54 an 58 - or there abouts - when when we’re finished.

This list may need to be spell checked. Feel free.

It’s been really cold outside for a couple of weeks. I get out of the house every day, but I spend a lot of time indoors because it’s warm in here and I don’t have to be concerned that my feet are going to get wet from walking through slush. Amazingly, I have not blogged in about a week. Part of what has been getting my attention is the news: the horrible tragedy in Haiti, the health care run around and the political pundits talking about both of those issues (and more). I have to say that I’m disgusted with what’s going on in the US.

I’ll warn you now that this is just me ranting about American politics - specifically the right wing. I need something to get me back into the swing of blogging. I’ll lighten it up tomorrow.

Full disclosure, the majority of my news comes from lefty sources. I watch Keith Olberman and Rachel Maddow every day. I read articles on the Huffington Post and The Daily Beast. I also watch The Daily Show, which I know is not news however, they talk about current events and comment on things going on, and that’s something because I think Jon Stewart is a really smart guy.

So I hear what’s going on and I hear what the right wing is saying - albeit filtered through lefty media sources. Conservatives do not come out looking too good. Rush Limbaugh is an idiot who comes to mind. According to some sources, he recently encouraged his listeners to not donate to help out Haiti. On his website he claims he did not say that, but it doesn’t sound like he’s encouraging them to donate. He also said something about Obama using the situation to burnish his reputation with the Blacks. Rush Limbaugh is disgusting. Then there’s Pat Robertson and his demented monologue about the slaves in Haiti making a pact with the Devil to get the French out. I hate that stuff. People actually listen to these two fools. And when Pat Robertson says, “It’s a fact,” there are people who say, “Oh! It’s a fact.” Not only does a statement like that spread lies, it also makes Christians looks like bigots. It’s hateful.

The other day, I said to someone, “I have the first line of my next blog post: Sarah Palin is a whore.” Of course I didn’t write the post, but I thought it was a good start. She will apparently do whatever she is asked for money and she is using what the good Lord gave her to make as much money as she can. Sarah Palin is probably the best thing that’s happened to the Democrats in a long time. She is a megalomaniac liar and she keeps saying and doing stupid things. She can’t keep her face out from in front of a camera and she’s so stupid that she just keeps talking and talking even when it’s been time to shut up. I saw clips of her with Glenn Beck and Bill O’Reilly. What a salty mix of nuts! I can’t believe people watch Fox News. I couldn’t do it for long. I know people love to hear what the jackasses on Fox are saying, but people actually watch it and take them seriously. That’s just dumb.

Then there are the obstructionist Republicans in the US congress doing everything they can to make Obama look bad. It’s not about helping the country. It’s about the Republicans getting back into power at any cost. Talk about selling your soul to the Devil.

I do not understand Republican or Conservative politicians and pundits. They play mean, they cheat and they lie. And then the people who listen to them believe it without fact checking any of it. I try to listen the bile they spew and believe that good will win out and that all of the hate they keep preaching will be proven wrong. But then some dolt like George W. Bush and his satanic sidekick Dick Cheney get elected twice.

American politics is such a dirty business.

I know and love some Republicans. I trust that most of them are just Republicans because they “believe in fiscal responsibility” (Whatever. Tell that to the gigantic debt Bush ran up.) but I really believe that most people vote out of habit. And if someone really does believe all that, I don’t really want to have much to do with them. If you’re part of that, you’re part of the problem.