Lately

October is almost done and it feels like it just started. Time is strange, it flies and it's slow, all at the same time. Not a whole lot has happened since September. We are still waiting on the keys to our house (6 days!). We've been preping for the big move, have ordered a new kitchen, are meeting up with handyman's (handymen? that just doesn't sound right), packing boxes, choosing paint colours, looking at furniture... This is the part where time feels like it slows down.

Some sad news: our pet rat Lucy died. It all happened within a week. We noticed one weekend that she was walking funny, sort of limping. We thought it was from when we accidently closed the door on her...but then she started sleeping more and eating less, even falling asleep in the most random places, like next to the tv or on the floor under the table. Very un-rat-like. Very un-Lucy-like. Then she started falling from things. She always fell before, but not as often and not as hard. It was like she couldn't hold herself up properly any more. Then, one day I let her out to run around and by the end of the day her back legs stopped moving and the only way for her to move around was to pull herself with her front legs and roll around. She stopped eating and drinking and just slept. We expected her to die that night, but every morning she was still there, half alive. Finally, on Monday, after three days of waiting I took her to the vet to have her put down. I expected to just hand her over and leave, and they'd take care of her. But the vet was a kindly man, very sensative and knowing that some people who love their pets like to be there for the last few moments, assumed I would too. I stood there as he stuck a needle as long as her body into her leg to numb her, then he gave me the box and in a quiet funerary voice sent me to the garden greenhouse in the back so I could say goodbye. I was unprepared for this. I sat there for ten minutes with Lucy on my lap, tears dripping off my chin, watching her breathing slow down till it was hard to see without focusing on her little chest moving up and down. I kept telling myself, this is silly, she's just a rat. But I couldn't help myself. The vet came back after a while and said it was time. Embarassed, I followed him, expecting to be sent away. But instead he offered me a seat next to the examining table where I watched as he checked her reactions before putting a large needle full of an orange fluid straight into her heart. Then we waited. And she kept breathing. All I wanted was to leave the room but I stood there staring, unable to move away and trying so hard not to cry again in front of this sensative vet. If I started, I couldn't stop again. I wanted it to be over so I could leave. But she wouldn't die! Her little chest shuddered and heaved, then her breathing seemed to stop, then it shuddered again. The vet tapped her on her eye and she did not react. He said she was braindead and that her body was just fighting for the last bit of life in it. He asked if I wanted to go back to the garden with her to wait. No, I really didn't want to! I asked if it was ok to just leave her, he said that was fine, they'd take care of her. So I paid and left as quickly as I could, and tried not to think of my little rat the whole way home.

It's been a couple of weeks now. I am throwing away the cage and her stuff. I have an almost full back of rat food that I don't know what to do with... Feels like a waste to throw that out. Maybe I can feed it to the neighborhood pigeons.

We are babysitting a cat, a sort of test trial at the same time. We might keep her. The associate pastor got her from the previous pastor who got her from some lady at church; they all know she's old but not sure how old... Anyway, he got married and his new wife isn't too fond of cats, so they want to find a new home. But I talked to her yesterday and she seemed suddenly reluctant when I told her 'yes, we'll keep her'. Maybe she feels guilty. Anyway, if we can't keep the cat, I'm gonna work on Luuk to convince him that dogs are actually awesome and we should have one. If that doesn't work, mini-pigs are the new trend.

I had lunch with a friend today who I've seen once in the past year, and that was over three months ago. That happens sometimes... Time goes by quickly, before you know it, it's been half a year since you last called each other and then you know that that "quick call" to catch up won't be quick at all so you put it off until an evening when you do have the time to talk but then you never have time and it's been another three months... So we finally made plans and met up. I had to ask for her address again because I couldn't remember what number it was and wasn't sure I'd recognize it if I passed it. The usual re-connecting questions and answers covered the first hour as we prepared lunch together.
'Where you been these days? Used to being in Holland again?'
'How's life? Enjoying med school?'
'What's new? Really, a new house?!'
'Any news in the relationship area?'
'No. Any news in the baby area? Ha!'
Then a brief silence.
'Amanda, my dad died. Two months ago. Complications with the chemo. Leukemia. He was 61. Now my mom is alone. We went out for her birthday last month but it was not a happy occasion. He wasn't there. I love my mom, she's sweet. But my dad was my friend. And he's gone. I've lost a friend. I miss him. But it's strange, I feel like he isn't really gone yet, it isn't real. I went to a funeral last week for a friend who's cousin killed himself; I cried more at that funeral then at my own father's. Christmas will be hard.'
I stayed for another hour; I'll make sure I call before three months. Too much happens when you wait too long, and I wasn't there with her.

On the way home I rushed into the train to get a seat facing the direction of travel, bypassing the seat next to a young teen sitting across from her mother, chewing loudly on chips, laughing and talking as if she was the only one in the cabin or onstage and with something actually important and funny to say. Her mother asked her to move her bags and put her feet on the floor so others could sit next to her.
Her answer was a flat "Nee". I could hear in her voice the challenging look she surely gave her mother.
No one sat next to her.
"See," she said.
I took a seat across the aisle, one row ahead of her. The woman in the seat across from me look up, glanced at me and rolled her eyes, then went back to her book. A boy sitting one seat ahead of me watched the girl through the space between the seats. She was very pretty. But he looked displeased.
"Mama, do you know that I hate you?"
A muffled response, probably "What?"
"Do you know that I hate you?"
Silence.
Everyone in the cabin waited for a response, but nothing.
"I'm just teasing, mama. I don't really hate you. "

it's gonna be a long day...

One thing I miss about college is the mental stimulation. Or, well, actually, just the discussions that were supposed to stimulate.
I sit here all day recoding data for this experiment I am doing to get the grade to graduate (click "play", listen, click on box, type number, click "next", click "play", listen, click on box, type number, click "next"...for 360trials for 43 participants), with occasional breaks to snack or do groceries or finish our Singapore picture album (all done!). My eyes are sore already and it's not even 9am. And the thought of doing this for the rest of the day is making me tired. In the background of my mind I think about all sorts of other things, articles I read, a play we watched on Tuesday ("De Filantroop", based on the book, "The Philanthropist", by Theodore Dalrempyl or however you spell his name, can't remember at the moment), or that discussion last week about American medical care.
I actually miss Gen300 where we could argue for, what was it?, an hour and a half?, about every major issue of our times.
That and our large mugs of spiked coffee at 10 in the morning and Jeff and Mike muttering sarcastic responses to every dumb question thrown out there by our less enlighted fellow students, particularly of the Republican persuasion...

touchy subject for once

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/8305217.stm

so, apparently the netherlands has the lowest rate of abortions in the world (whodathunkit?) and the US one of the highest. and, (not new news), laws restricting it don't really do much for numbers, just for safety. so, the anwer: make it easier for women not to get pregnant in the first place. agreed. and how do we do that? teach 'em the good ole fashioned rythm method; after all, you can really only get pregnant in a 24 hr window of fertily in a month... figure out when that window opens and close the legs and you are good to go!

i wonder; it might work.

"hi, i'm late."

so, after two years of attending, we finally officially joined our church yesterday. we almost missed the confirmation ceremony. the last few times it was at the end of the service but this time they decided to do it at the beginning. we walked in 10 min late as usual only to see all the newcomers standing at the front of the church introducing themselves. we rushed to the front and sidled up to the last dude in the line just in time to say our names. of course everyone thought it was hilarious, and from now on we will be the one couple that everyone remembers from that group as the one's that were late.

morning mini-rant

Seriously...

Two black men can dress up like white chicks and its hilarious, but a bunch of white guys in (with several different ethnic backgrounds, as we were carefully informed) paint themselves black and do a Jackson Five skit and America is insulted. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/8296347.stm

I don't understand this hypersensativity...

El Bobberino, if you aren't into the whole brevity thing...

we bought a car (news, for you non-facebookers). it's a lovely 1995 Suzuki Swift with pink, purple, and mint green stripes on the side that end in a palm tree and "Florida". it makes all sorts of wonderful noises and the passenger door can only lock and unlock from inside. we love him already. and we named him Bob.

sexgod

The bible study group that luuk and I go to is starting a new topic. We decided to study a book by Rob Bell (the pastor of what apparently is a well known church that I happened to go to a couple times in Michigan and realy liked, Mars Hill). The book is "sexgod", and already with the preface I was sold. I was disappointed when I came to the end. I wanted to read more. He says so beautifully and simply what I have been feeling and never been able to get out in the right words when trying to. I can't wait to get into this book, and before even reading it, I am recommending it to everyone I know. Even if you don't like what he has to say, I know this book will be good for discussion. So read it. And let me know what you think.

oh, to be a wanderer...

ever hear yourself talking in a group and wish you could make yourself shut up but you can't so you just keep going while silently wishing to yourself that no one else notices how annoying you are? all those things that i can't stand in other people seem to just flow out of me with no control. i realized that i start to do this when i become comfortable in a group. this is, of course, a sign of a good thing. i have found a little niche where i fit, or feel that i fit, where i can be at home enough to let loose and relax. but there is a saftey in being unknown; it's dangerous to get too comfortable. i can just watch all those annoying, loud, obnoxious, "look-at-me-look-at-me" parts that i normally keep tightly packed away in a group of strangers and lesser-knowns bubbling to the surface and coming out when i let my guard down or have a glass of white wine. i find myself half wishing to move again before it's too late.
of course, i probably am more aware of those parts of myself than anyone else (i hope). and i seem more annoying and obnoxious to myself than anyone else (i hope). at least, no one has complained yet to me.
on a side note, this is the amazing thing about marriage... someone who has known me long and well enough to see these parts of me that i most hate has chosen to spend his life with me. though, i think secretly he's more amused than annoyed when i find myself loosening the belt and letting my hidden less-than-attractive underbelly blubber out into the open.
so anyway...
i don't really have a point. well, maybe i do. i want to know if you have this too. i'd feel so much better about myself if i knew that everyone else dislikes themselves sometimes.
hah!, ain't that just sweet?

for the sake of writing

i should really only post when i have something to say...but i get sick of seeing the same old last blog at the top of the page and decided it's time for a new one.

last night i painted. originally the painting was going to be a gift for someone but i liked it so much, i might keep it. now i just have to make a new one for that gift... or wait till i know if i can hang this one up. well, actually is a series of three. so i need alot of wall space. which we will have in our new house, cause it's bigger! yay!

speaking of new house, it is taking forever to get to november 2. why is time so slow? and luuk's three weeks away is crawling by as well. only three and a half more days!, but it feels like he's been gone for ages... i suppose it's good thing. but ugh, man, it's only september! we still have october to crawl through! and i have so little to do...just finishing that workshop, which i hope to wash my hands of on sept 30, and testing participants for that endless experiment. i should get extra credit for all the hours i am putting into someone else's pet project. oh, did i mention that that workshop will have to be presented in Dutch? i have never given a presentation in Dutch. this kinda freaks the shit out of me... but i'll live. i always do.

anyway... lunch today with a medical student friend from texas doing research here for a year and possibly a visit to the anatomy museum, her suggestion of course. go figure. i suggested doing something touristy. she suggested looking at body parts. alright!

i'm so 'ronery!

man, i was not made to be alone. luuk's been gone since sunday on another of his training things for three weeks (the last one!), and i am home with only lucy to keep me company, and well, she's not exactly the most companionable... entertaining, at least, climbing up empty wine bottles and knocking them over to drink whatever spills out, climbing up my pant leg when i'm cooking cause she knows there's something yummy going on above the edge of the counter and then getting stuck at about the knees and then just sitting there clinging for dear life til i help her down, ripping the corners of our carpet (which normally would piss me off but we are moving so now i don't care), trying to jump up to the third shelf where she has never been and is absolutely convinced it must be interesting cause she does this all the time but then only manages to slam into the edge with her face and fall to the ground (she really does this)...
anyway...

so, back to me. i'm bored out of my mind. especially at night when luuk is usually around and we watch 'family guy' or play 'settlers' against each other. or do other things...

not so fun on your own.

the two worst things to do on your own: laughing and farting.

watching a funny movie or tv show is just no good on your own. something hilarious happens and i start pointing and waiting for a reaction, then realize no one's there so i just laugh on my own but my laugh sounds so weird unaccompanied so then i just smile and well, that's just not as satisfying as a good wholehearted laugh. and later when i make an offhanded joke or reference to something funny that happened in that tv show, no one knows what i'm talking about so i end up explaining it and then just feel like a total loser for spending so much time watching tv on my own.
and farting...ugh. especially loud ones. when luuk is there we just laugh about it or run away together, but when alone i can't laugh cause it sounds weird unaccompanied, and running away seems silly, so i just sit there in my smell, looking around for the candid camera, hoping the neighbors can't hear through the walls, then kinda hoping they could and wishing they'd offer a loud bellow in response.

so this is why God made two of us. its not good for a man or woman to be alone. after a while, you start going a little nuts.

it hasn't even been a week. lets talk again in two, see how i'm doing...

old storks and stuff.

the stork is kinda a national symbol in this country, though you rarely see them in the wild. but i pass a field every day on my way to work where i see two storks standing in the grass probably waiting for some frogs to leap by. there used to be three but i like to think that in true 'vicky, cristina, barcelona' style the one flew away to find herself leaving the other two to fight and hate each other and throw frogs at each other in the middle of the field.

on another note, every morning this wonderfully strange and interesting lady gets on the bus at delft central and gets off at the same stop in the middle of a tiny town with 20some buildings probably dating back to the 1800's. her hair is red, uncontrolably frizzy, and greying. her face is laced with wrinkles and the skin on her hands is spotting with age and starting to develop that odd transparency that for some reason old people get. she isn't old quite yet, but slowly growing into it. her face is in a permanent half smile, as if she knows a secret about the world and simply cannot help but be amused. and when she gets off the bus she always leaves with a loud cheerful "goedemorgen" to the driver. i think she would be an interesting person to meet.

i am reading hemmingway, "a farewell to arms". i like how his sentences run on for half a page without punctuation.

some friends of ours (well, luuk's really, but i like them too) might take over our apartment when we move out. they want to keep all the kitchen appliances that we don't want, including the shelves and bar table that we put in with Dad, and flooring. if they get the apartment, it means we don't have to fill in the hundreds of holes hiding behind the wood boards we screwed to the wall or pay for dumping our old carpets. nice. bring on the two month rent deposit return! :)

The end of a wonderful summer.

The sun comes up later than it did just two weeks ago. The nights are getting longer, the days shorter, and I even see some leaves out my window at work that are changing color. Getting up in the morning is slowly becoming more difficult (though that might partly be a side effect of this horrid cold that I caught just before the weekend...). Holland is beautiful in the fall, romantic. But after fall comes winter and Dutch winters are rarely beautiful. I dread Dutch winters. They are cold, wet, windy, grey, dreary, dark. Morning light starts at 8, and night begins to creep in at 4. Just thinking about it depresses me.

so, shisha/hookah/waterpipe, not so good for you...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/8214097.stm

morning glory

everymorning i share a tram with the same people. the cute, wonderfully-smelling guy with a blonde ponytail. the lady who always wears pink flowered gloves, no matter how hot it is outside. the guy with Down's who sits in the back burping occasionaly, grining and muttering to himself, and loudly repeating "Ssssex winkel" every time we pass the sex-shop around the corner from the grocery store, all to the shock and embarassment of the old ladies who board at the rest home just down the street. the tall girl with long hair who for some reason always wears her belt on top of her clothes and never through the belt-loops of her pants. sometimes i manage to get the tram with the only woman driver on line 1, who never smiles when you say "goedemorgen" but grunts in reply before clanging the bell and lurching the tram forward.
the tram is scheduled to arrive at 8:19 but i risk missing it if i am not there by 8:15, and even then i'm really pushing it. why public transport in this country manages to always be early or late but never on time so that no matter what time you get there you end up waiting 10min is beyond me. and of course, i regularly miss the bus i mean to catch in Delft. i either arrive too early and he comes to late or i arrive late and he left early. either way, i end up waiting 20min before i can board my connecting form of transport.
at my stop, i get out, followed by a guy with dark hair who immediately lights up a cigarette and proceeds to walk 10 feet behind me till we reach the gate where i swipe my pass and open the door for both of us, at which point he offers the only word i have ever heard him speak, "dankje", and we part ways. sometimes i forget my pass and he has to step in front of me to open the door, then i say "dankje", smile, he nods, and we part ways.
then i work, go home, have a nice quiet evening at home with luuk (whooped his ass at Settlers last night...he got me back though), go to bed, wake up, and do it all again.
ah, mornings...

found in an old social psych book:

Innocent victims tigger more compassion if personalized. In a week when a soon-forgotten earthquake in Iran kills 3000 people, a lone boy dies, trapped in a well-shaft in Italy, and the whole world grieves. The projected death statistics of a nuclear war are impersonal to the point of being incomprehensible. So international law professor Roger Fisher proposed a way to personalize the victims:

"It so happens that a young man, usually a navy officer, accompanies the President wherever he goes. This young man has a black attache case which contains the codes that are needed to fire nuclear weapons.
I can see the President at a staff meeting considering nuclear was as an abstract question. He might conclude, 'On SIOP Plan One, the decision is affirmative. Communicate te Alpha line XYZ.' Such jargon keeps what is involved at a distance.
My suggestion, then, is quite simple. Put that needed code number in a little capsule and implant that capsule right next to he heart of a volunteer. The volunteer will carry with him a big, heavy butcher knife as he accompanies the President. If ever the President wants to fire nuclear weapons, the only way he can do so is by first, with his own hands, killing one human being.
'George,' the President would say, 'I'm sorry, but tens of millions must die.' The President then would have to look at someone and realize what death is - what an innocent death is. Blood on the White House carpet: it's reality brought home.
When I suggested this to frinds in the Pentagon, they said, 'My God, that's terrible. Having to kill someone would distrot the President's judgement. He might never push the button.' "

(Fisher, R. (1981) Preventing nuclear war. Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, March, 11-17.)

check this picture out...

http://www.safetyphoto.co.uk/photo1/electrical_socket/death_by_electrocution.htm

weekends are too short.

i have a serious case of the monday's. really not in the mood to do any sort of work. the computer is not on my side, either. slow bastard. not really sure what i need to do, anyway. tomorrow i am meeting with my supervisor(s) to discuss what i have written up so far for Part 1 of the workshop. I suppose I could read some more about risk theories to add to Part 2... but I am pretty much done with Part 2 already. And Part 3 is a group activity section, which involves very little research on my part...so that's done already too.
on a more interesting note, a friend got married this weekend. don't really know her new husband that well, but he's a good guy. it was good. a meaningful ceremony. smiles, tears, yummy reception food, good fun and friends. i like these kinds of weddings. when you know they have a good start to a (very likely) long journey. just plain good.
yes, i realize i just used the word good five times. it just fit the day.
anyway.
back to monday.

Daydreaming

I noticed this morning one of life's little pleasures that I hadn't really ever realized how much I enjoy: getting lost in my thoughts. For the 45 min travel time to the office, I usually take a book (right now I am reading "Nudge", which I recommend to all you politically-minded psychological's out there) but sometimes I don't feel like focusing and I let my mind wander. Occasionally I will stop to notice where I have let myself wander into, but for the most I just roam through the random parts of my mind that normally go unexplored. Somehow, this exercise is very relaxing. Maybe there's something in the early morning sunlight on the canals and green fields....

mini-update.

today, i got a tour of some of the work that the company where i am interning does. including at two shell refinaries. pretty interesting. probably boring once you are actually doing the work. its slow and time consuming and not pleasant. the only thing different about yesterdays work might be the location and the outcome of the tests they run. they use magnetic, ultrasound, and x-ray machines to test pipes and connecting parts. sometimes they just test loose parts on the ground before the parts are sent of to where ever they will be used. some times they climb ten stories of scaffolding to test a piece of metal. occasionally they have to hang off the sides of pipes and towers to get to that one piece they couldn't reach. crazy stuff. i can see why safety management is important. so now i feel a little more important. (in case you didn't know, i'm developing a safety workshop for the 'health, safety, quality, and environment' department). and now i have a better (albeit still incomplete) picture of what it is that they actually do. all these technical terms... a bit much for me. seeing it does more for me than reading it or getting an explanation from a well-meaning but confusing dutchman with a heavy accent.
still trying to figure out if this is for me. still wondering if i choose the wrong direction with this masters. still feel slightly unsettled.
guess i'll just have to wait and see.
i'm hoping for some writing on the wall.

Sexism at the office.

I know you see me. You walk in a couple times a week to talk to Tamara; we share an office, you can't possibly have missed that. The least you could do is acknowledge my presence in the room when you are here. I don't need to be your best friend. But come on. You know I'm here.
The way you ignore my side of the office would under other circumstances perhaps be admirable. You can sit here talking for half an hour, diligently averting your eyes to every side of the room except my corner. My increasingly-less-enthusiastic smiles and attempts to make eye-contact with you in an effort to make our now all-too-late introduction less awkward are expertly avoided. At this point I feel it would be impolite for me to walk up to you and shake your hand - I'm afraid it would only point out your own rudeness.
This will probably go on until October when I leave and we will have never met each other, though I know your name and that the cute boy in your department doesn't really like you that way and that your job stresses you out more often than you enjoy it and that you are thinking of taking night-classes. I was, after all, in the room while you exchanged gossip and stories with my office-mate.
The men at least came by to say hello when I started working here. Sure, they just wanted to meet the new blonde intern. But at least they acknowledge my presence. They invite me to join them for lunch and even stop in during the afternoon lull to chat about cars and buying houses. They aren't just friendly, they call me "lieve schat" and "sweety". But you, you women, you don't just pretend I don't exist - you know I'm here. You see me and have said so much more with your avoiding eyes than any man could with a passing pinch in the dark hallway.

Discrimination without prejudice

What do you make of this paragraph?:

"A mindful outlook recognizes that we are all deviant from the majority with respect to some of our attributes, and also that each attribute or skill lies on a continuum. Such an awareness leads to more categorizing and consequently fewer global stereotypes, [that is] increasing discrimination can reduce prejudice." (Langer, E.J., 1989, Mindfulness).

Mindfulness is, in short, acting in a manner that is not automatic or unquestioning. Meeting someone using a mindful approach would mean paying attention to details that you would normally take for granted upon first meet (which usually we end up doing eventually the better we get to know someone), to discriminate this person from the global category that they would otherwise fit into if you met them in the usual, automatic way.
One reason that we carry prejudices is because we categorize to deal with the world. When we meet a new person we pick up the details that are most salient and use those to define the person we meet and categorize. We mindlessly accept these details as defining the person until they do or say something to make us think twice about our definition. When I first meet someone, he/she fits in a category: black, white, Mexican, American, Dutch, nerd, jock, friendly, unfriendly, asshole, bitch, saint.... The more I get to know someone, the more I discriminate him/her from any category or group in particular and the more he/she simply becomes John or Jane, with all quirks, strengths, tendencies, characteristics that define this particular person.
All our efforts to reduce discrimination and therefore reducing prejudices and racism has, in fact, only contributed to the problem. In an attempt to not-discriminate, to treat one person as exactly the same as the next, I impossibly attempt to deny this natural tendency to categorize, and I do not allow myself to re-categorize based on that individual, instead holding them in the global category into which they originally fit. To discriminate, in this sense anyway, is to reduce prejudice.

oh yeh-uh, woo-hoo, oh-yeh-uh!

we have a house! we got the one we wanted for the price we wanted. and quite quickly too. we put in our last offer at 4pm and got the call at 7pm announcing our new ownership! we are home owners! well, not officially yet...we have to sign the papers and stuff next week. but it's ours! woohoo!

Baby yet? No? How bout now? No? And now?

At this moment, I have at least 3 friends who are pregnant (I feel like I am forgetting someone) and 5 with new born babies (four in the last week!).
Luuk's sisters occasionally drop comments into the conversation about how fun it would be to be an aunt.
My sisters say things like "I'd like to go back to Holland some time soon...a baby would be a good excuse..."
Gram's hinted at it yesterday and then pretended to take it back. But she didn't really take it back. She wants great-grand-babies. When we are ready, of course. But now would be nice. The clock is ticking you know...
Our mom's try a more sensible approach and just give us good sound advice about this house we want to buy...make sure it has enough rooms for, well, just in case (wink wink).

Sigh.

Oh the pressure. :p

Goode-bye Michael.

It's strange when famous people die. Our extended reality has been altered. It's not like they hold a particularly important place in our daily life. But when they are gone, we miss them. Something somehow changed. We don't like it. Famous people aren't supposed to die. They are supposed to live forever or at least as long as ourselves to continue to grace our newspaper headlines and tv shows with reports about legal cases and scandals and canceled shows and speculations about private life...

Ah, Mr. Jackson. You will be missed. Today I will play some of your albums that have been gathering dust on the shelf. I will only remember those good times, long ago. And will talk about you with my friends for days as if we always cared.

Here's to you and a life incomparable. Cheers!

addiction anyone?

for some reason I keep checking the usual websites every few hours, as if something might have changed since the last check.
maybe if I would quit checking and would starting writing emails, I might actually have some responses.
not much I can do about the news... the world only turns at the same speed it always has...
the probability of more than one new house appearing on the sale list every week is pretty slim as well, let alone a new on each day...or hour...or half hour...
and well, facebook and blog only change when something interesting happens to people I know, and seriously, how many more of my friends can announce pregnancies or engagements at this point?
I suppose all this checking might explain why my paper is developing at a similar rate to the rest of the internet world. though, I can proudly say I have finally finished it. I will read it once more before handing it in on Monday. never know... what I think is brilliant today, I might find silly tomorrow.

speaking of tomorrow, I am going to an open-house route in Gouda to check out about 10 different potential future homes. though, really, just two of them looked really good. but you never can tell from the pictures alone.

so yeah, that was my day.
toodles.

Ridiculous dissatisfaction.

So, I got a 7.5 on my last exam, which translates to an 8, which here is a very good grade. I was quite happy with this grade until I took a closer look at the list and realized that several people got a 9, several more got a 9.5 , and several even got a 10 (which is supposed to be impossible to get in Holland unless you are particularly brilliant)... Now I do not know how I should feel. If that many people could get perfect and near perfect grades, I must have seriously misunderstood something that they all somehow got. But I tried to accept it and be happy with a grade that in itself is a good grade. Until last night when I found out that a girl in my program who from the beginning has seriously annoyed me but I have been trying to see in a different light and like her anyway cause that's what Jesus would do, got a 9.5, which translates to a 10...
Oh the envy! The annoyance! The petty frustration! I studied so hard for that exam! I thought I really had a good grasp on the topic! She didn't study as much or as long. She didn't try as hard. How can she have two, count two!, full points more than I?
My 8 now feels like a failure.
What the hell?
This is ridiculous.
Seriously, Amanda. Get over yourself.

relief

Had my first participant yesterday, ran the pilot successfully without supervision. Ha! Take that Eprime! No computer program is too messed up for me...or well, my supervisor (assissted with some uneducated guesses on my part). Two more this week

Yesterday I went to a "mindfulness" workshop. It was a bit different from what I expected. Still not sure what to think of it. Apparently what I had in mind was "awareness", being aware of how you interact with the environment you are in... whereas "mindfulness" is more centered in the body and experiencing every moment, bringing yourself to the 'here and now' by focusing on your physical reactions.... There where moments where was afraid our workshop was gonna turn in to a new age meditation session but it managed to stay just on the right side of that thin line.

Anywho, those of you who have never heard of this probably don't care too much. The only reason I mention it is cause I am supposed to help set up a workshop for safety mindfulness and I am not really sure how safey would fit with this version of mindfulness. Maybe they stole each other's term and what I will be doing is completely different. I hope.

Now, to finish that paper from hell.

Feeling better. A bit.

Ok. It's a new week. The experiment is still not ready to go, had to cancel some participants. Ah well. We'll finish in September.
That paper is still probably ok, so I am just gonna finish it. At some point. In between experiment stuff. Has to be done by Friday though. And I have to hand it in with a picture of myself. Will need to go get some pictures taken. Kinda annoying...
We got some sunshine this weekend, made me a bit happier.
Enjoyed some Jazz aan de Gracht (on the city canal/water systems). Good good. Found a new jazz club we might visit more often.
Watched 'Rachel Getting Married', liked it, alot. Cried a bit, destressed.
Played games yesterday, beat Luuk twice. :)
Then watched some 'Scrubs' and 'Simpsons' before crawling into bed.
A good way to round off the weekend.

I feel like complaining...

This experiment is taking forever to get started. We have our first participants signed up for Monday and I am starting to fear that we won't be ready. Actually, that's not true, I already had to cancel two participant meetings. Egh.
So much for being done in August.

My thesis/experiment supervisor seems to think that everything involved in the experiment is a teaching opportunity and instead of just telling me how things work she starts asking me rhetorical questions to get me to think about it and figure it out on my own. But my thought processes seem different from hers so I never understand her questions so I sit there trying to figure it out on the spot in front of her feeling very stupid and slow. She does this for a living, knows every detail about how language and the programs and bilingualism and testing... I've been dropped smack into the middle of it all with nothing. And when we are done, I will likely never use any of this stuff again. I don't need to learn this stuff, I just need to know enough to do the freaking experiment and write a paper and graduate! Quit teaching me damnit!

And this paper on that topic I know nothing about, I had a brilliant topic, finally, and was making some headway. Got a general email this morning to all students from our prof with more specific requirements, might mean that the topic I have now isn't quite what she is looking for. Crap.

There is a pile of un-ironed shirts waiting for me downstairs. I tackled half of it earlier this week and ran out of hangers; bought more, so now I can get back to it... They've been sitting there for days, untouched. Makes the house look messy.

How is it that the dirty laundry basket is never empty? It's like Elijah's oil and flour. A miracle. I wash, hang up, fold, put away, turn around to find more to wash, hang up, fold, put away, oh and of course occasionally iron. Where does it all come from? There are just two of us in this house!!!

Oh, speaking of houses, one good thing that happened this week is that we might have found the house. Maybe. I'll get back to you on that.

Ah. But now it's Friday. I can make it through this day and then I can come home, crack open a beer and for a couple of hours forget about it all and just relax. Tomorrow I will tackle laundry. And Monday will be back soon enough to overwhelm me again with life.

some people believe the craziest shit.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8089351.stm

What happened to "this master's is easy, I barely feel like I'm studying"?

So, I am done with exams. Forever. Unless I study again some day. But forever for now.
You'd think I'd be relieved. But apparently I am still stressed. Maybe that's got something to do with the unfinished experiment for one class, with it's corresponding unfinished paper, both due next week; the yet-to-be-started research proposal for another class on a topic that I have very little understanding about; the experiment for my thesis project that is still in the setup-up stage and we have two weeks (if I want to stay on schedule) to get started and find another 29 participants (yay for friends who want to help!) and finish collecting data, then the results and thesis and review which I am starting to think won't be happening till sometime this fall; and then of course the internship that will be starting midsummer. Pff. So much for done. I think I prefer exams. At least I feel more in control and capable. For half of this stuff I feel so incredibly incompetent that the only thing that keeps me going is that I simply have to get through this so I will no matter how bad I am at it. I thought a masters was supposed to prepare me for the real world. This one has mainly succeeded in revealing further to me just how unprepared I am. Or maybe it's the real world that I'll be good at, it's just this academic/research stuff that I'm not so hot at.
Oh, and on top of this all, we are looking for houses. To buy. Leiden or Gouda, for those of you who are interested. Something close to the station. With a backyard, in the sun. And enough space to stay there for a few years (read: babies). It's perfectly normal to find this a bit of a scary process, right?

Bet-dieting. I guess money is the best incentive afterall...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/8063440.stm

Here's a scientific topic for ya. Bear with me, it's actually interesting...

So, I am reading all these articles for one of my classes (Economic Behavior) and some interesting ideas come up once in a while. In particular, one that caught my eye was on the norm of self-seeking. Basically, the concept is this: We have become more self-seeking over time because at some point someone told us that we, as rational economic beings, are always and only looking for ways to maximize our utility, to get the most out of every exchange for ourselves with no thought to the other person other than what is necessary to keep them exchanging with us. This is not a foreign concept to psychology - any long discussions on whether or not true altruism exists will attest to that. But at the same time, psychologists are very aware that people do strange things that don't seem to make rational sense, also in economic behavior. There are countless experiments and studies on the anomolies and "errors" of people's economic behavior. In fact, we are very often not rational, not self-seeking, and do not always maximise our utility. More specifically to this particular article, we, at least some of us, care about fairness. Now, there are different kinds of economic beings: those who care about fairness (prosocials), those who only care about their own outcomes (proselfs). You can actually measure who is which with a test that focuses on attitudes toward social issues. Anyway, some studies seem to indicate that the difference between these two sorts my partly have been enhanced by this self-seeking norm; in fact, we have all been influenced by this norm. Basically, we have been told for so long that we are only and always self-seeking that we believe it; we can easily think of many examples supporting this idea; we are suspicious even, of anyone's seemingly selfless behavior. As such, we are surprisingly (or not surprisingly?) not very willing to admit to being un-self-seeking. People are more likely to give to a charity if they can get something back, even if it is something small like a pen or a t-shirt. The theory is that this isn't because we are so willing to give large amounts of money for pens or t-shirts, it's because we can justify it later: "Yeah, I gave some money to the AIDS foundation, but I just wanted a t-shirt..."; "I walked with the breast-cancer walk cause it seemed fun and I needed to get out...". People who become involved in organizations working for some cause are generally better accepted by the people within the organization and without, if they have been affected by whatever it is they are working for or if they have some sort of personal investment; obviously you couldn't possibly care the cause for single mothers if you yourself are not a single mother or child of a single mother, right?
A major role in all this is played by our expectations of the behavior of others. We believe that everyone, including ourselves though perhaps to a lesser extent, are self-seeking; so we act as if they are all self-seeking. We justify our own un-self-seeking behavior, and we mistrust the apparent un-self-seeking behavior of others. Further, in any sort of exchange situation, we act as if they other is trying to get the most out of it at our cost so we must as well, perhaps in a way protecting ourselves. In experiments where one person is the allocator and the other is the recipient, the allocator divides a sum of money and gives part of it to the recipient, and the recipient accepts (in which case he gets only what he was offered and the allocator keeps the rest) or rejects the offer (in which case no one gets anything). Now, usually the allocator will give 50% or close to it; this could be fairness or it could be fear of rejection if the offer is too low. But in a version of this game where the recipient only has limited power, so if he rejects they both get a lesser percentage each, something strange happens. The less power the recipient has, the less money the allocator offers. But, when the recipient has zero power, the allocator suddenly switches and gives 50% again. Why is that? Some theories say that the powerlessness of the recipient invokes social attitudes, like when taking care of a baby or a helpless old lady. I personally think it has more to do with the other person being completely unable to act in a self-seeking manner and not the allocator is free to also no longer act in a self-seeking manner. Or maybe something combining the two ideas. Interestingly, those who have been highly trained in the economic theories that assume self-seeking nature often act in a more self-seeking manner. Studies comparing economics students to students from various other study subjects shower a large difference in the amount of money offered as allocators. Is this because they suddenly become more selfish? Or does it maybe have something more to do with their expectations of the behaviors and attitudes of others?

This is not to say that people are always and only really self-less under our charade of self-seekingness. There is too much evidence supporting self-seeking behavior. But it is nice to know that we are capable of being self-less, probably more so than we give ourselves credit for.

This isn't Nam.

I hate it when dreams stay with me after I get out of bed. I was dreaming that I was in the army in the middle of some war. We were caught by the enemy and put into some sort of retaining pit. We were beaten and someone tried to drown me but somehow I managed to find a way to breath under water if I took very tiny breaths through my nose. Then suddenly we were escaping, and I was no longer the only woman, another appeared out of nowhere beside me. We were running away from the male enemy soldiers for obvious reasons. We managed to get guns and started shooting at them, they shot at us, we ran but were caught again. This time it was by one of our own guys who must have been working for the enemies as well; he handed us over to a general on a train and told him that we were traitors and should be put to death. The general took us, and we were so weak from being beaten that we couldn't get up, they just dumped us on an open bed car. But at some point the general disconnected our car and left us; he was doing us a favor and giving us a chance to escape. So we ran, this time ending up in corn field. Some teenage boys saw us and started to chase us. They were French. We followed another boy into his farm yard, but suddenly found ourselves in water again, with tall reeds surrounding us, and a dog was barking at us from the yard where the water ended. We ran into the house and were followed by the French boys. A man resembling Johnny Depp sat on a rocking chair and watched from above his tipped glasses. He told us to defend ourselves and so we started beating the boys up for trying to hurt us. We were hitting them with parts of the guns that we somehow had in our hands again and they tried to fight back but we knew too many fighting moves and one by one we beat them down. Then I started to whip them with a stick on their butts and they all mumbled and cried that they were sorry. Then I woke up, in a rage, no one there, just birds chirping on the other side of the window. It took a while to shake off that lasting impression.

Wow do I have some fucked up dreams.

The pursuit of happiness.

I've often thought, and remembered again yesterday during a conversation with a friend, that one thing people rely too much on which leads to their unhappiness is the very pursuit of happiness. I think happiness cannot be a goal in itself. It an elusive goal, found best when not looked for. Have you ever been in a really dark room and tried to focus on the few things in the room that have a tiny bit more light on them? For some reason, when you look straight at it, it disappears, but when you focus on something else and look at it out of the corner of your eye, it's much clearer. I think alot of people are depressed because they find that they are not happy. Know what I mean? One of the best therapeutic approaches to depression is to give the patient an activity that he/she must do; by giving them an activity, their focus is brought down to the task before them instead of their misery and unhappiness; eventually they often can enjoy the activity and in the end there is some satisfaction to be derived from the completed task. Or, take a marriage, for example. If the whole purpose of marrying someone is for that person to make you happy, or you both to make each other happy, you will inevitably be disappointed at some point and possibly become very unhappy with each other. But if your purpose in the marriage is something beyond mere happiness, then perhaps happiness can grow out of the meeting of that purpose. If your purpose as a couple is to help each other grow and to become better persons, then encouraging each other and watching each other develop will bring some joy in itself. If at some point you find yourself unhappy it is a sign that something is not going right. But to focus on that happiness, or lack thereof, would be pointless; instead you have to figure out why it is that you are unhappy, what it is that is going wrong and fix that. Happiness will inevitably follow when the couple works together toward the same goal.
I'm doing a course on decision making; one thing that I read recently was that people constantly over- and under-estimate how they will feel about certain outcomes. We are terrible at predicting our emotions. In particular, we often think that our response to those things that we are dying to have or to those things we absolutely dread will be much greater than they are in the end. We are affected by so much more than just that one thing in any given situation and when we predict our emotional response we tend to forget that it will not be the only thing we are responding too. In our pursuit of happiness I am convinced we do the same thing. We focus on those things that we think will bring us great happiness, but when we actually get it, we are disappointed because it wasn't everything we thought it was...or rather, we had overestimated its capacity to bring us happiness. Instead, if we were to put our energies into other things, perhaps more noble activities like work or helping others or whatever it is that we feel called to do, we might find much more happiness in the mere process and outcome than we could have hoped for.

Oh, the ships are burning...there'll be no turning... back for you an me!

I had a conversation the other day that is still bothering me because I didn't feel I defended my case as well as I could have had I been first given three days to replay it all in my head and make up all the right answers in retrospect.
Egh.
Well, anyway, we somehow got on the topic of marriage and I mentioned that Luuk and I decided before we married that divorce would never be an option/solution. The response was that we were setting ourselves up for disappointment because what if something happened and we did end up divorced?, we would feel it was a personal failure. I said yes, I guess I would see it as a personal failure, and then proceeded to try to defend what I had just said with a bunch of unconvincing arguments that I have much improved in my head over the past few days.
But what struck me was that "personal failure" bit. Is that so bad? I would imagine, at this point in my inexperienced life, that if we ever divorced it would be because one or both of us hadn't done everything we could to not only stick together but to love each other (and I never met a couple who divorced still loving each other). Are we so averse to responsibility that we would hope not to feel like a failure or like it was our fault should something go wrong? (And we say "should something go wrong" as if it were some outside force that we had nothing to do with...). That we could ever take seperate ways and not feel any guilt or responsibility seems impossible to me; and if it is possible, then I suppose I should no longer be surprised at the state of relationships these days.
When Luuk and I said "no divorce", it wasn't without the recognition that things don't always go as you expect/hope, or that it won't always be easy (though I must say so far it's been a breeze...maybe it helps that he's out of the country...ha..ha... just kidding...sniff, oh, I crack myself up...). But "no divorce" is part of "commitment", "loyalty", "faithfulness". (In Dutch there is one word that seems to encompass them all: trouw). If we are both commited to each other, commited to sticking together, to helping the other grow, to encouraging and supporting each other, etc., and if we are loyal and faithful to each other above career, friends, and blonde bimbos and handsome colleagues, then it seems to make sense that divorce will not follow. But making the actual decision to never consider divorce does two things: it forces/enables (depending on how you look at it, I guess) us to look for other ways to solve things if we ever get to the point of not being able to stand each other, and it gives us more space for trust (or reduces fear/distrust), I think, given that we both know the other will not be thinking divorce or looking for a way out but will, like me, be looking for a better solution.
So, basically, I think that removing that option, or burning that good ole cliché ship, creates the space where a relationship can thrive in complete trust. And if something goes wrong, then it really is our own fault and we better take the responsibility for it or we'll never be able to patch things up. Doesn't that make sense?

What is this world coming to when "world peace" isn't enough?

Ok, regardless of my usual disdain for this competition, and regardless of what I actually think on the subject of gay marriage, I'm annoyed with this: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8009359.stm . Do they seriously want Miss America to be an airheaded bimbo who doesn't have an opinion of her own but takes on only those opinions regarded as okay or cool by the organization? Pff. To be appalled that she would say what she did...ridiculous. Freedom of speech and equality for all, my ass!

Also, yesterday I read an article in one of the free newspapers on the train (Metro) about how all of a sudden more Americans are "coming out of the closet" about being atheists. As if they were scared to before. It's some sort of reaction to Bush and the ultra-conservatism that was rampant in the past 8yrs. Since when have Americans been afraid to admit to not believing in any god? Did I miss something?
Sometimes the way other countries see the US just boggles my mind. Where do they get these crazy ideas?

Strange

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/8007895.stm

A quote. Any thoughts?

We only regard those unions as real examples of love and real marriages in which a fixed and unalterable decision has been taken. If men or women contemplate an escape, they do not collect all their powers for the task. In none of the serious and important tasks of life do we arrange such a "getaway." We cannot love and be limited.

-- Alfred Adler

One of my favorite memories.

I must have been around 6 yrs old, maybe older, I'm not sure. We were on furlough/homeleave, staying in Canada for a couple months after traveling from Yucatan to Michigan to Alberta in the van. We were staying on my uncle's farm in the honeybarn. It had a kitchen and a bathroom and shower, so with a little bit of work it was easily turned into the coolest house we ever lived in. We could even rollerblade and bike indoors, though we got in trouble if we tried to go through the kitchen.
We had packed as light as we could for a six-month van trip through the continent. The kids were allowed to bring a few toys along. I had a cabbage patch doll with brown hair made of yarn. Carmela had the bald one.
My parents liked to listen to Paul Harvey on the radio every day over breakfast, or lunch, or one of the meals anyway. This particular day my cabbage patch doll was cranky. I had put her in a doll crib while eating but she kept fussing through the whole meal. When I was finished, I picked her up and patted her back and bounced her, but she just kept crying.
"Amanda, please be quiet, we are trying to listen to the radio."
But daddy, it's not me, its the baby.
Bounce bounce, sniffle, sniffle, waaaaa!
"Amanda...."
Shhh baby, daddy is trying to listen to the radio.
Sniffle, sniffle....waaaaaa!
"Amanda, how many times do I have to ask you?"
Baby, shhh!
Waaaaa!
"Amanda! Shut up!"
I almost dropped the baby in shock. Daddy had told me to shut up. That was a bad word. If we knew anything, it was not to say bad words to each other and "shut up" was one of the worst cause mom said it was rude, there were nicer ways to ask someone to be quiet. And daddy had said it and he never said any bad words except for shit but that was ok cause mom said he grew up in Canada on a farm, though we couldn't use it...
I ran out of the barn, into the farmyard, and hid behind one of the silo's. I cried and felt sorry for myself. It wasn't my fault, I was just playing with my doll. That's what babies do, they cry! Daddy had been so mean!
It felt like I had been there for a long time, though it was probably only a matter of minutes or however long it took my dad to find me. He appeared around the side of the silo and sat next to me. I looked away and sniffled, wanting to be angry but mostly I was just hurt. Then he said "I am sorry. Will you forgive me?" That was the first time I distinctly remember him apologizing, and to me. I don't remember what I said, but I am pretty sure I forgave him on the spot.

Who says the west is free?

"Singapore is a fine city;" I was told often. "A fine for smoking, a fine for chewing gum, a fine for this, a fine for that..." A typical complaint by a Singaporean who had apparently never been to a country lacking in clean streets and fresh air. They do not realize that those very constraints on their freedom provide the space to live more freely.

In Singapore I was free to walk through the streets without staring at the ground to avoid pieces of gum scattered literally everywhere that had melted in the sun and would create a nasty mess if stepped in; to walk out my front door without having to step over a gigantic pile of dog-poo that some asshole had not even thought about picking up. I could walk around at night, alone, without constantly looking around me and making sure I had my cellphone and house keys ready for just-in-case. I could get in the train without being assaulted with the smell of some passenger's onion-and-mayo french-fries or the occasional teenager who likes to see if he can get away with smoking in the back of the tram.

Singaporeans take for granted the freedom they have to go about their day without being bothered by these and other albeit small but very annoying factors because there are not only rules imposed on them, but people follow them (most of the time) even if simply to avoid a hefty fine.

Yes, a fine city indeed.

Neighbors

From our apartment, I can see two pigeon coops. One is across the street on the rooftop of another place identical but mirror image to ours. Once in a while a boy in a man's body stands on the rooftop calling to his birds, cooing and whooping to wake the world. The other is behind us, two houses down where occasionally I spot a chubby guy with a big smile standing quietly, watching and petting his little friends.
In our neighborhood there are alot of fat pigeons. They have full feet, no missing parts. Clean feathers. Fluffy faces. Sometimes, when they've enjoyed their roost for a while and are ready to set to flight, they lift off, then drop a foot or two, then fly off fluttering and weaving about under the strain of carrying their heavy chests through the air before plopping down again to rest and poop on someone else's railing.

Diagnosis: Temporary Adult-form ADD

I just read through a full article on the mental control of the bilingual lexico-semantic system...and don't know what I just read. Ever do that? Your eyes read the words, follow through the entire 10-20 pages, but none of it actually registers in your brain and at the end you don't even remember reading that last page with the weird graphs and have no idea how the article reaches the conclusions about bilingual language control that it does...? Egh. I am so not back in student mode. My mind keeps wandering.

"This system involved a process termed contention scheduling in which schemas..."

... I gotta remember to buy garbage bags. Hmm, should I use a green theme or a blue theme for my next painting? Oh, I should remember to call my old lady tonight to tell her I am back in the country...

"Simulations of contention scheduling system..."

... Where did I leave the user-guide for our phone that doesn't work? Hmm, the bathroom could use a good scrub-down...it's the only room I haven't fully cleaned yet since I got back.

Oh, right... "...evidence for the role of frontal lobes in regulating language tasks in unilingual speakers..."

...Did I email about that internship position yet? No, crap, I should do that yet... "And in conclusion, the IC model shares commonalities with existing proposals....".

Egh. I could use some coffee.

Byebyebaby

I am half-packed, just waiting for the rest of my laundry to dry. Tomorrow night I fly back to NL, without Luuk. You'd think that I'd be used to this idea, but I'm not liking it too much. At least it's only six weeks and not six months...

Nice Singapore.

The staff in our hotel building are some of the nicest people in this country. I am sure that is part of their training and whatnot. But they are really good at it. We never pass in the hallway without a "good day, ma'am". Walking into the dining area we are always greeted with cheerful smile and a bright "good morning!". Our cleaning lady always apologizes for cleaning the room when I am around and thanks me when she is finished. The other day, we walked out of the elevator into the lobby and were met with a chorus of "good evening!"; five smiling faces beamed at us from behind the desk where I assume they were waiting for the evening shift change.
I am never quite sure how to treat our friendly cleaners and cooks and receptionists. Their every move speaks of servitude. Even the way they take our money and return our change when we pay for something at the desk is one of respect, using both hands to hold the money by two corners. I fear being perceived as an arrogant colonial, so I smile back and thank them and probably over-do my display of gratitude for whatever it was that they just did for me. Yet since arriving here two months ago, I have become quite lazy with picking up after ourselves and doing the dishes...that is, afterall, what they are paid to do, right?
I wonder sometimes how we look through their eyes. Growing up with a negative response to the word "servant", usually equating it with something akin to "slave", I have a hard time imagining that working with a continual attitude of servitude would be satisfying or pleasant. To me it would seem so demeaning and I would find myself resenting the lazy foreigners who can't even do their dishes even when they have nothing better to do with their time...
But this place is different. It is not only the staff in this building that bear this attitude; everywhere we go we are met with a pleasant smile and an eager offer to help, by business men and street cleaners alike. Once, I asked someone for directions to a place where I was meeting some friends, and after being offered directions from several different people closeby, I was finally brought to the place I was looking for.
Perhaps a shift in perception is due on my part. I could learn much from these people.

(almost) discovered

A few weeks ago a girl walked up to me and asked if I would like to model for some pictures for her portfolio. She gave me the address, in a big busy mall, and I figured, "what the hey, I have nothing better to do" and made an appointment. I worried about it all weekend, what kind of agency, would it be safe, should I go...?...but decided that this being Singapore, and the office being in a mall, the likelihood of that sort of thing happening was pretty minimal, so I should just go to the place and check it out. Then the day of the appointment I completely forgot about it. Yes, forgot. Cause I am such a busy woman these days. Have so much going on in my day to distract me...

Anyway, I remembered two days later.

Today I got a call from someone I presume to be the same girl, saying that I had been recommended for some tv commercial and a magazine of some sort. She asked if I would be willing to come by on Thursday for an interview... "No, sorry, " I said, "I am leaving for Bali for a few days and when I come back I will only be here for two days before I leave again for home. So it won't work out." Undeterred, she asked if I could come by tomorrow instead. "But what would be the point?" To figure out if there are any projects I can do. "But I won't be here to do them...so what's the point?" Well, would you just be willing to come by and talk about it? I finally convinced her that I would not be here to do anything agreed upon in any interview, thanked her, and hung up.

Seriously.

Well, there goes my modeling career!

Thoughts of a hopeless romantic.

Dane wrote a blog recently about love. I have lots of time to think about things. So I kept thinking about it. And here are some rambling thoughts...

That God uses marriage as an example/portrayal of our relationship to Him, has always fascinated me. Obviously, given the state of marriages today, this is not a perfect example... or actually, maybe it still is, though in some cases more of a "how not to..." sort of way.
Think of any marriage that ever impressed or amazed you. Most marriages are admirable, given the effort that sometimes must go into it. But I have seen only a handful (and I can proudly say that my parents' is one of them), that created in me complete admiration and the desire to have 'that' some day. The kind where more than just the cliches were alive, but where something like unquestioning acceptance, loyalty, servitude were all combined to create something that suddenly made all those Bible passages about love make sense. It is those marriages that create the desire to have that special kind of relationship with God that is reflected therein.
Obviously, it's different...I mean, God and I can't hold hands or cuddle or say sweet cheesy things to each other. But that's not even the stuff that impresses me about these marriages; these are only superficial evidence of a deeper underlying power that exists in their relationship. To think that that kind of love can exist between God and His bride the church, is, to me anyway, astounding. This picture of what relationship with God might be like is so different from the 'judging grandfather watching from above' picture that I struggle with so often, or even from the 'loving Father teaching His growing children' picture that I once in a while can handle.
Why we don't hear more sermons on this kind of love, I don't know. Maybe we can't understand it for lack of suitable examples so it's best not to touch on the subject. (Or maybe we get too caught up on roles and who is supposed to do what... Funny thing is, those particular marriages that I admired so much, seemed to work with little regard to those oh-so-important roles. Perhaps they naturally fit into their roles so well I didn't see it, but I think the reason the roles didn't seem to be important was because both parties were too interested in serving the other to care about who was doing his/her part.) It was those marriages and Biblical use of the analogy that began to form my ideal for marriage. I began to see marriage not just as a way to hook up/have kids/find yourself a life partner to make the treck more bearable, but as a way to broaden our understanding of love and of God. As if God actually created the concept of marriage, if at least in part, for that very purpose.
When Luuk and I were planning the wedding, we had to answer some questions for the civil ceremony. As we filled out the answers, we became more aware that we both wanted more than just a happy marriage that lasts. We wanted ours to be a marriage in which others could catch even just a glimpse of the sort of love that can exist between God and His people. I suppose that sort of relationship is one that takes a long time to develop. Somehow the best marriages are those that form a threesome (pardon the lack of a better term) with God.
We are still learning, still working on that(though I like to think we have a good start), yet even in this beginning, growing stage, I have found that my approach to God has changed. The way I see Him is different and the relationship that I desire to have with Him is different, better I think. This will sound incredibly cheesy, I know, but loving Luuk as much and in the way that I do now has made me aware a kind of a love that I did not know existed; I want to love God like that, but more. Because those marriages and because of my own short experience with marriage, I am aware of a different side of God. Does that make sense? I like to think that this was part of the purpose of marriage in the first place... But maye I am just a hopeless romantic.

Recap: the rest of our 'Nam trip

After a visit to the Cu Chi tunnels (where the Vietcon guerillas lived and fought during the war, which in the end was a great factor in defeating the Americans) and the War Remnant Museum (which made me glad to be in Vietnam on my Canadian passport), we escaped the dirt, smog, and traffic of Saigon and took a night train to the quieter, cleaner beachtown of Nah Trang.

Highlights included a trip on a bike-cart (picture a short, skinny, Vietnamese dude huffing us big Westerners up and down the hills of the town, though don't feel too bad, he was paid well by both us and the owner of the sea-food restaurant he took us to); a giant Buddha statue at a monestary (where we were guilted into buying some postcards from some monks-in-training and where we found a group of young boys of various ages who were well-experienced in begging and one of whom carried an expensive looking camera I am sure he did not get for his birthday, and where I was felt up by a 2-foot-tall four-year-old who was, it seems, being instructed by an older boy to either find hidden pockets or search for something little four-year-olds shouldn't even know about...); and a group of Hindu temples from the 7th century, darkened on the inside from hundreds of years of inscence and prayers.

The most interesting experience was the boat tour, the highlight of which was our crazy guide who kept making and laughing at his own jokes that no one understood; at one point he pulled out a styrofoam slab, on which was stuck a plastic basket with several bottels of what he, to the amusement of some and the shock of others, repeatedly called "fucking-mingen-Vietnam wine", which we all figured out really means "really really bad wine". This was our floating bar, around which we floated in our tubes, wine in hand.

Our next stop was Da Lat, a city in the mountains. This place has a bit of a French Alp resort feel to it, only tropical and littered with garbage. Apparently Vietnam royalty used to spend vacations there, and we can understand why. The mountains are beautiful and the temperatures are much more bearable. We took a tour with the Easy Riders (dudes on motorcycles); we each sat on the back of a bike and followed out guides through the mountains to surrounding villages where we saw how silk is taken from the cocoons and turned into the thread and then into cloth; then how "happy water" is made from fermented rice (it is some of the nastiest drink I have ever tried), and how mushrooms are grown out of fermented tapioca and sweet potatoes ("same same, but different", as they say). And of course we took many pictures of the layered farms where families grow all sorts of fruits and vegetables sold in the rest of the country. The day we left Da Lat we took golfing lessons at the incredible golf course on top of a hill, the view being green and mountains; then we flew back to Saigon in a propeller airplane.

Our final adventure was a tour through the Mekong Delta, the highlights of which included the boat ride through a palm tree and bamboo sided canal and the Jewish Israeli guy with a somewhat French accent we met whose greatest joy on this trip was not the food, culture, or scenery, but rather bargaining.

The strongest impression of the whole trip was how similar Vietnam was to Central America and Mexico. Different food, different language, but similar colours, buildings, people, professions/methods of survival, fruit, dirt, treatment of environment, poverty/wealth dichotomy, friendliness. Same same but different, I guess.

(Hmm...I was going to post some pictures but can't find our adapter...That's not good.)

P.S.: Interesting food we tried while in Nam included frog legs, crocodile, pigeon, and snails. Luuk will have to remind me if I missed any interesting ones...

Saigon Dance

The most notable characteristic of Saigon (or Ho Chi Minh) is the way traffic works despite the craziness of obviously untrained drivers and millions (literally, millions) of motorcycles and cars and taxis on the roads that also happen to be filled with pedestrians crossing anywhere and anytime, the occasional suicidal biker, and once in a while a short guy pushing a cart filled to ridiculous heights with some thing or other. There is really no way to describe the experience of maneuvering through this strangely coordinated chaos in a way that can draw a comparable picture. Traffic lights are no meaningless, just slightly ignored; right of way is not a matter of traffic rules, but size; lanes are suggested, not necessarily respected; and pedestrian crossings might as well be non-existant. How we survived our few brave attempts to cross the streets of this smoggy city is beyond me. We simply started crossing and hoped we would be avoided by the wave of motors and lights heading to and around us. Somehow, they always saw us and always missed us. Occasionaly we witnessed a slight fenderbender, but most of the time this dance (which is really the best way to describe it) went on uninterrupted and accompanied with the tune of millions of horns warning other drivers of their presence.

On a side note, Vietnam seems to be filled with extremely talented artists and painters waiting to be discovered by the world. I find myself continuously drooling at gallery and shop windows, wishing that we were not here with just a backpack and seriously considering daring to take the galleries up on their offer to ship for us, at "a special price, good for you, good for me".

so not a morning person...

The breakfast room can get very busy and noisy. I really do not like kids in the morning, especially loud, whiny, expressive ones. Some days I can tune them out; most of the time I amuse Luuk with my grumbling.

Once he leaves for work, I fill my cup with a second helping of coffee and sit outside where I hope to find some quiet amid the thousands of airconditioners hanging out of the surrounding buildings, honking horns on the street below, and the crows that dare to sit on the chair across from me and caw expectantly.

I always thought crows were the mean birds of the city, but the pigeons actually stole more from the crows than the other way around. Funny.

I saw a black pigeon with one single random long white feather in his wing... I wonder if random feathers on birds are like moles or freckles on people. Or spots on dogs.

And why do city pigeons seem to always have messed up feet? Ten points to the best answer.

Real rain.

There must be something basic or elemental to the pleasure taken in listening to rain fall. It's like staring at a bonfire. I could do that for hours and my best sleeps have been to the sound of rain and thunder. Soothing. Therapeutic. Fantasical, in a way.
Watching tropical rainfall from the 13th floor out our window over our pigeon-poo-covered patio is just plain lovely. If the pool weren't on the 9th floor or if there weren't thunder and lightning, I would be swimming in the rain right now.
This is one of the things about the tropics that I enjoy the most. Warm temperatures and heavy straight-falling rain. This is what I miss when I am in Holland, the land of fizzy rain and feel-it-in-your-bones cold.
Sigh. I love this kind of rain.

Take a walk down memory lane...

Last night, Luuk went to bed early cause he wasn't feel well, so I looked for ways to quietly entertain myself in our little hotel room. I started reading my old blogs. I began with the first I ever wrote, continued on through goodbyes to Dordt, the big move to Holland, my oh-so-long year as an aupair, driving lessons, university struggles, wedding plans, homesickness, frustrations, questions about God, and finally up to the beginning of this past year where the memories were still fresh enough to less interesting to read through. The experience was... well, I can't say cathartic or therapeutic cause that would assume I still had some pent up emotions, tensions, or issues to work through from the past three years... but it was something akin to that. As I read, I could remember so many details that I had forgotten. I could picture the very situation, dream, or feeling that had created the necessity to write it in the first place. I relived so many struggles and small triumphs in a matter of minutes before I moved on to the next entry. I realized just how much this blog has been my therapy. It keeps me sane.
And I read through every comment left by fellow blogger friends. Wow do I miss some people right now. The feeling of nostalgia accompanied me through the whole session and didn't leave even after I finally went to bed.
I have a private journal where I write all the thoughts and feelings that I dare not share with the world. It's the kind of journal that is mostly dark and depressing and doesn't really remember the details of my life, only the worst parts of it with only occasional relief. It's not the sort of book I would like to reread through. So I am very glad today that I have kept this blog. This has become the sort of journal I can reread later when I am old, forgetful, and have grandchildren to shock with stories of my youth.

So, yeah, just thought I'd share that with y'all.

The modern child.

This morning at our buffet-breakfast included in the room deal here at our serviced-apartment building, I filled my bowl with papaya and watermelon. A full cup of some incredible coffee, of which origins I have yet to discover, in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, I enjoyed a quiet wake up to the day. The tv shared a news piece on the detrimental effects of high-heels, in the background. Fellow residents from different countries and cultures chewed quietly at various tables spread strategically through the room. A mother and her approx. 2yr old child walked into the room and I groaned. I dislike children in the morning. They are loud, whiny, and annoying, too early in the day. But this one seemed quiet enough, so I smiled at him and went back to sipping my coffee. He noticed the tv on the wall. Tugging at his mother's sleeve and pointing at the tv, he asked, "Obama?"

Kusu

This past weekend Luuk and I took a boat, fashioned like what I would imagine an old Chinese sail boat for royalty used to look like, to a tiny island of Kusu. It is small. I know people who's yards are bigger than this island (no, not in the Netherlands).

Anyway, story goes that years ago some fishermen were caught in a storm and would have died were it not for their rescue by two giant turtles. These men built a shrine on the island where the turtles brought them and today this island contains a Buddhist temple (where a family lives and spends their days watching tv next to shrines, candles, and fat smiling Buddha statues) and a strange haphazard semi-open completely yellow 'building' of sorts on top of what looks like one giant rock. People come to the island to climb the 152 steps up to this yellow place to ask the gods or ancestors or turtles to give prosperity, luck, and/or children. It's especially good luck for a newly married couple to climb the stairs, pay a few dollars, and ring the bell.

The island also contains a turtle sanctuary with seriously a good hundred or so turtles of all sizes. They are not afraid of people. In fact, they scramble straight to you in hopes of being given some of that nasty looking red crap we were handed to share with the turtles. Some of those turtles have some pretty freaky looking mouths. But they are still cute. Especially their little bums, with their fat legs sticking out of their shells and that cute little tail... (Teehee!). If they were more interesting, maybe I'd adopt one.

The website describing the island claimed that people loved to come here to swim in the beautiful lagoons. When I think lagoon, I think lush tropical trees on either side, backed by cliffs and waterfalls, with clear blue fresh water in the middle with perhaps a shiny fish or two... Well, it wasn't exactly that...but good enough. Sunshine, palm-trees, sand, water...what more could we want? And all this with almost no one in sight. We bought lunch from the family at the temple and spent the day reading next to one of the lagoons facing the Singapore sky-scrapers across the water. That's hard to top.

But we are gonna try: 28 Feb, we are on our way to Vietnam!

Interesting...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7871783.stm

What does one do to deserve coming back as a lizard?

I made a friend at the Chinese gardens yesterday. A black lizard 3ft long appeared repeatedly in front of me during my walk through the bonsai section. He flicked his tongue a couple times and staring at me, crawled carefully to his next hiding spot. I didn't know lizards could swim. Now I do.

Day before last, I checked out the trippy Haw Par Villa, where I was informed that there are ten courts of death for those who lived bad lives. Different sins require different penalties. Robbers get the volcanic pit; gamblers are turned into blocks of ice; ungrateful bastards get their hearts cut out; and gossips get their tongues removed. After all this, the punished sinners are sent to an old lady who gives them tea that causes forgetfullness so that they can go on into their next reincarnate lives in whatever form they deserve without remembering their punishments. Ah, yes, that'll teach them.

The day before that, I visited the Sultan mosque, where I was given a scarf to cover my shoulders and received a tour and story of the mosque from a friendly teenage boy. I found out that little boys blush when you shake their hands in a mosque. Or maybe it was just that boy.

Today I go in search of Holland Village. That ought to be interesting.

Update for the interested.

Events of the past few days:
-Friday: I wandered into a market, a very modern and beautiful Buddhist monastary, a colorful Hindu temple, and a run-down, quaint Malaysian Village where I met a very friendly man who sold me a Coca-cola and told me about living in Singapore and then introduced me to a goofy old guard with a heavy accent who gave me a personal tour of the old village with some detours to show me off to his friends.
- Saturday: Golfing with Luuk at 11am (the hottest time of the day). Then Chinatown with a Singaporean girl from church and an American business man from out building. We took pictures, tried strange fruits and candies, visited another temple, then finished the night off with dim sum surrounded by the ever growing crowds of people. Back at the apartment, we started "Band of Brothers" and got hooked.
- Sunday: Went to the middle of the island where there is a tropical forest reserve to be found. Five minutes walk into the forest and the surrounding city was forgotten. We walked a total of 10km; crossed a bridge swinging over the jungle canopy; took pictures of the tree tops with city towers in the background; met some monkeys who were kind enough to pose for us long enough to take many pictures of them picking each other's butts and swinging from branches; then fed some turtles in the pond before coming across a sign with a picture of a hand dropping food to the turtles with a big red X over it...oops. Dinner was followed by more "Band of Brothers". It's addictive.
- Monday: Started the day with "Band of Brothers", felt sick after lunch, postponed a trip to the famous Singapore zoo. Felt better after more "Brothers". Golfing at 3 when the sun was a bit lower (we learned our lesson), then a walk through the Botanical gardens followed by a yummy Indian dinner...
- This morning: woke up at 6am with intense sharp abdominal pain, followed by some digestive...issues. Luuk woke up a bit later with similar complaints. Yay for yummy Indian food...
- The rest of today: Options limited. Everything is closed for New Year's... cept for the zoo. "Brothers" is done, even the extras. And we don't want to go too far without our new best friend, Mr. Toilet. That leaves...swimming pool?

Cosmopolitan

This is one big shopping mall. I have yet to find a building that does not have some sort of shopping centre in it or around it. Not good for my habits of self-control. And dangerous to Luuk's wallet...
It's also one big fashion show. Not good for my self-satisfaction. Suddenly everything about myself, how I dress, etc., that I had no problem with before is continually more and more flawed in comparison with them. These petite, skinny, beautiful Asian women who would look cute in anything but of course they have to make it worse for us big, tall, fat, ogres from the west by dressing in the most feminine, attractive, fashionable clothing out there. Jeans are for losers or lazy Americans. Bring out the dresses, skirts, flowing, colorful, and beautiful. While we are at it, we will make it difficult for you non-Asian women by making every dress 4inches too short. And size L...we've never heard of it.
How these people afford it, I don't know. You pay big bucks to look so hot. Nothing is cheap in this place. Maybe at one of the little market stands I might find something costing less than back in Europe, like the hand carved chess set with only three knights we got the other day, but the necessities like food, shampoo and alcohol will suck your bank account dry. But then, why buy in when you can eat out for 2bucks a meal?
This place... Hip, modern, beautiful and nothing I expected. It's so easy to get lost.

Little India.

Little India, a section in the northern part of the city, is like a village from another world that somehow got lost in the modern Singapore that surrounds it. Streets are wide enough for a row of tightly parked cars and trucks, leaving enough space for one way traffic to flow at ridiculous speeds, somehow avoiding the criss-crossing pedestrians. Sidewalks exist somewhere under the restaurants and stores that spill out of their front doors. Flowers and pottery and bangels and little statues of a fat buddha sitting next to multi-limbed hindu goddesses and fruit and scarves, all for sale at special new-year prices. How much does this cost?, "Ah, that is 120, but I will give you a good price, let's talk. You like it?"

Past the market, down the street, an old mosque, more beautiful than any I have seen in Europe. Leaving shoes at the door, I ask for a robe to cover my bare arms but am told my a smiling lady that I am dressed "ok". There is no one around and the room decorated in intricate green and gold carvings and arches is peaceful and cool. I feel the urge to pray but not knowing how well that would go over from another god's temple, choose instead to wander quietly and take pictures, hoping Allah won't mind my irreverance too much. A few blocks down, a tall, simple, inspiring Methodist church. Then a colourful, aging building once belonging to a mission, now a women's centre. A man smiles at me from his truck where he sits in the heat, waiting for something or someone. Men here are friendly and polite, not yet once making me uncomfortable with their attention.
Later I find a hindu temple, covered in stories told by minature statues. Flower garlands drape the necks of gods and goddesses, men and women bow and cry and murmur in front of them, blessing, thanking, begging for good things to come. An old woman sits in front of an eight-armed goddess, moaning and wailing, eyes wide, crossed and wandering, her arms shaking as she makes a motion of pulling water over herself. A hindu priest in a long white cloth wrapped around his waist, his dark hair in a tight bun on top of his head, a red dot on his forhead, his bare chest spotted with white and red paint, accepts gifts from devotees and drapes them around the neck of the goddess of fertility. The temple is beautiful and sad, I leave with a strange feeling of dissatisfaction, the smell of inscense following me for another block.
The sun is higher and hotter now, my feet start to hurt as I approach a buddhist temple. Next door is another, and across the street yet another. I briefly think of Sioux Center and smile at the similarity. This temple is tall, to fit the cartoonish 15m version of a cross-legged, sitting Buddha dressed in bright yellow. At his feet, rows of candy, creams, milk, flowers and other gifts. A stern looking woman sits behind a sort of desk, playing with a cellphone and not-so-subtlely watching my every move. Next door, "the temple of a thousands lights", a room full of statues and flourescent bulbs of all sizes. No pictures allowed. Across the street, another temple, this one speaking of centuries of use, built out of dark wood covered in carvings and gold symbols. Gold buddhas in different forms sit under glass cases, oil lamps burn on stands in front of them From the ceiling hang chinese lanterns, to the side a large wooden buddha, fat and happy with big droopy earlobes. The roof is covered with hundreds of clay dragons.

My feet hurt and the skin on my arms starts to itch, indicating a deep burn from hours of walking in the sun. I head back to our apartment where smiling workers dressed in smart suits greet me. The pool beckons, where I soak in more sunshine, this time with sunscreen on my nose, and stare at the tall buildings surrounding the pool deck on every side, my blue pool towel the only bright color to be seen.

Ranting.

I watched alot of in-flight movies the past month. Some were quite good; others I would say that I wasted my time on but as they really just served the purpose of helping me pass the time on 8+hr flights, I guess I can't really say that. But they annoyed me so much that I am going to vent on you lovely folks.

Mamma Mia!: Absolutely ridiculous movie. Potentially amusing plot, lost in Abba songs that didn't quite fit the story line. Who makes a movie based on Abba songs anyway? A warning before I started watching would have been good. I never listened to them before; now I hate them. And the ending! Pff. As I am sure none of you will be watching it, being probably better informed than I was, I can spoil the twist... The girl finally figures out that she is ok not knowing who her dad is, is happy having three new men in her life who are equally as happy to accept her as daughter and spoil her as such (go figure), and then decides that she doesn't actually want to marry the guy she was going to marry and tells him at the altar that they should hold off for a while and travel the world together first. As if they couldn't enjoy traveling together married. What is with people and thinking that you need to experience life and the world before getting married, as if after that point you can no long experience anything worth while? As if it somehow magically changes the wonderful, happy relationship you had before you married into something less wonderful and happy? Marriage is a dead end; no wonder half of married people want out.

The Women: Meg Ryan's great come back. Usually I'm ok with, even enjoy, this sort of cheesy, girls-porn chick-flicks in which after a period of uncertainy (i hate him, i love him, is it really him, why won't he call?), the girl eventually gets the guy, he fufills her every dream, totally (and very realistically) reading her very mind and of course changing from the frumpy, disgusting, frustrating man to the perfect prince that she always wanted because he finally realizes how much he loves her, can't live without her, etc., and all live happily ever after. In this movie, starring only women (the men are mentioned but never seen, even though their existance controls every aspect of their lives), her husband is found to be cheating on her with some slutty hot easy-to-hate dumbo who is obviously inferior to her in all aspects except the attention she eagerly bestows on the said man (who of course happens to be rich and goodlooking). In the end, Meggy leaves her man, finds her self, and in the midst of it all suddenly becomes attractive to her husband again who wants her back (though of course he doesn't actually dump the slut till Meg says ok to a second try...bastard). So the moral of the story is: if your husband cheats on you, it's your own fault for not paying enough attention to him and allowing yourself to become dependent, predicatable, busy, and uninteresting. To get him back simply 'find yourself' (whatever the hell that means), create your own life that does not include him, become independent, throw your insecurities and, if possible, a bit of that old fashioned modesty into the wind, and then he will suddenly find you as interesting as the slut he's banging and all will be made well. In other words, change everything about yourself and show him you won't need him and he will want you back....and you will live happily ever after. Of course, men are just like babies and wives their abandoned toy.

Ahh.
I feel better.

Back to sunshine and 28*C weather. Today I am going to find some Buddhist temples and an Indian market. Lovely.

I'm sitting in the family van, on the way home after a game of putt-putt. I feel a light tap on my shoulder but ignore it. A few seconds later, another tap. I see in the rear-view mirror that Kayla is giggling to herself. She slowly reaches forward, unaware that I can see her. Her hand almost touches my shoulder and I quickly reach around and grab it. Ha! Gotcha!
"How'd you know my hand was there?"
I have an eye in the back of my head. Didn't you know?
"No way. You don't have an eye in the back of your head." Her voice pitches a little higher than usual, a hint of doubt.
Yes, I do. Every one starts growing one when they get married so by the time they have kids, they can always see what is going on behind them.
"Nuh-uh."
Yes, it's true. Ask dad.
"Dad, is it true?"
(Stiffled snicker...), Yep... (Hehe!)
"Nuh-uh. He's lying."
Well, just ask mom when you get home. You'll see.
"Nuh-uh. It's not true."
It is. Just wait till you get married, then you will get one.
"No, as soon as we get home, I am looking it up on the internet!"

Quickie

Lucy is drinking the last bits of my coffee out of my cup. I was thinking of getting seconds... A new cup might be a good idea.

Something that made me happy this week: finding out that there is a place in town where I can buy clove cigarettes! I haven't had one of those in over two years. I am so excited!

Another thing that made me happy this week: yarn. I took up crocheting again, just for a bit, to make a scarf for my old lady. She keeps commenting on all my big, fuzzy scarves, so I decided to make one for her. I had forgotten how therapeutic crocheting can be.

I have two weeks left of this semester. Before we leave for Texas I have to: research the Challenger accident, prepare my part of a one hour presentation, study for Cognitive Aging final exam, catch up on all the Cog.Aging reading (meh), get and finish the take-home exam for Human Error, pack for two trips (TX; Singapore), arrange someone to take care of my plants, stock up on Lucy's basics and take her to friends, work out details for when/how/with whom to do my masters thesis, find out of I am getting that internship at Vopac while in Singapore... and yeah, that's about it... Oh, and before Saturday I have to write a poem in Dutch about my father-in-law for Sinterklaas.

Oh, and a third thing that made me happy this past week: we put up our Christmas tree! And I love it, in all its gaudy glory!