Watch out New York ...

Oh shit ...

The weight of WDR has shifted from West to East as I, Mr. Zhuang, have now moved to New York. With the aid of Nic Ouzo, I will be able to take the city by storm. Or, maybe just get really drunk. Which will be fun, too.

What does that mean for you, the reader? Well, it means that there will probably be a bit more of an East Coast bias in our blog and most updates we put on here will be East Coast time. In case that went over your head, nothing is going to change.

You may return from the edge of your seat.

Remember, remember, the first post of September!

OK, so we seriously haven't posted this month. It's already halfway through the month and we have posted nothing until now.

I guess it's my fault as much as anyone else's fault. But for whatever reason I'm compelled to put something in this "Blogosphere" despite having nothing, really, to say. Perhaps that the reason why so many people write blogs and why so few are actually read.

I could have been writing here, but instead I've focused my energies elsewhere. For writing, I've gone into the masturbatory "I'm going to write a great American novel" trip, hoping to write something insightful and funny that will inspire people to think. Or maybe just write something I'd enjoy reading myself. Which is a difficult task when much of what you write you find later and and think, "Good gravy, this is awful!"

I recently made such a discovery in my room of a box of papers from middle school and high school. There were several things I'd written and thought were incredibly brilliant and funny that, looking back, I want to punch the kid who wrote it. So many awful "I'm above the rest of stupid humanity" crap written by what appears to be some sort of damaged, narcissistic ape. Was that who I was then? It probably was, though I must not have seen myself this way. But the big question that remains is: Will I feel the same way 10 years from now about the way I am today?

I hope not. Not because I fear contempt toward myself, but rather because I hope that I am not nearly as stupid as I was. Or as I see myself having been. And I suppose that it is here, not in a box locked away for years in my closet, that I will rediscover the me of my early 20s and my inane ramblings. And perhaps I'm not alone. Perhaps other bloggers will find themselves doing the same thing around the same time and thinking, "Wow, I was really stupid."

But, it's like that whole "hindsight is 20/20" bit, which I'm not sure I entirely agree with. There's so much that we forget, or simply regard as irrelevant, that shapes the way we were as opposed to the way we are. Maybe there was something more to so many of the chicken scratched notebook pages I've found buried. But whatever they may have been, they are forgotten, or blocked off by my brain, and it all looks like violent screams of nothing more insightful than the screams against healthcare at town hall meetings.

That last part just sank in. That's a little disturbing.



This posted really started without a definite point, though I did write the headline first and it seems to have grown into it in some slightly perverse way. We'll see when (and if) I remember making this post 10 years from now and I'll see if I still agree with myself or if I regard this as the hopeless ramblings of an idiot.

My guess is it will probably be a mix.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Vienna

Alright, we're about to wind down the crazy European Adventure, and what better place to do it than the Original Seattle. That's right, I'm talking about Vienna, home to the world's greatest classical musicians. The city was home at one point or another to Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, among many others--the Mudhoney, Nirvana, and Pearl Jam of their day, respectively. As a student and lover of music, I of course made a pilgrimage to each of their homes, and took many pictures of old sheet music and harpsichords. You know, the kind of stuff we need to drive up web traffic here at WDR. That's the ticket!

Now back to the beginning. I got to Vienna after a scheduled 16 hour train trip turned into a 21 hour slog. That shouldn't be too much of a big deal--I would only be missing breakfast, though some vital museum-visiting time as well--but some point within the last ten years they've decided to do away with actual dining cars on these trains. Instead, you have a dude who periodically opens a chest filled with the barest of snacks. As a result, I was blessed with a breakfast of champions that morning--a small loaf of bread and a Beck's. This can only bode well.

Once again, when I entered the city I did my routine of finding a tourist map and planning a route to hit as many sites as possible within the day. If you want to know how to lose twenty-five pounds over a summer, I recommend touring the capitals of Europe in just such a manner, with minimal stops for hot dogs and beer. As a fan of architecture and just plain old not-standing-around, this is really the best way to go about sight-seeing. And Vienna was perfect for this--wonderful cathedrals, various arts buildings, and numerous museums all held me in rapt attention. All this, and the beautiful Blue Danube as well.



Of course, when you keep walking, you sometimes end up having to return at some point. As I attempted to make my way to the Viennese version of the Copa Cabana, I ended getting up lost in what could pass as the ghetto of Vienna. As darkness descended, a quick "fuck that" order was issued and I made my way to the subway station. The only problem was that the map at this subway station was completely indecipherable to an outsider, and I had no idea which route would go in the right direction. This led to me hiring a taxi, which was fine enough--you get to see different parts of the city this way that you can't see just by walking--but also led to another chance to rip Nic off, as the driver feigned having trouble with the credit card sliding mechanism, and giving himself a fat 40% tip.


I returned late at night to my hostel, a place I heartily recommend (in fact, my co-worker ended up going to the same hostel the next night, and had the same rave review I had). I then decided to explore further this more "urban" neighborhood, and quickly realized that I was basically in the Viennese version of the Red Light District. At first I thought those two skimpily attired women were just being friendly, but my suspicions were immediately raised when I walked by the "club" they stood outside of and saw the logo which featured a very naked lady. I then proceeded to take a better view of my surroundings and saw that indeed there were many strip clubs and the like in this area. The best part were some of the names--apparently this is what they think of when they see the word "Manhattan", or that naming your club "Okay" implies that the women are anything but. It wasn't just these blatant displays--I also walked by a coffeehouse with an "upstairs" and what were clearly women of the night going down the stairs. Oh yeah, then there were the two ladies dressed in bra and panties standing on the corner. I think that was the last subtle hint I needed.

But all this talk of Red Light this and Hooker that sells short how beautiful and interesting the city of Vienna is. As I mentioned, there is some absolutely stunning architecture, from the Volkstheater to the different palaces to the giant Ferris Wheel, the Prater. Also, Vienna is home to a lot of weirdness with which the denizens of the Pacific Northwest are certainly familiar--we wouldn't bat an eye at a sticker proclaiming "Space Invaders Against Sexism" for example. Combine this with museums like the Albertina which houses some fascinating Modern Art, and you have a true city of the arts. Vienna has a very unique identity, and is definitely worth a visit.


And so ends the massive recap of the big trip. I hope I didn't make you just envious of me, but instead provided some fun stories and some insight into unfamiliar areas. But of course, knowing me, I probably failed in all regards. Well, tough shit, that's all you're going to get from me.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Prague

After a week of total relaxation, it was once again back to the sight-seeing grind. Next was a trip that I had been dreaming about for years, a journey into the heart of Eastern Europe and into Prague. Now, I don't really know anything about Prague, either than it was the home of a number of artists and scientists and so on, including one of my favorite authors, Franz Kafka. I didn't even really know about any of the tourist attractions in the city--I had only in passing heard about the Charles Bridge or the famous Astrological Clock. But I knew I still wanted to have a visit to a city that had charmed so many of Europe's intelligentsia.

I could sit and tell you how Prague was a fascinating mixture of East and West, where you had your more or less typical European capital feel in the city contrasted with the spare utilitarian train that takes you into town, but I'm sure you don't give a shit. I could also mention that the many sights were indeed spectacular; including the above, you had numerous sculptures throughout the city, the hanging gardens, the peacocks in the Senate courtyard, and even the vintage cars that you could take on tours of the area. Again, something you could find in a guidebook. I could also tell how the countryside was a beautiful rolling green hillside, practically unspoiled by development and dotted with intriguing old villages, but fuck, this is Europe, that shit is everywhere. Instead I'll present two little vignettes that should prove entertaining.


One of the cooler sites in Prague is the Communist Museum, which goes over in great detail what life was like in Czechoslovakia during the time of the Soviet occupation. Now I understand that life under that regime was very difficult, and indeed I understand that people would want to distance themselves as far as possible from the horrors of that rule and would embrace the West with great fervor. That being said, there were many parts of the museum that either gave a chuckle in terms of the propaganda or just a snicker at the irony on display. These ranged from the cheap shots at Marx in his biography to the fact that the Museum was situated across the plaza from a McDonald's and next door to a casino. But there were two displays that were especially hilarious: the first one was an exhibit which bemoaned how Marxism focused so much on industry and manufacturing, to the detriment of the economy--of course now as the United States attempts to make its way out of the recession, many point to our shipping of manufacturing jobs overseas as an important cause; the second was a different exhibit which gave a view of the dastardly interrogation processes used by the Soviets that violated all sense of due process, in stark contrast to the fair methods used by the West--tragically hilarious, considering the news we hear each day of America's post 9/11 behavior.


The other experience I want to mention is my trip to the go-kart track. Yes, I traveled halfway around the world into one of the jewels of Europe and spent my Sunday afternoon at a go-kart track--if you thought I would do otherwise, you clearly don't know me. This is a guy who will drive 45 minutes away just so he can race his friends on such a track; believe me, the irony of using a real car to go drive a fake one is not lost on me. But we were told that this track was either the biggest or the fastest in Europe, and while I wouldn't argue either of those points, I'd add that it probably was also the "HOLY FUCK I'M GOING TO DIE AS MY LEG IS CRUSHED INTO KART"-iest of all the tracks in Europe.

Now I don't know why I would be surprised about the obviously lax safety standards of an Eastern European Go-Kart track; I've experienced terrifying carnival rides put together by degenerate drunks and would rank them only slightly higher on the trust scale. But that's nothing compared to hurtling yourself at 40 mph in giant steel deathtraps (complete with holes to get your foot stuck and pointy pieces galore), smelling of pure gasoline as you navigate the tightest fucking hairpin curves as some Czech punk kid careens past you without touching the brake. I think the race was restricted to only 5 minutes, but those were among the five longest minutes of my life. It didn't help that afterward I had to spend another few minutes dislodging my Strongbad-type helmet from my virtual planetoid of a cranium.



In other words, Prague was a blast.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Visiting the Motherland

The next weekend I decided to quit the whole sight-seeing deal, and get down to brass-tacks. Time to update the agenda and readjust priorities so we can concentrate on what's really important: relaxing. And what better place to do that than the beautiful beaches of Greece?


For this weekend I took a plane with some co-workers down to our beachhouse in Halkidiki, where we relaxed and had ourselves a loooong weekend (Thank you, vacation days!). We met up with my mom, who proceeded to play the role of the entertaining host, charming my fellow travelers the whole time. We spent our days relaxing at the beach or traveling up and down the coasts and taking in the beautiful scenery, and then went out at night to indulge in fresh fish and other fine Greek cuisine. You just can't beat a weekend like that.


It was during this weekend I began to ruminate some serious philosophical shit, as the kids say, and compare American versus Greek attitudes toward work. Which is better--working like a dog to achieve modest productivity gains and maybe getting a bigger tv, or working enough during the week and then piling into a car and driving to the beach to enjoy the weekend? I'm beginning to lean toward the latter. It was then that I realized that I already had what people spend their life working for (Thanks Dad!). Makes the rat race seem all the more pointless, and my decision to not engage in Early Interview Week shenanigans all the wiser.

Now sit back and enjoy the pictures.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Berlin With Ze Germans

Berlin marked a new traveling experience for me. Instead of going with a compadre, this trip was done totally solo. A frightening proposition, considering I had to confront multiple train switches and otherwise navigate myself around a town without knowing more than three words of German (well, beyond the essentials of "beer," "sausage," and "sauerkraut."). Hell, even the train station was imposing--the Hauptbahnhof is fancier than most airports. In other words, there was a strong chance that shit was about to get real.

However, nothing of the sort really occurred. Despite initial confusion in determining which U-Train to take into town, and where the hell my map faced in the middle of Kreuzberg, there would be no snags on this trip. In fact, once I found a tourist map I was able to hit the road and take a walk around the entire center of Berlin. This is key, since all the major tourist sights are in the center of the city (Sorry Dahlem Museum, you get the shaft!). In a day I was able to see Checkpoint Charlie, the Reichstag, Brandenburg Gate, the Siegessäule, and the great Cathedral, all within a few hours of brisk walking.


Did I mention that I came during the Gay Pride Festival?

Yeah, my timing made half of my walking tour a journey into fantastic debauchery, with drinking in the streets and what we will call "tomfoolery" of a sort in various floats, all resulting in a trashing of the Brandenburg plaza that rivals my previous experience at Mardi Gras. I experienced a tradeoff--while it made the trip more interesting (and provided a great story), it also meant I had a great slog to go through the throngs of trannies in half of my tour. However, I did my fair share of drinking and dancing in the streets, participating in a dance circle of some anarchists (oh anarchists, when will your contradictions ever not be funny?).


Perhaps the most impressive thing was how open the Germans were with their past.
There was no effort to conceal their participation in some of the greatest atrocities of the previous century--no, they instead took steps to confront their actions. On the guided tour I took the next day they pointed out many infamous sites from WWII, and outside one of the train stations I found a heartbreaking statue dedicated to the victims of the Holocaust. Let's just say other countries could take heart from these lessons.

Overall, Berlin was probably my favorite city to visit. It wasn't just the beautiful architecture, the clean air, and the mix of urban and pastoral that did it for me. There was just something in the air that made it seem like a pleasant city in which to stay, and if that wasn't good enough, there was always something to do late at night. It also was interesting to visit the different sections of the city, like say comparing the immigrant area of Kreuzberg with the Mitte District. While I got a good feel for the town over a weekend, I'd probably enjoy a much longer stay in the area. Oh yeah, and it's way cheaper than the Netherlands.

Word to the Wise--get your cash at the train station. I walked for miles and miles around Berlin without spotting anything that looked like an ATM. They're all hidden in banks, and it's tough to decipher what the hell is a bank. See, come to WDR for the Ronnie Colman breakfast, and stay for the useful travel tips.

Hump Day Helper -- Return of the Shaq Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

It's summer, which means total shit on TV. Everything has to suck unless...wait, Shaq has a new television show? And it just involves him competing with other random athletes? Sign me up!

Last night was the premiere of "Shaq Vs.", and it was actually a very entertaining show. The first episode had Shaq competing against Ben Roethlisberger, and had several highlights--Shaq being able to hit the crossbar from over thirty yards out on his first try, Shaq throwing a perfect fade route, Shaq returning an interception for a touchdown. Plus, Shaq is always just a good time, and it was on full display in his banter with Roethlisberger.

So we honor the man with his first foray into the world of entertainment--yes, that means we have a video of Shaq rapping. It's almost as good as the one video of him saving Mike the Tiger--unfortunately YouTube has pulled that video, so you'll have to settle for this. I'd also like to take the time to thank Joe Reefer for giving me the complete discography of Shaq--my iTunes appreciates it.

I get dirty after dark I'll treat like Speilberg
you get your ass kicked in the park...

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Copenhagen

The next stop was my first venture into Scandinavia. We took what can only be described as an epic train ride from Den Haag into Copenhagen, using our fancy-pants Eurail passes. This time we paid a bit extra on the way in by taking a night train and paying for some beds. This was totally worth the extra 30 euros--It's not the most comfortable sleep in the world, especially when you have a paranoia of missing your stop (even if it's the final destination), but it sure beats the alternative (staring straight into the seat in front of you--you know, like an airplane). It also would mark an interesting hostel experience--Ireland had been my first experience in one, but here we had the treat of sleeping in a giant 64-bed room. This was surprisingly not as crazy as it sounds, since we had small private areas marked off by cubicles. Who knew the Danes would be influenced so much by Dilbert?


We arrived into town with little to no idea of what sights we should see. I remembered vaguely The Little Mermaid statue and some Hans Christian Andersen shit, but that wasn't going to fill a weekend. I then remembered that there was a really old amusement park (yeah!) and some castles, including the one that belonged to "Hamlet". Too bad we didn't visit those last two (too pricey and too not-in-the-city, respectively).

We ended up grabbing a map and just walking the entirety of the center of the city, walking from garden to garden and so on. Not ten minutes after we set out did we get confronted with a flash-rain storm, which made our decision to leave our umbrellas behind seem altogether foolish. Nevertheless, we braved the elements and persevered, determined to see nature and all that. One of the gardens had an interesting bachelorette party featuring an event that would make Freud blush. Oh, and there was a puppet show and a castle too!

We then kept up our trek and found a fort THAT IS STILL IN USE by the Danish navy. Honestly, I have no idea who the Danes are so fearful of--I'm not sure Norway's going to fight for Greenland all over again, at least not via submarine. There we met up with many ducks who apparently emigrated from Oregon, and they had some stories to tell. Too bad they were mainly about bread. But we also saw the Little Mermaid, which was you know, actually little. Interesting statue, nonetheless. Charmed.


We next went to one of the most unique aspects of Copenhagen, the anarchist commune known as Christania. As you might expect, "Sketch City" could have doubled as the name of this place. People seemed on edge, which is understandable considering the police presence that always hovers around nearby--one bar claimed to have been raided over 4000 times in 10 years. And what can one expect from an anarchist commune? Lots of pipes and graffiti everywhere. Good to see society might have a purpose.

We then proceeded to not get dinner, since everything in Copenhagen is absofuckingly ridiculously expensive. When New York prices seem reasonable in comparison, there's a problem. Besides, we were saving money to enjoy the nightlife, which is actually pretty good in the 'hagen. We then made another trek out into the center to visit a bar promising all-you-can-drink for ten euros. Once there though, we were confronted by the hard backhand of the dress code--apparently even though i was dressed in a nice button-down shirt and khakis, my solid-black sneakers were apparently a no-go for these folks. This led to a lengthy argument with my compatriot over the arbitrary nature of dress codes, which will certainly be rehashed at a later date in these here parts. However, despite that setback, we found a couple of good real-local-type places and enjoyed seeing the Danes let their freak flag fly and party down. We then proceeded to essentially crawl back to our hostel room and wind down before departing early the next morning.


Despite all setbacks, I recommend people visit the town, as long as there's money burning a hole in your pocket. There's some fantastic architecture and thousands of statues--a definite must if you love seeing dudes battle dragons and other mystical shit.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: London Towne

Next stop on the tour was a familiar spot--London (no "merry old England" crap from this guy, I'll tell you wha). I've been to the city many times before--my mom has a cousin that lives there, and we've often spent some time in her brownstone up in Archway. However, the last time I was there I was just entering high school, so this trip promised to be slightly different. Of course, considering that I spent most of my time the last time trying to figure out just how the hell you play cricket, that isn't saying too much (the verdict after three days of watching cricket: still no clue).


So yeah, I was now an adult let loose in London, as opposed to a sniveling teenager attached to his family. Wait, was I really sniveling? (Ed. note: Probably) That meant instead of the touristy stuff, it was mainly seeing different parts of the city--i.e., how people really lived. That meant visiting the sections of town that were full of immigrants and/or clubs. Each had its own merits.

The first part of our day out mainly consisted of visiting a large outdoor market near the center of London. As a guy, this didn't interest me much, but as a guy who was conditioned to shopping with ladies (many years spent doing so with the mom and the sister), this wasn't such a big deal. It did give me the chance to take a picture of a most hilariously racist t-shirt--one that claimed "Jim Crow" as some sort of fashion icon, with an actual crow, a la Joe Camel. Unfortunately, that photo was done on a compatriot's camera, and I have yet to receive it. So you just have to trust my word on that one.


Following the market, whose only other noteworthy characteristic was a decent selection of 45s and other LPs (and the shady area, with all the drug paraphernalia), we headed out to try to meet up with some guy who knew of this really great English pub. Unfortunately, the only result was *Clusterfuck*, because said guy lost his phone the night before. The end result was some time traveling around the part of London that's worse than Times Square (but home to Top Shop, ladies!), and then a ghastly busride back on a double-decker that lacked A/C.

But that night we all went out to the West End and had quite the party. I basically got my Eurotrash on and danced the night away, but also had to keep an eye out to play the part of bodyguard for the ladies in our party, a task that is ALWAYS enjoyable. Bah, don't listen, I had a great time.

And then the next day I spent 2 hours cramming in a bunch of sightseeing anyway, then took the train and flew out. Where I then proceeded to get pulled over by the Dutch police because they thought I was drunk-driving my bike. Memories abound!

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Bruges

If I grew up on a farm, and was retarded, Bruges might impress me but I didn't, so it doesn't.

One of the best and most hilarious movies to come out last year was a little film called In Bruges. It got some minor notice and some rave reviews, but for the most part people haven't really heard too much about it. Which is a damn shame. I mean, just reading the quotes page is enough for hours of entertainment.

So where did my co-worker and I decide to spend the second weekend? In one place that was skewered for ninety-something minutes as one of the most boring places on the planet, which was my only previous reference point. Did the city live up to its reputation? Yeah, if I had to spend the rest of my life there, sure. But for a quick weekend trip, Bruges definitely lives up to Harry's memories as an idyllic town.


So what's in Bruges? A bunch of really old churches, including one with "Christ's blood". We visited that one, but there was a service going on at the time, so it would have been kind of awkward to walk up to the altar and give the blood an old looksy. And there's the giant Belfry which played a part in the movie. It is indeed as narrow and hazardous to the fatty as the movie suggested, so the American should have heeded Ray's advice. He would have had a terrible time negotiating the narrow stairway, and he wouldn't even have to pull his co-workers giant duffel of weekend luggage up the whole way.

Even though the Belfry was quite the sight, the one in Bruges didn't match the one that I had found in Delft. I'm only bringing this up because I have an incredibly stupid story to tell about that place. The belfry in Delft was narrower and taller, and featured several points where I hit my head on low-hanging bar. Its exterior also was eight-hundred and fifty-seven times more fright inducing, considering the low waist bar that was the only protection from certain death on the narrow walkway. But I only bring the whole experience up because I saw some fresh graffiti in the stairwell from some Americans--"Bill '09 and Melissa '09", all luvy-duvy. I was prepared to add my own contribution--"My Balls '09", since they hit the same spot as I negotiated the previously-stated low-hanging bar. Damn shame I didn't have a pen on me.

Trust me, that was all much funnier in my head.


Bruges has also apparently earned itself the reputation as being the place for bachelor parties in Northern Europe. We came across several parties, including one that featured a traveling cycling kegmachine, which we attempted to join (once we finished our forties in the town square--no joke). For a sleepy-ass medieval village, the place sure had a lot of nice clubs to help out said folk. It's also home to a few bars that served hundreds of different beers. It's interesting that Belgium is now seen as the new hot place for beer, considering that Belgian-style ales are pretty weaksauce. However, we were able to sample a few great-tasting beers, even if one of them was the more feminine pineapple-flavored beer. But as my co-authors could attest, I still found a way to pull that one off.

Beyond that, there's not too much to say about Bruges. I did get my Eurotrash on, but that only leads too tears. I've also previously commented on how Flemish is a terrible, terrible language, so we've covered that. There was some weird chocolate, but hell, everyone already knows the Belgians are known for their chocolate--they invented it so the molesters could get to the children. So I'm just going to end this with just a plain inexplicable photograph, and hope you understand what the Venice of the North is all about.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Ireland

Even though I'm back State-side, I never gave you readers the full rundown of what happened over in Euro-Land. While I did provide a great look into the day-to-day life of a stranger in a strange land (Dutchland), I didn't have a chance to go over all the trips that I took to different countries over each weekend. So, before my vacation ends, I'm going to spend this week running down the full list of destinations. And we're going to do two-a-day, to fully capture the Rules of Attraction style nature of the whole trip (we reference this movie way too much considering how bad the entire film was). First up, we have Ireland.


1. Guinness snobs are right. I spent my first weekend in Dublin, and it would seem to be a good omen for the rest of my time overseas. I had always wanted to visit, but even though I had been to the UK many times we were never able to make the short trip over. So I was excited to visit, even though I knew nothing of the sights to see. We saw an old college which has an old Bible, and a couple of random old churches. But I did know that they had one must-see destination: the Guinness Brewery.

The tour of the brewery itself was worthwhile, as we got a glimpse into the brewing process. However, the true highlight was the many pints of beer that we had on the premises. And I hate to confirm what I had heard before, but the beer really does taste better in Dublin than it does elsewhere--and I say that as a guy that enjoys his Guinness. We had our share of other pints, but we always came back to the Guinness.


2. Ireland can apparently be confused with the South of France. We chose the one great weekend in terms of weather to visit, as it was wonderfully sunny and a very pleasant 70 degrees the entire weekend. And as we toured the green countryside, we were able to take the most spectacular pictures. Ireland would seem to be known more for its rustic charm, but under the right light, it's just plain beautiful.

3. Who would think you could get barred from entering a club in Dublin for being too drunk? We ended up joining an international group of travelers in our nighttime Dublin experience, and we had a great time searching for cheap drinks and good times. In the center of the city it can be tough to find a good deal, as they're mostly cashing in on ignorant tourists, so it was a struggle. We did receive one setback when one bouncer would not let in our group because I and another compadre were said too bee "too drunk" to enter the club--strange, considering we hadn't had a drink for hours at that point. No matter--we just found a nice neighborhood pub and enjoyed a drink with the locals, and many friendships were made that day.

Bummer, Man.

As I prepare for Mr. Zhuang to join me in New Yawk, we began to make plans of the cool shit that we would do living in the city. Among the other things we discussed was going to Iridium to see the legendary Les Paul do a show, just like he does every Monday night. Unfortunately, we made our plans too late.


That's because Les Paul passed on this week. Granted, he was 94, so it was not totally unexpected. That doesn't mean it still doesn't suck.

I don't know much about the man's music, but the man was a legend. He invented the electric guitar AS YOU KNOW IT! He also did things like invent multi-track recording, so he basically invented music production AS YOU KNOW IT. Plus, he seemed like a genuinely good guy. I like the fact that many years later, he always asking Gibson to make his signature guitar more affordable. The Dude was cool.

Well, farewell Les. Keep it rockin' up there.

Hump Day Helper -- Nic Ouzo Birthday Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Though just about every week it's "my" choice for the video, this choice was one that was surely made solely in my own self-interest. That's right, it's time for another Pearl Jam fix, and the hell with you if you don't care for it.

Since there are few actual music videos with Pearl Jam, I decided to go with a live selection this time. Of course, it's hard to go wrong with one of those, since Pearl Jam is one of the best live acts in the world these days. As for the song, I chose the one that Chuck Klosterman said was Pearl Jam's only truly "great" song--while I'd argue that they have a few more that would fit under that category, I would agree with Chuck in saying that this one easily fits the bill.

The lyrics to "Corduroy" are some of Pearl Jam's finest, and this performance sees the band firing on all cylinders. Matt Cameron's drumming is on fire in this one, and Mike McCready throws down one of his better solos in this performance. "Corduroy" is a tough song to get a consistent solo--it has a strange chord progression that is constantly cycling through, so while you can get some amazing licks in there, it's hard to sustain a fully coherent great solo. But Mike manages to do just that here. You're welcome.

I don't want to be held in your debt
I'll pay it off in blood, let I be wed
I'm already cut up and half dead
I'll end up alone like I began...

ASEVoIS: Health Care, Redux

One of the first articles we wrote back in the early days of WDR was an article on health care in this country. Back then, I was arguing that instead of wasting our time talking past each other on immigration (when a real solution would have merely involved a simple compromise), we should spend our time discussing a real problem like health care. It only took us two years to reach this point, but it looks like we've finally awakened to the problem.

Except what we have on our hands is not an argument, but the usual demagoguery and the like. This doesn't even speak to the issue that's been dominant in the media portrayal, the raucous nature of the town halls. To tell you the truth, besides the usual fear of having crazy-ass bastards bringing loaded guns to Presidential events, I don't have a problem with these events as a whole. I don't buy into the "Astroturf" arguments advanced by the left--these are no repeats of the Brooks Brothers riot for the most part, but instead the actions of a (mostly uninformed) citizenry. By attempting to deride the nature of these protests, the debate ends up being nothing but a series of ad hominem attacks that obscure the genuine issues on the table.

We understand the nature of the reforms being discussed at this point, with the main focus being on the public option. We've heard the potential benefits--lower costs, get uninsured on the rolls, free lollipops. So instead we should take the time to address some of the concerns.


Why the public option? We're a republic, we need a free-market solution! Free-markets!

Sure, free-markets are great. In theory, they're just about the best thing we have, and are a brilliant instrument. The problem is, even as it stands now, health care as a free market is broken. Free markets depend on the exchange of information and choice, and what we have now is neither.

Think about this: how much choice do you as a recipient of insurance have in choosing your provider? If you're like me and million of others, you have absolutely none. I just use the one that my school has signed with, and I don't even get dental. You're also probably with whatever provider your employer has made a deal, and they probably did that without any input from you. Or, to take another approach, if you live in some states, there's a 94% chance you're signed with BlueCross or some other conglomerate. In other words, there is no "choice" in this system.

Or think about the possibility of checking out your own insurance provider. You're not going to have any idea how effective they are with their coverage, because it often requires personal experience with the exact crisis--it may be great for that workplace back injury, but you just might get fucked over when that tumor on your pancreas develops. If you were going to make an actual choice, you need information--and it is in scarce supply.

But free-markets are efficient
Our free-market is so efficient that we spend more per-capita on health care than any other nation, yet our health care is only 37th best. Our health care is so efficient that we spend 16% of our GDP on it, while France at number 1 spends 9% (and insures all of their citizens). Clearly, the greatest benefit of the free market has not borne fruit when it comes to health care.

Consider the overhead costs of public versus private plans. Whereas overhead in private insurance (money that is sent to administrators and the like) can reach as high as 30%, the same costs in Medicare and other government health programs are in the low single digits. So much for "government waste".

I don't want someone choosing my doctor/plan/operation for me
Have you ever dealt with an insurance company? That is EXACTLY what already happens--you can only see their doctors, go to their hospitals, etc. And god forbid you ever had to negotiate with an insurance company over whether or not your operation could be covered or not.

The point is that for the most part, these decisions are ALREADY BEING MADE for you. The only thing that will change is that the person that may do this for you will be wearing a different suit, provided of course you end up with the same coverage (and considering the number of people that are currently underinsured, this is unlikely).

Get the government out of my Medicare!
Sir, put down the ether.



DEATH PANELS DEATH PANELS DEATH PANELS
This has been discussed rationally and in-depth by everyone. But people, if you're getting your facts from Sarah Palin, noted language-expert, well...you need a new source.

We need to cut costs
YES. That is exactly what we need to do, thank you. That's why the public option is so integral to the process--by using the government's negotiating power of millions of citizens, better prices can be negotiated, and help force downward pressure on ever-escalating costs. And with an aging population, this is more of an issue than ever before.

So this is an issue that both Republicans and Democrats agree on. Yet the Republicans can only attack the Democrats, and just continue to spout CUT COSTS. Of course, if you asked them about their plans and what costs they would cut, they shut the fuck up and just offer a two-page outline of a "plan". They also create DEATH PANEL rumors. See guys, I'd love to hear your solution, but you have to offer something.

What about tort reform?
Getting at the lawyers is always a good idea. But you know, this is really not the answer to the problem. And this is not just because I'm working to becoming a lawyer myself--hell, I don't think I could stomach doing things like personal injury.

The thing is, medical malpractice suits represent such a minimal percent of total health care costs that reform would barely make any dent on the process. And if you look at this article, it also is explained how despite those extremely large settlements you hear about, it's NOT the driving factor behind rising costs. Of course, those cases represent but the smallest minority of potential malpractice claims, and usually involve a catastrophic injury of some sort--putting a cap on losing your legs at $250,000 sounds pretty ridiculous.

Tort reform advocates also ignore the fact that while there are cases of frivolous lawsuits, these are usually pretty rare. They also ignore how the cards are stacked against the plaintiff in these cases--the reliance on expert medical testimony, the influence of doctor panels, etc., are all heavily biased in favor of the defendant. So when these cases do succeed, there's usually clear and convincing evidence, and many unsuccessful cases may in fact be the result of gross negligence. So yeah, tort reform is not the answer.


Have you read the 1200 page bill
There is no bill. There are multiple bills--one House bill, and probably around four Senate bills. Nothing is final yet, so it's stupid to get in a tizzy over half-made sausage. And for the record, only about a quarter of that 1200 page bill is anything but boilerplate.

Obama is a Nazi Kenyan Marxist Alien!
Who let Lyndon LaRouche into this forum?

Besides, all you people who are apparently so concerned about the Constitution, they should be mad with Obama for other things. I'm not sure what the Constitution said about health care (Ed. Note: it says nothing), but it does say a lot about rights to a trial and use of executive power. Jesus people, read more Glenn Greenwald and get angrier about Obama's preventive detention policy and his Justice Department's attempts to expand the use of the state's secrets privilege. Oh wait, I forgot, this only concerns "fereners," so you don't give a shit.

We are not Canada! We are not France!
True enough. But it is amazing when you have people like Daryl Issa and Jack Kingston, both Republicans, talk about the efficiencies of the French Health Care system (see last week's Real Time with Bill Maher), yet deride the proposed reforms. These reforms are only halfway approximations of those models, yet this is taking the wrong approach. Amazing.

Hopefully this helps answer some of the questions you've had. If it doesn't, I don't know, look it up some place that Glenn Beck won't look into--that'd probably be a good start.

Happy Birthday to Me (2009 Edition)

Hey, once again it's time for a birthday post. Unlike the other two bozos, I'm stepping up to the plate and doing my own quick birthday post. So how is/was my birthday? Well, besides the slight bummer of having to return my copy of Dinosaur Jr.'s new album, something I had been waiting to have for over two months, because of some packaging error that gave me only the bonus disc and not the actual album, it's gone pretty well. I had a get-together with my friends last night, with a guest list that saw more faces than my last 3 or 4 parties combined (though minus one asshole), and we had a great time enjoying the benefits of Buttface Amber Ale and ping-pong-based alcoholic consumption games.



And what awesome gifts did I receive? Well besides a few complimentary drinks (always appreciated in these quarters), I also received this as a gift from "my parents". This captures everything you can want in a birthday present--it speaks to your passions, and is absolutely useless, and probably a waste of money. But fuck it, I'm gonna enjoy this one.

Hump Day Helper -- The Return Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Well, today marks the end of my Wild European Adventure. Not to worry, I have more stories and dispatches from the road to dispense with--you haven't even begun to hear about the extent of my crazy travels and encounters with strange local customs. And while I had a great time, it's always good to return home.

I've actually been obsessed with this song for the past few weeks. It may be because I'm thinking about careers and feeling all old and shit, but I think this song perfectly captures that kind of, well, angst, for the lack of a better word. I also think it perfectly captures the kind of priorities that my friends should be setting for themselves as they prepare for interviews with big-ass law firms in a couple of weeks (Words for the wise: "You spent the first five years trying to get with the plan/And the next five years trying to be with your friends again").

This video is one of those neat-o one-take videos, so is definitely worth checking out. Unfortunately, it was edited for time, which makes sense, considering the song on the album is seven-and-a-half minutes. But they could have done a better job with the edits--they cut out some of the best lyrics! So while I encourage you to watch the video, I also encourage you to listen to the unedited song as well. And while you do that, just think: WHERE ARE YOUR FRIENDS TONIGHT?

And with a face like a dad and a laughable stand
You can sleep on the plane or review what you said
When you're drunk and the kids look impossibly tan
You think over and over, "Hey, I'm finally dead."...

Nic Ouzo's Wild European Adventure: My Second Encounter with Dutch Police

I did a previous post that documented my initial encounter with Dutch Police. While they gave me somewhat of a hard time, they actually let me off pretty easy. The Police would only be a minor character in my travels if that had remained the sole encounter, something that I could merely laugh off. However, that was not to be the case, as I eventually ventured into a Kafkaesque journey into the depths of bureaucracy and powerwhoring. In other words, it was just a lovely experience.

The story begins simply enough, and with the best of intentions. I had gone away for the weekend, to Berlin I believe. I had left my bike chained outside my place for the weekend, and everything should have been fine. However, I saw a note tied to my handlebars; I presumed it was a note from a car about hitting my bike, especially since the car that was parked there had jumped the curb. I took the note into my landlord to translate it for me, and she told me I was mistaken--the story was in fact that I had left the key to the lock in place, and that this kind soul had been worried about potential theft, so he/she had dropped the key off at the nearby Police station. Well, that was quite thoughtful--I'll drop off my stuff and go pick it up in a little bit.

I walked the two kilometers to the station, only to find it closed for the night. Granted, it was past 10 pm on a Sunday, but I thought if anything was going to be open late in Holland it would be the Police (in addition to the coffee shops, sure). Fine, I'll come in the next morning.

I get up early before work, and make the trek once again before I take a shower. I am buzzed in to the reception area, and realize that the station shares space with a bank. They direct me to the officers, and I begin to describe the situation. I show them the note, and describe the missing keys. They check around, but nothing can be found. Then one officer speaks up and says "it's probably in the weekend box." Alright, can we check it? "We'll open that up in the afternoon." Umm...ok. Fine, I'll go during my lunch hour to get the key, and I'll be able to ride my bike to work no problem. Plus, I get an excuse to try a restaurant for lunch outside of my usual area.

I arrive in the afternoon and repeat once again my story (new cops had taken the originals' place). After some time spent making the usual mistakes, someone finally opens the weekend box. I describe the keys in detail--three keys, one of which is long and for a garage, the other two for the locks on the bike; the keychain was a small little clog. "Is this one it?" Indeed, that's great! Alright, we can proceed and finish this up. "Alright, we just need the registration of the bike."


This is when the story comes off the rails. The bike is not mine, it belongs to my employer--I'm only here for the summer, there's no reason for me to spend money for my own bike, and they had a spare. Perfect solution. I explain to the Police that the bike belongs to my employer, and that I was using it. "Sorry, we need the registration or a spare key." I'm wondering if they realize that if I had a spare key, I'd probably not bother with this shit in the first place, much less three times. I tell them I don't have it, but they can call my employer and they can confirm that indeed I am responsible for the bike. "Let me ask the Sergeant."

Those turned out to be very unpleasant words to hear. The Sergeant was not good people, so to speak, full of hot air and eager to show she was in control (common courtesy prevents me from engaging in potential misogynistic rants, but let's say certain derogatory terms definitely came to mind). Once again, we run through the story--the note, the key, etc. I point out that this is the key, something I was able to describe without looking. "We need the registration." Can't you call my employer and ask to see it? I doubt they even have it, but they'll clear it up. "No, we cannot call them! YOU must do that." Um, alright. But I don't know their number. "You don't know the number where you work?!?" [Fuck you] Well no, I don't have to call my work, and I've only been there a month. Don't you have a phonebook? "No, we do not." [Um, the fuck you don't] So I'm left with the task of calling co-workers to look up the office number, writing that down, and getting through to the proper representative, so to speak. I ask for the registration, and of course they don't have it--the bike's an old piece of shit (though it does work), and who saves that kind of paperwork? I tell the police that I have my employer on the phone, and they don't have the registration, but they can corroborate my story! There's some hesitation, but I hand over the phone and a discussion ensues. And we're of course left back at the beginning--no registration, no keys, even though we have confirmation, fucking confirmation, of the proper stewardship of the bike. The Sergeant continues to yell at me, and eventually storms out--"How can we tell that you are not trying to steal the bike?!" [I don't know, maybe by exercising a little fucking common sense?.]

I keep explaining to them, how would I know to pick this bike, get the note TRANSLATED, come to the police 3 times, and be able to identify the keychain exactly without seeing it. "You could have just pulled this off a random bike!" Um no, that's quite the assumption--besides, HOW DID I KNOW WHAT THE KEYCHAIN WAS?! And we did have confirmation from THE OWNER that I'm the one in charge! This is an awful lot of preparation for some foreign kid to try and steal a bike, especially considering there are 8 million bikes in the city, many of which are tied up in much less secure fashions than this one. Isn't there a Detective on staff that could help explain this?



So there goes my entire lunch hour, and I head back to work. Eventually we're able to find a spare key, and I was set to just junk this whole fucking expedition. In the mean time, the Good Samaritan leaves another note, presumably repeating the same story as before. I check to see if the key works, and...it works for the lock that's built into the box, but it lacks the one to untie the chain. Fuuuuck, I gotta deal with these assholes one more time, and hopefully I won't have to prove BOTH keys. Once again, I return, for trip number four. After 20 minutes of waiting, I show them the spare key. They check it after 8 minutes, confirming that they're identical. Of course, this was after 15 minutes of getting confused about the situation ONCE AGAIN. However, since they're identical, I'm entitled to receive my keys back...after one hours worth of bullshit paperwork.

Mindless bureaucracy, power-mad supervisors, and inconvenient hours--here we have a recipe for success. Imagine if the notemaker realized all the trouble that would have resulted from their kind gesture--do you think they'd do it again?



The lesson is: don't be nice. It's only going to be irritating for everyone in the end.

Nic Ouzo Meets A Woman: A Template

The following is but an example of what occurs when I meet a woman for the first time. While the details may change, the general pattern (and end result) are always the same.

Don't know what to offer you I'm only broke and lonely
And another one goes, and another goes by...

Being the naturally shy type, it is rare I approach anyone, female or otherwise. Some of my friends may find this hard to believe, considering how I can be around them, but put me in a new situation with people I don't know and I clam up. 24 years on this planet has taught me that people are rarely excited to meet me, and I tend to respect that opinion. As a result, interactions are forced upon me, and not the other way around.


So that's how it happened in this case. I was being introduced to a new co-worker, and we exchanged the usual pleasantries and engaged in the standard chitchat. She was beautiful--the precise kind of beautiful that would have prevented me from talking to her in any other circumstance. The best way to approximate it is maybe to see she looked a bit like Jessica Alba circa Idle Hands, and readers are familiar with the esteem I hold for that look. I was instantly struck by her cheerful demeanor and was disarmed by her smile, so to speak (sue me, I like to painfully insert musical references). Though the initial encounter was brief, I longingly looked forward to our next meeting and did all that I could to make it happen.

Over the next two days, we had chances to talk for longer periods of time, and she only proceeded to enrapture me even more. I went on to make a not-fool out of myself: I showed a careful depth of knowledge of the fine arts (but not too much so as to indulge my tendency towards know-it-all-ism) and asked probing questions about her background and career. Oh, you were a gymnast on the national team for your country? Tell me more about Paris... Hell, I made some jokes and she laughed! Honest laughs even, not just the standard polite laughs. There just might be something there. I was even beginning to think in terms of "Romantic Rights."

Death From Above 1979 Romantic rights
Uploaded by flaytan. - Watch more music videos, in HD!

Come here baby I love your company
We could do it and start a family
She was living alone unhappily
We could do it, it's right romantically...

Again, being one to not make the first move, I went home that second night wondering if it would be too soon to become Facebook friends (ugh, objectively I know it's lame, but that's society for you these days). I may have a rapier wit, but I have a rapist's looks--I know my strengths and weaknesses, in other words. I went out for a jog, cooked some dinner and then settled in to check what news I had missed in the States. I check my email, and holy shit, she asked to be Facebook friends first! Good sign, Nicm good sign. Now let's just see her relationship status...

"In a relationship". Um, probably not a good sign.

Sure enough, I got confirmation the next day. "My boyfriend, he's an engineer, he doesn't have a great sense of humor..." Ah, an engineer, a practitioner of the black arts--I know when I am of no match.

Oh well. Everything remains the same, the same that it ever was.

Nic Ouzo's Wild European Adventure: Exploring Dutch Television

Some wise scholar once said that the best way to get a view of another culture is to view what they watch on television. Actually, I'm pretty sure no one actually said this, and I really didn't feel like writing a decent opening for this post. No matter, the stage is set--we're talking about Dutch television today.


Surprisingly enough, there is plenty of English-language programming available on Dutch television. I don't think that the apartments I've been had any fancy-pants cable systems (they each had around 25 channels), but at any given moment I could probably find something in English worth watching (even if it was CNNInternational or BBCNews). But that's because I've been conditioned from years of going to Greece, and finding the only English programming to be one terrible old forgotten movie; it was either that, or watch futbol, and soccer won every time (though in the past few years, English programming has increased). In Holland, I'm able to get a whole range of television shows; I remember a couple of nights when I was first settling in, I would just plop on the couch after a long day of work and not move for three or four hours, and only then realizing I had to get dinner, and only then realizing the only goddamn thing that's open in the city past 9 pm is basically McDonald's.

I've also enjoyed the act that each night there are at least 4 different movie choices I can watch. They range from the great (Quiz Show (subject of a future WDR column), Jurassic Park, Heat) to the "why the fuck not, I've got time to kill" (Sum of All Fears, The Arrival), to the "good thing this is what American culture is exporting these days (Let's Go To Prison!, 2001: A Space Travesty). And considering I spent about 5 weeks without television, since I was afraid of bothering my landlord (the TV was in the den, two floors below my living quarters), who knows what I missed out on.


Another thing to note about television here is that Comedy Central plays pretty much every comedy show that's in syndication in the states these days, plus tossing in a random few others (I just now got acquainted with the surprisingly decent family-humor of "The Tracy Morgan Show")(that, and they split time with a Dutch-dubbed version of a Nickelodeon/Disney hybrid). So each night they'll have the Simpsons, Scrubs, South Park, Frasier, and Becker among other things. A big difference between American and Dutch TV is the amount of commercials and their placement. Whereas these days in the US each half-hour sitcom has at least 3 commercial breaks, all of the shows here just have one mildly long break in the middle of the show. This allows a quick-strike schedule of 25 minutes per show, but wreaks havoc on trying to figure out what time a favorite is on (is It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia on at 10:40 or 10:55?). However, I've been bombarded by ads for Entourage during every break on Comedy Central, which tends to get slightly annoying even though I get to see Holly Valance's cute face every 20 or so minutes.



Another thing that's worth a mention is the fact that there are not one, not two, but three music video stations. Granted one of them is still MTV, but at least MTVDutchland attempts to play videos sometimes (though usually later at night). Hell, I even saw a couple of rock videos. But in looking at a view of Dutch music television as a whole, it appears that the Dutch are really into Flo Rida and Lady GaGa, as well as this Norwegian rap song. Take that any way you want it.

But when it gets dark outside, Dutch TV goes fucking crazy. After midnight, at any moment, you'll find 6 or so channels advertising what I called "sex-texts" each night. Now, that was a bit of a misnomer--it's not just dirty talk, it's filmed movies and dirty pictures that are sent to your phone through SMS (the term "SMS" is big in Europe, though I imagine most in the US would not have any idea what I'm talking aboot, eh?). And to answer your question, indeed everything pretty much gets shown in these advertisements. All tastes are represented (which you'll find to be the case when you visit the Amsterdam Red Light District [shivers]), and I mean all of them. The all-time best ad is for one service whose big draw seems to be a masked naked woman who, um, has two pieces of toast on her ass. I had no words for it, but when pressed for a response, Dr. Von Bookman mentioned something about how "maybe they want you to put your 'manjam' on it". Indeed, Doctor.

Oh, and these commercials have taught me one of the few Dutch words I know--apparently "Enorme" is exactly what you'd think it means.

Nic Ouzo's Wild European Adventure: There's a Reason Why You Can Never Find A "Dutch" Restaurant

One of the initial questions I had when I first found out I was going to the Netherlands for the summer, was what exactly is Dutch cuisine (this gives you a good idea of what my priorities are in life). And even though the person I was asking had lived in Holland for 3 months, she couldn't give me much of an answer. And now here I am, three months later, and I too can't give much of an answer.

My initial guess would have been that the great Dutch dish was some sort of herring on a stick, and I probably wouldn't have been too far off in that assessment. I seem to recall seeing that sort of dish around, though not in pushcart form (I've been in New Yawk for too long). However, my sense of what would truly constitute Dutch cuisine may be a bit off since I'm living in The Hague, which is truly an international city. Not only does one get to view beautiful women of all races from every corner of the globe, but one gets a diverse sampling of various international dishes. And what I've really learned is that the Dutch don't really know how to cook Thai food.



The one true Dutch dish is apparently French Fries. That's it. You can get all sorts of sauces with them, but the Dutch go apeshit for mayonnaise. In fact, all of North/Central Europe loves to drench their food in the stuff, which is bad news bears for me. For you see, even though I'm an incredible fatass, the one healthy choice I've ever made was to decide not to like mayonnaise--it makes me so sick that I can barely listen to the Smashing Pumpkins song, even though it's brilliant. Combine that with my recent decision to try to eat somewhat healthy, kicking out some old favorites, with french fries being the first to go. Needless to say, I have not partaken in a Dutch classic.



However, the Dutch have proved themselves capable of one thing, and that's making a sandwich. Which is a good thing, since it's about the one relatively inexpensive thing you can buy. It's not just that they prepare a good sandwich and you can find one everywhere (they're big fans of selling truck-stop style sandwiches, which is decent train-food), but that they're very creative in making new recipes. In fact there are two that I want to import to the US--one is a spicy chili sauce chicken mixed with a lightly-fried mushroom sandwich, while the other is a concoction sure to give Joe Reefer half-a-chub: ham, cheese, and pineapple, and all toasted. We should all bow down to our Dutch sandwich masters.

One thing you will find in Holland is American fast food. McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, Subway--all are here. Now some will lament how Americanized everything has become (I remember shedding the metaphorical tear when I saw a T.G.I.Friday's in Thessaloniki), but hell, these places provide really convenient cheap food right when you need it most, especially later at night (because everything in Holland shuts down at like 6 pm). So I felt better about this American influence, at least until I rode the train to Vienna with some University of Florida students. Oh, they were fine enough people, but after hearing them complain about how the food sucks in Europe and how THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT BUFFALO SAUCE is, I was ready to give up. Of course, if we left the Dutch on their own to approximate American food, we'd end up with only stuff like this:



I actually just visited this place, and there really isn't even fried chicken on the menu--it's a bunch of Turks selling things like crappy falafel. Whatever, I'll go get myself a crazy pineapple sandwich and call it a day.

Hump Day Helper -- Backyard Barbecue Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

I figured that this week I'll provide a video that our regular visitors might not know. I mentioned these guys in my Best-of list for 2008, getting a special honorable mention since I was a fan of their debut album. For a duo, they sure make a helluva lot of noise, and it just so happens to be good noise.

No Age is punk by way of Sonic Youth, I guess. And that's a good thing, my friends. So enjoy the video, with the goofy elliptical storyline and the watery effects and the closest thing you'll see to an acid trip these days.

It's an eyesore
My head was shaved
It's a pain sometimes I try to walk on by...

The Death of Intellectual Honesty

Let's take a look at this résumé:

Princeton, summa cum laude
Yale Law School, editor of Yale Law Journal
Prosecutor in the Southern District of New York (Manhattan) for five years
Federal Judge for 17 years, 10 of which were on the 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals (nominated by both parties for the positions)
Unanimous "Well Qualified" assessment by the American Bar Association (highest rating)

Sounds like a pretty solid candidate for the Supreme Court. Actually, it sounds like a pretty spectacular candidate. So who's this dude?

Wait a second, she's a woman? Hold the phone buddy...uh huh. A Latina woman? Why on God's Green Earth® is the President playing identity politics?! Clearly this is some sort of Affirmative Action pick, done to fill some undefined imaginary quota for Supreme Court Justices. Why can't the President simply pick the best and most well-qualified candidate for the job?


That's a pretty good summary of the Republican opposition to Judge Sotomayor. Because she is a Latina, this is a sign that someone who was clearly more well-qualified (read: white, male) was passed over in order for the President to score political points with liberal special interests groups. Every spectacular achievement apparently is worth less than nothing if it comes from a minority--every highlight on that résumé was clearly made due to special preference given to minorities, even those that are the result of grades! I mean, they just hand out summa cum laudes like car wash fliers at a school like Princeton, right?

I'm not one to scream racism any chance I get, but every time I heard a Republican make an argument that we don't know enough about her record (besides you know, the 17 years worth of opinions) or that they're not certain Judge Sotomayor is qualified enough for the appointment, I thought I'd just explode. Even when faced with blindingly obvious facts that can't be twisted another way, they continue to maintain the same bullshit, all in the name of politics.

You see, the problem is that we have lost the ability to remain objective about the law, despite any rhetoric to the contrary. Hearings are a charade and two shams, with bogus questions aimed at one thing: will you agree with me on this particular pet issue? And for several Senators, it's only one issue (the one that rhymes with shma-shmortion), and if you don't agree, then you CLEARLY are not qualified.

And this is why I say that Intellectual Honesty has died. There once was a time when candidates with ideologies that were polar opposites would be approved by margins of 90 votes or more. Consider that Scalia was approved with a 98-0 vote by a Democratic Congress, and that Ginsburg came onto the Court after a 96-3 vote in her favor! Alas, those days are long gone.


To be fair, I can't blame this all on Republicans. Consider the nomination of John Roberts. While Roberts didn't have the same amount of experience as a Judge, he was probably the most seasoned litigator to appear before the Supreme Court, winning several high-profile cases. His writings also displayed a great intelligence and solid legal foundation. It's just that these were often based on fairly conservative principles, many of which I find to be anathema. That's why I have to admit that if I had been given the chance, I still would have approved Robert's nomination, despite the difference in personal beliefs--there was nothing in his record that showed that he was unqualified in any way. Even so, though Roberts was approved by a large majority, it was not a near-unanimous vote like his predecessors. And you could find that Barack Obama among the "nay" votes on that one. So it's no surprise that you found that today was the first time many Republican Senators would vote "no" on a judicial nominee. But that doesn't make it any less sad.

* * * * *

But Nic, what about some of the "legitimate" arguments against her? Wise Latina woman? Ricci?! Empathy?!!?

Let's take these questions one by one. The big talking point on the right was how the pick that was made solely to satisfy the liberal craving for "diversity" was herself a racist. This was due to the famous "wise latina woman" statement. Surely this is a shining example of racism--she's literally saying that one race is better than the other!

Of course, it might help to examine the quote in context--you know, that tends to be kind of important in these situations. If you look at the surrounding paragraphs, you'll notice that she's talking specifically about discrimination cases. She brought up the fact that Justices Holmes and Cardozo, though brilliant legal minds, never once found for the woman in a discrimination case during their many decades on the bench. It would seem quite odd that there was never an instance of discrimination, especially in the early part of the century. The idea that Sotomayor was expressing was that due to their societal positions, Holmes and Cardozo just could not understand the indignities of discrimination in its many forms--hence the concept of the wise Latina woman and the richness of her experiences. As a likely target, the Latina woman would know firsthand the pain of discrimination, and would understand better the victim's complaint--which is simply true for many things in life. This was the original (and best) explanation for the statement, but of course, politics rule the day so we must maneuver our way into somehow creating a misstatement. Besides, isn't a "wise" anything better than a plain whatever?



Ricci though proves once and for all that for all the calls about limiting Judicial Activism, the principle itself doesn't count for shit. No, it's about time Republicans own up to the fact that it's merely a code word for "this dude wants to give gays some rights". That's because Ricci was all about applying old precedent, and the Supreme Court reversal was all about creating a new standard. Confused? Well, let's explain the case this way: New Haven was in a position that can be described as "totally fucked", since no matter which way they went they were going to get sued--throw out the results, you get a suit from the white firefighters who passed, but if you keep the results, the minority fighters will sue. How can both sides have a case? Well, that's because of a standard called "disparate impact"--a test can be inferred to be racist if the results of the test bear this out in some kind of statistically significant way. This came about during the 70's, as many employers looked to sly means of maintaining a segregated workforce while avoiding a formal declaration, by requiring things like a college degree regardless of the position--something that was unavailable to the vast majority of minorities at the time. So New Haven decided to be proactive and avoid the lawsuit from the black firefighters, and as a result walked right into this lawsuit. The Supreme Court reversed the 2nd Circuit decision*, but what was amazing about their opinion was the lack of resolution. That's because Kennedy's opinion said that while New Haven shouldn't have thrown out the results, that even if they kept the results, the black firefighters would still be able to sue! Ricci is proof of the maxim "bad facts make bad law".**

As for empathy, well, let's just say there's more room for personal interpretation than the hearings the past two weeks would lead you to believe. In cases that rely on things as seemingly simple as a calendar date, there is STILL room for maneuverability. So that's why it makes sense for Obama to look for that quality, among others.

But you know what, screw the facts, let's just play hungry hungry hippos, I mean, politics. We'll just call Judge Sotomayor a racist, even though there's volumes of evidence that prove just the opposite. We'll try to make an issue that Sotomayor has been overruled on multiple occasions, even though by doing so you completely misrepresent the process of Supreme Court review and its meaning. We will lament the fact that by making this token pick in the name of diversity we are clearly leaving out some unknown "superior" candidate, i.e. white and male. We will bitch about the pronunciation of her name. We will continue to spew bullshit.

Let it be said that I am in no way a total supporter of Sotomayor--she's a former hardass prosecutor, and I tend to be very wary of those types, since they tend to exhibit, ahem, less empathy. But just because I'm sure I'll disagree many times with Sotomayor, that doesn't mean she is unqualified for the job. And even though we can now see that Intellectual Honesty has abandoned us, I will still cling to that principle, even if I have to do it alone.



*It's amazing how an unsigned, unanimous opinion gets singularly attributed to Sotomayor. Just think about that.

**I have my own issues with the facts of the Ricci case. Much has been made about the fact that Ricci spent several thousand dollars of his own money on private classes so that his dyslexia would not be a problem for the test. This raises two issues: 1) Why was a promotion to be an officer in the Fire Department dependent on a test that would be affected by dyslexia? One would think that this hindrance would be irrelevant to the tasks associated with the job, yet it was a factor on his performance on the test (he had scored worse before). Yet if it IS a factor, why should this one-time performance be the standard--do we need to fear the instance where the dyslexia plays a factor? And 2) The paying for expensive classes is an example that is played out in the High School level with the SAT, and is evidence of the Cultural Bias of the standardized test--the more well-off students (the majority of them white) pay thousands for classes that help them in essence game the system, while the poorer ones (of which many minorities fall into) get left behind. This is the exact same thing, yet I haven't heard a pundit mention this.

We Must Win the War for Hot Dog Technological Supremacy

When you're traveling on a budget, some things have to be sacrificed. One area where a lot of money can be saved is in the food part of your budget. As a result, even though I've been traveling to different countries every week, I haven't taken the time to indulge in some of the finer cuisine.

That isn't to say I haven't sampled the local flavors, it's just usually on the cheaper side. One of the joys of going to Northern/Central Europe is the abundance of various sausages. I mean, beer and sausage, who doesn't love a healthy balanced meal?

Here's how a proper German bratwurst looks like. Notice the great size, and the good amount of mustard. Much to my disappointment, sauerkraut was not an option.



Now the disparity between bread and hot dog is just ridiculous. In this case, the bread acts as merely a hot dog-holding device, much like a glorified potholder. It's comical and inefficient.

Now compare this to the sausage from Vienna. No, this wasn't a Vienna sausage, stop trying to confuse me. I believe this was a bratwurst as well, but I was just picking wursts at random--whatever sounded good and spicy was my sole criterion for choosing.



Now notice the difference in the bread. This is an amazing use of bread technology to help support the enjoyment of the hot dog. As most sausage enthusiasts are too well aware, the bread often breaks apart, or provides insufficient coverage to protect the taster from spillover of precious precious condiments. But this design of the bread solves all problems! The condiments are contained, and there is no mess! Truly a tasty, enjoyable experience.

My question is why hasn't pure American ingenuity come up with this design? We must steal the blueprints for this and proceed posthaste in constructing an American prototype. WE MUST NOT ALLOW FOR A HOT DOG GAP!

Too Clever By Half

There's an expression of some sort, along the lines of "too clever for his own good." This phrase came to mind as I read a letter to the editor in The Economist. I know, you're thinking "that's what you get for reading the goddamn letters to the editor," but I had a really good excuse--I was at an airport. There, that explains it.

The letter in question refers to a short article that The Economist had printed in the previous issue, detailing the latest developments in the Elgin Marbles controversy. If you are unfamiliar with what I'm talking about, the Elgin Marbles are a series of sculptures that come from the exterior of the Parthenon; when it was under Turkish occupation, the British Lord Elgin made a crooked deal with the Turks and made off with these friezes, losing a couple along the way (but no matter). As a result, the Brits have been in possession of one of Greece's greatest treasures for the past 200 years, as both sides and their museums sniped back and forth.



I will concede that at one point there was good enough reason to let the marbles stay in London: it was unsafe under the Turkish occupation, the pollution was enough that it could seriously damage the marbles, and London provided a great outlet for worldwide access as many people visit the British Museum. Now all these points are moot, especially considering the brand new state-of-the-art Acropolis museum that was built. And whaddyaknow, there's a space all ready for the return of the friezes (facing the correct direction no less--the Brits have them facing inwards instead of outwards). The Economist, trying to prove itself as the statesman above petty squabbling, suggested the only sensible solution: The Brits maintain ownership, while sending the marbles on loan to Greece.

Uh, WTF, ol' chap. You assholes have it exactly backwards--there is no question of ownership (the statues are clearly Greek, anyone can see that, and they don't need no fancy law-talking guy to tell them that), but if we're going to compromise, fuck it, London can hold on to the Marbles for a little bit, maybe having a nice going away party for them.

While the magazine once again proved the rule about British arrogance, the truly infuriating item came from the responses. The most intriguing (and most retarded) came from a gentleman by the name of Robert Ingle from Corvallis, Oregon, who attempted some sort of historical argument. He argues that the marbles were built on funds provided by the Delian League. Those funds were supposed to pay for defense, but as government funding tends to do, some of the money ended up going towards the creation of these sculptures (I mean, really, Mr. Ingle, that stuff NEVER happens today). The gentleman then indicates that in the interest of moral fairness that the marbles be returned to the people that paid for its construction, those that reside in the city-states of the Delian League. And since most of these were located in the Eastern Aegean, that would mean returning the marbles to...Turkey.

Robert Ingle, you ignorant slut.


First of all, thatt's quite an amazing display of mental gymnastics that you employ to ascertain ownership of the Marbles to only these particular people, and ignoring the fact that you know, Athens was the head of the Delian League. I mean, since California and New York pay the most in taxes, does that mean that they should claim ownership of everything that the United States produces? This is just pure nonsense. One might even call it bongtarded.

The problem is, Robert, you really attempted to be too clever with your next assumption, and that's where you get into real trouble. Back in the time of the Delian League, who do you think made up the citizenry? Umm...Greeks. You fucking idiot. I'm sure you wanted to impress some comely Beaver Gal with your impressive knowledge of ancient history after taking that one class at OSU, but this is just painful. Greeks want their artwork back, and even by your convoluted logic, they should STILL get them back. Turkey would have no claim whatsoever, under any circumstances, since they didn't populate the area until, oh, centuries later. What you proposed, was sheer stupidity. IT JUST DOES NOT MAKE SENSE.

Ugh, I need to relax and just watch kittens ride a Roomba or something.

Courting Controversy--Law Professors and Gay Rights

Recently my current school found itself in the middle of a controversy over one of its faculty appointments. See, NYU Law decided to hire Professor Li-ann Thio from Singapore as a visiting professor this fall. Initially, this appointment proved no problem, as most of us are not up-to-date on the collected writings of legal scholars in Singapore. However, as you may be expecting (considering I would not be writing about this otherwise), a video surfaced that would outrage many within the NYU community.

You see, Dr. Thio is also a member of Parliament in her home country, where they were recently considering whether to repeal the criminalization of homosexual sex. Dr. Thio gave a speech arguing against the repeal, raising more than eyebrows among concerned members of the NYU community. These are the sorts of people who would not be swayed by such rhetorical flourishes like "a human wrong cannot be a human right" and that "diversity is not a license to perversity".


You can imagine the reaction. First a letter informing the students of the existence of the video, and soon followed by petitions and calls for her ouster. In the face of this stiff opposition, NYU made the tough decision to stand behind the principle of academic freedom and not remove the appointment. They stated that they were unaware of the speech and that such views had not appeared in her legal writings. They pointed out that while regrettable, this did not affect her ability to teach or her scholarship, the basis on which the appointment was made.

This led to an uncomfortable few weeks as the situation remained at an impasse. Dr. Thio made a sharp rebuttal to her critics, which spurred further protests. And when it came time for students to select classes, a grand total of five students decided to sign up for her seminar on, I kid you not, "Human Rights in Asia." Today though, we have a resolution to this ordeal: Dr. Thio has canceled her visit to NYU for the fall semester.

I have mixed feelings about the way the situation was handled, though I'm more disappointed than anything. Let me explain. On the one hand, I am firmly against her position on homosexual relations, but then I have to square this with the fact that I am coming from a perspective and experience that's much different from that of Singapore. Gay rights have advanced greatly here, but there is a greater resistance elsewhere, so it should come as no surprise that there are more people that hold these views. The state of the discussion in Singapore is far behind that in the US, considering the nature of the proceedings (the mere decriminalization of homosexual relations). It should also be considered that Dr. Thio's role as an MP is also different from that as a scholar, and one should not have bearing on the other in this case.


However, I am proud of NYU for sticking out in support of academic freedom. They realize that in our scholarly pursuits we must look to arguments from all sides, and not restrict the communication of ideas, even if we do not personally agree with them. That's why it disappoints me when strong-arm tactics are used by others to totally suppress others' views. By merely shouting down the other side instead of engaging, the only thing that is accomplished is spreading bitterness among both sides. I also find that it shows a lack of faith in one's own arguments if you have to resort to such drastic means. And the hypocrisy is stunning: how many times have the left denigrated conservatives for side-stepping debate and resorting to name-calling? We can't be selective in this principle--it is the definition of liberalism.

The students though should be applauded for partially making the right move. The lack of interest in the class is the most effective action that can be taken, and may be the most damning of Prof. Thio's views. This "voting with your feet" should be commended, and should be the route that is pursued in the future.

In the end, NYU loses out on an attempt to provide at least a little balance to their pretty strict liberal professorship. Admittedly, it would be somewhat interesting to hear a seminar on human rights who isn't a particular fan of the subject. But hey, I'd rather take Environmental Law with the Dean.

Hump Day Helper -- Overlooked Edition

The Von Bondies, "C'mon C'mon"
Geüpload door elsifo. - Ontdek andere muziek video's.

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

As the year 2009 has moved past the halfway point, I realized that we're probably going to be hearing a lot about "best of the decade" lists in the near future. Even though I'm one of those guys who thinks that we should reserve these things for something at the end of 2010 (you know, I'm one of those guys who can count), it still made me think I better begin to consider forming my own list. I also want to put this in the heads of the other masterminds of WDR, so that they can begin to devise their own lists as well.

One album that will most certainly be on the list is Pawn Shoppe Heart. It basically was a showcase for the best that the Garage Rock Revival had to offer, from biting sarcastic lyrics to propulsive edgy guitars to Keith Moon drumfills. But even though the band had a good amount of publicity due to their lead singer getting the shit kicked out of him by Jack White, who was close to his peak at that point, it still wasn't enough for the album to break through. And it's a damn shame.

It was tough to track down this video, so if it doesn't play, leave a comment. The moving pictures themselves are nothing special, but the song is one catchy bastard, and you'll probably recognize it. But you probably wouldn't realize how morbid the lyrics were.

And now this day these deepened wounds
Don't heal so fast, can't hear me croon
Of a million lies that speak no truth
Of a time gone by that now is through...

Things That Make Nic Ouzo Happy

Few things give me as much joy as listening to the music of Pearl Jam. When people learn this about me, it tends to provide interesting reactions--the more musically inclined show some respect, while the other 98% of people look at me cock-eyed and think "how could anyone listen to 'Jeremy' a million times?" Don't worry though, I'm used to it. Unlike most "fans" (and most people you know, including probably you yourself), I have yet to find a disappointing Pearl Jam album. Yup, I'm the guy that likes even Binaural and Riot Act; I guess I'm the kind of guy you'd try to avoid at parties.

So when I get the chance to listen to brand new music from the group I relish the opportunity. Unfortunately, I had just begun my wild European trip when the guys christened the Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien with their latest, so I missed that chance. However, I managed to find a copy of their new single as it was released to radio, so now all is well.

My thoughts? I can easily see how I could dismiss "The Fixer". It doesn't initially come off like a typical PJ song, but then you realize that at this point it's hard to determine what the typical PJ song actually is, since they move from style to style so easily, without calling attention to it (Hey look at me, I've just done a metal track and I'm throwing in some samba!) The song represents an evolution musically from the Avocado Album, with a good amount of pep, mixed in with some intriguing classic rock and even new wave touches. The lyrics also stand out, as PJ no longer has the same rage that Dubya inspired--no, it's time for optimism, now that we're in the age of Obama. Hell, "The Fixer" would have been a great campaign song if it came out 8 months ago. However, the song is missing one essential ingredient--the standard ripping guitar solo from Mike McCready, which this song is just begging to have (and gives a slight glimpse of the possibilities, as it fades out in the end). But fuck yeah, I'm looking forward to hearing this one live.

A Sad Anniversary

Even though the Berlin Wall fell twenty years ago, there is still a divided capital in Europe.

Today marks the 35th anniversary of the Turkish Invasion of Cyprus. You're not going to hear a word about it today in the American media, but you know, we're kind of used to that by now. We're used to having to explain the details of a complex situation to each person we meet, so today is no different.



As each year goes by, it just becomes harder and harder to believe that justice will ultimately be served and Cyprus will be reunited in a fair manner. It's encouraging that there continue to be discussions between both sides, but in the end I can't imagine an agreement ever being reached.

Now that you have been informed, go about your business.

Thank God They Speak English Here

Dutch is a terrible, terrible language.

I don't know if I was expecting something different before I arrived in the Netherlands, but I don't think I've had a single pleasant encounter with the language. Oh, it's not the fault of the Dutch people, who are plenty nice and reasonable in my dealings with them (unlike some of their neighbors to the south). But there is something about the language that is just, well, stupid.

First off, Dutch is basically a bastardized version of German, which itself is a pretty awful language. I mean, we're talking beyond the fact that it just sounds like the most evil language on the face of the Earth, even when spoken in a calm, reassuring manner (in fact, when done in this way, it is often even creepier). It likes to mash up consonants in ways that don't make sense, it likes to combine 8 words into one, and it has ridiculous grammar constructions. Dutch does all of these things, and adds in things like unnecessary h's and j's and double o's all around. It's like German's retarded cousin. It doesn't even have the inherent "bjorn-ness" that makes Scandinavian languages such a delight.


I think I'd be less upset with Dutch if I could hear consistent pronunciation. The airport in Amsterdam is named Schipol, and I've heard it pronounced "Skip-ol" and "Ship-ol" by Dutch folk. If they can't agree on how to say the name of their huge airport, I guess it's foolish for me to think that the street where I live should have a consistent pronunciation. I've heard no less than five ways to say "Regentesselaan".

Then again, these are the same people that have decided that "Spui" should be said as "Shpel".

The one thing that Dutch has in its favor is that it's not Flemish, which is just bastardized Dutch. If you thought that Dutch was German's retarded cousin, well get that cousin liquored up and you get what Flemish is.


In the end, after nearly two months in this country, I've learned about 7 words, half of which relate to what kind of sandwich I'm going to have. Really, the two most important words I've learned have been "kip" equals "chicken" and that "kaas" is cheese. It's so bad that when I went to a Tapas restaurant, I decided to rely on my extremely limited knowledge of Spanish to decipher the menu; then I realized that "pollo" and "queso" were the only Spanish words I knew as well.

So it's been a blessing that just about everyone here speaks English; not only that, they can even carry on in-depth conversations about current events or politics. I don't even have to rely on my French around here--English is spoken by like 95% of the Dutch. Except of course by those at McDonald's--like in the States, they can hardly speak English either.

Hump Day Helper -- Tank Brigade Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Last week we featured a video from the Arctic Monkeys, so I figured, why the hell don't we throw in a video from the singer's side project? I mean, a band that features another singer that sounds exactly the same as Alex Turner, throw in a massive string section and galloping drums, that just has to be a disaster, right? We might as well just watch the car wreck as it happens; all my calculations point in this result occurring!

However, bands aren't made on paper. Instead, the Last Shadow Puppets put out one of the most solid records of last year, earning an honorable mention of sorts on my best-of list. Somehow they make their crazy musical combination work, in fun and inventive ways.

As for the video, I have no idea what's going on, except that it's epic and Russian. That's a good way to spend an afternoon.

There's affection to rent,
The age of the understatement
Before the attraction ferments
Kiss me properly and pull me apart...