In Europe, part 1
". . . for there is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so."
First things first; this internet cafe has cozened at least five minutes out of me with this weird keyboard.
First things second; yes, first thing I did in Amsterdam was stopping in a coffeeshop and buying a gram of Super Skunk. It was stronger than I expected, which made me more blasted than expected, which didn't please my sister too much. But I didn't pick up a hoertje in the red light district. It was a compromise.
No it wasn't.
See, a part of me wants to think that I am an asshole. Amoral, unethical, unfeeling, etc. But I wasn't excited by red light, and neither was the oul' fella. Something about the mercenary gleam in their eyes. So it's not just that I didn't get a hooker; it's that I didn't want to. Goddamn good parenting, osmotic morals, Catholic church... woulda gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those pesky God and Jesus fellas. But at least it was my conscience and not the rest of me; one minute with the Aussie girls in our hostel room and my body and mind were singin' the praises of creation.
Other, less important observations:
1. Books are expensive here. 10 euro for the new Elmore Leonard? Désolé, mon freunden, or something like that. But the Athenaum did have a complete Loeb Classics library.
2. Sint Nicolaaskerk was impressive, but the thing that struck me most was finding out that not only symphonies and cantatas, but church organs as well are referred to by opus number. Saint Nick's mighty organ is Wilhelm Sauer's Opus 505. Imposing title for an imposing device.
3. One guy in our hostel NEVER LEFT. Sara thought he might have been a loser. I thought maybe he was heartbroken; perhaps he fell for a Dutch girl (an easy, easy thing to do) in a town where all the natives seem to have paired off and all the sex workers are black, asian, or eastern European. We're gone now, so it shall remain a mystery.
Those are my venal notes on Amsterdam. Next time, Paris, where I am writing this from, with an account of the numerous ways we have Fucked Up. Also, any suggestions on What To Do In Spain would be appreciated.
First things first; this internet cafe has cozened at least five minutes out of me with this weird keyboard.
First things second; yes, first thing I did in Amsterdam was stopping in a coffeeshop and buying a gram of Super Skunk. It was stronger than I expected, which made me more blasted than expected, which didn't please my sister too much. But I didn't pick up a hoertje in the red light district. It was a compromise.
No it wasn't.
See, a part of me wants to think that I am an asshole. Amoral, unethical, unfeeling, etc. But I wasn't excited by red light, and neither was the oul' fella. Something about the mercenary gleam in their eyes. So it's not just that I didn't get a hooker; it's that I didn't want to. Goddamn good parenting, osmotic morals, Catholic church... woulda gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those pesky God and Jesus fellas. But at least it was my conscience and not the rest of me; one minute with the Aussie girls in our hostel room and my body and mind were singin' the praises of creation.
Other, less important observations:
1. Books are expensive here. 10 euro for the new Elmore Leonard? Désolé, mon freunden, or something like that. But the Athenaum did have a complete Loeb Classics library.
2. Sint Nicolaaskerk was impressive, but the thing that struck me most was finding out that not only symphonies and cantatas, but church organs as well are referred to by opus number. Saint Nick's mighty organ is Wilhelm Sauer's Opus 505. Imposing title for an imposing device.
3. One guy in our hostel NEVER LEFT. Sara thought he might have been a loser. I thought maybe he was heartbroken; perhaps he fell for a Dutch girl (an easy, easy thing to do) in a town where all the natives seem to have paired off and all the sex workers are black, asian, or eastern European. We're gone now, so it shall remain a mystery.
Those are my venal notes on Amsterdam. Next time, Paris, where I am writing this from, with an account of the numerous ways we have Fucked Up. Also, any suggestions on What To Do In Spain would be appreciated.