Friday, September 30, 2005
Stranded in Havana
And when I say Havana, I mean Amersfoort. When I arrived at the station on my way to my parents for the weekend, it was brought to my attention that due to a power outage there wouldn't be any trains going to Utrecht (and beyond) anytime soon. So I took the bus back home, and I'm gonna try again tomorrow.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
The rules? Load a shitload of songs in the mediaplayer of your choice, randomize, and post the first ten songs that come up.
- Meat Loaf - Welcome To The Neighborhood - 09 - Amnesty Is Granted [06:09]
- Meat Loaf - Midnight At The Lost And Found - 09 - If You Really Want To [03:37]
- Luciano Pavarotti and Meat Loaf - Pavarotti and Friends Together for the Children of Bosnia - 09 - Come Back To Sorrento [03:17]
- Meat Loaf - Midnight At The Lost And Found - 10 - Fallen Angel [03:38]
- Meat Loaf - Dead Ringer - 04 - I'll Kill You If You Don't Come Back [06:23]
- Meat Loaf - VH1 Storytellers DVD - 08 - You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth [07:06]
- Meat Loaf - Bat Out Of Hell II; Back Into Hell - 11 - Lost Boys And Golden Girls [04:28]
- Original Cast - The Rocky Horror Show - 08 - Whatever Happened To Saturday Night [02:25]
- Ted Nugent ft. Meat Loaf - Free For All - 09 - I Love You So I Told You A Lie [03:59]
- Stoney and Meatloaf - Stoney and Meatloaf - 09 - Lady Be Mine [04:37]
O, and lest I forget, happy birthday, mr. Loaf.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
On April 26th 1960, Bobby Garfield got an library card for his birthday from his mother. An adult library card. It wasn't the red and silver Schwinn bike that was on display at Western Auto, but he thought is was a swell present anyway. Or at least, that's what he told his mother. But I don't doubt he liked his present. From how I understand things, Bobby liked to read.
And as a matter of fact, so do I.
Way back, when I was in primary school, I used to read a lot. What I read? Well, a lot. About everything Thea Beckman wrote. Some of Jan Terlouw's and Evert Hartman's work (I read Koning van Katoren back to front on a wednesday afternoon and I still need to reread Niemand Houdt Mij Tegen someday, if only for the Amersfoort aan Zee reference), classics like The Never-Ending Story and De Zevensprong, lots of books in the De Vijf, Pietje Puk, Arendsoog and Pinkeltje series (although not necessarily in that order.) Thinking back, I also remember vast amounts of books with a historical setting whose titles are escape me.
In high school, you were supposed to read an certain amount of books each year for Dutch and English classes. For me, that took the fun out of it. Sure, I read some good books and enjoyed that, but mostly, it was a drag. Having to read Couperus' De Boeken Der Kleine Zielen (well, the first part) was a total drag, and if I never have to read anything Arnon Grunberg has written ever again, I would call it a blessing. But on the other hand, what I've read of Maarten 't Hart should have been more than enough reason to pick up more of his work. The same goes for Bernlef (I've read Eclips, what is supposed to be Hersenschimmen in reverse, so maybe I should pick that one up someday), Levi Weemoedt and Ronald Giphart.
About a year after finishing high school, I started taking books with me to read on my way to college. And that was the start of my renewed love of books. Since then, I've been reading a lot. There isn't a moment when I don't have a book or two lying around, waiting to be read. If it isn't the new Harry Potter, then it is some other childrens' book (surprisingly, I read a lot of those), or some other piece of fiction. Be it Umberto Eco, Tolkien, Douglas Adams, or Stephen King.
For his eleventh birthday, Bobby Garfield got a library card. His creator gets this post for his 58th.
Happy birthday, Sai King. I say thankya.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Oh capt'n, me capt'n!
Avast, me hearties, take heed 'for ye be turned in shark bait. Aye, today be Talk Like A Pirate Day, and if yer booty isn't hidden in some spot marked X, ye be assured some pillagin' scurvy sea dog be lootin' it. Shiver me timbers and call me Johnny. No-one e'er said pirates were s'posed to be talkin' sense, aye? Yarr.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Concerto for Band and Air Guitar, opus 1
Yesterday I got a chance to take my new air guitar out for a testdrive. To make a long story incredibly short: it smokes! To make an incredibly short story much longer: read on!
Playing air guitar has all kinds of benefits over playing one of any other kind. Much lighter, no need for tuning, if you break a string you make up a new one in less then a heartbeat, they're very easy to get into any kind of venue—you just put it in your pocket—and then the sound one makes! You must hear it to believe it. And even then there's a big chance you won't believe what you hear.
My new one (got several, as they're cheap as hell too) is a Gibson Les Paul. A black one. 'Cause they just look *so* good in black. My fingers were really itchin' to try it out, so I took it to the Opeth gig I was going to see, and let me tell you, it was bitchin'. Without my air guitar that gig would have rocked. With it, it rawked! I mean, there is only so much rocking out you can do without one. Imagine the rocking out you can do with your own air guitar. There is fun to had there people! Real fun! And then I haven't even started on the added effects of a wah-wah-pedal...
Considering the profuse amount of sheer unadulterated enjoyment my new air-axe brought me, I just might sign up for next years national air guitar championships.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Want a full review of my weekend in three words?
It fucking sucked.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Go ahead, go figure…
Feelin' a bit drowsy at the moment. My arms are heavy, and my head, well, my feels lighter then air. And it ain't the booze either this time, since I'm sober as hell. And then some. But that ain't the reason I'm typing this. What the reason is that I am posting this, well, you gotta figure it out for yourself.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
No, I didn not get shot in the head on the underground
The flight over wasn't that eventful, and apart from walking, looking and hanging around I haven't done anything there that is, you know, interesting, so with the flight back not being eventful either, you could say that is pretty much my
I went to London wrap-up.
Nah, just kiddin' mate!
The flight over wasn't eventful, I kid you not. Got of the plane, took the underground to Covent Garden, and walked to my hotel. Checked in, dropped my bag, and hit the streets.
And when I say, hit the streets, I really mean, hit the streets. Went through Covent Garden to Soho, to St. Paul's Cathedral, over the Millennium Bridge along the Thames to Westminster, to Travalgar Square, to Hyde Park and through Soho and Covent Garden back to my hotel. Had diner in an italian restaurant, and went to see "Me And You And Everyone We Know", which falls nicely in the "this film is strange" category loved by some people I know. Had a flat, lukewarm pint of horsepiss and went to bed. My feet were very grateful.
The next day I visited the British Museum, some more of Soho (being the very heart of London, you can't really miss it one way or the other), Westminster and St. James's Park, before heading back to the hotel for diner. Saw Stomp, and if they ever get in your neighborhood, I'd say check 'em out. ( seems like they've been in Amersfoort last June. )
Saturday I spend some time in Camden and Nothing Hill, before going all the way to Greenwich, where I spend a couple of hours reading and relaxing in the park. Did some more eating in a different italian restaurant.
The next day, I packed my bag after breakfast, checked out, dropped my bag in the luggage-room so I wouldn't have to carry it around, and walked down Strand to Trafalgar Square, where I sipped a cup of coffee, after which I visited The National Gallery. Oh boy. Boy oh boy. I mean, wow. Rembrandts, Van Goghs, DaVincis and Berninis, Botticellis, Carrevagios, Monets, Titians, Michelangelos, Vermeers, Rubens', basically everything an uninspired writer needs for inspiration. There was one painting by Joseph Mallord William Turner, called Rain, Steam, and Speed - The Great Western Railway, that worked so well for me, that I now have to go and find a frame for that reproduction I took home with me.
And home I went. After I had a semi-sort of an extended lunch (for me it was, anyway) and picked up my bag, I went to Heathrow, had some more food and flew home. End of story.
Yeah, you could say that I enjoyed myself. Made some photos that turned out okayish too, so I'll try to make some time to make a little gallery of them over the weekend.