I added a link section.
Please let me know your websites, so I can add them.
Or anything you like, I can always use more distractions on the world wide web than the same three sites.
Thank you.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Fifties find
Not exactly the California Drivers License Handbook I set out to buy. But it's so shimmery!
The girls at Laura Dols would be so proud of me finding this for twenty bucks.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
And to think I always thought I would do well in those spelling contests
I absolutely, beyond any doubt, categorically, clearly, decidedly, doubtlessly, explicitly, indubitably, no ifs ands or buts about it, obviously, plainly, positively, specifically, surely, undeniably, unequivocally, unmistakably, unquestionably, without doubt, without fail, without question have a hard time trying to spell that damn word. Every time.
DEFINITELY.
But apparently, I am not the only one struggling.
www.d-e-f-i-n-i-t-e-l-y.com
Sheesh!
DEFINITELY.
But apparently, I am not the only one struggling.
www.d-e-f-i-n-i-t-e-l-y.com
Sheesh!
My friend Maartje
Maartje and I, we like to go swimming.
Maartje and I lived on the same street, and I would pick her up and together we biked to the outdoor pool, rain or shine. Not particularly on a regular basis, just rain or shine. You know swimming is even better when it's not that great weather because there are less people wanting to jump the water right in front of you, and the pool doesn't feel like a gridlocked highway. It gives you plenty of space to swim next to each other and catch up on gossip like two old ladies, or talk about the more serious side of life.
Here, we were obviously not talking about the more serious side of life.
On September 14th, a nice autumn day two weeks after our outdoor pool closed down for winter, Maartje and I decided to go swimming in the North Sea. Drove up to Wijk aan Zee, walked down the beach, and even though it was sunny out, people were wearing coats and scarves. Not us. We stripped down and acted like it was midsummer. Look!
And what happened? We swam and swam and it was dead cold and we swam some more, and then someone whistled. A wave had soaked our bags. Our clothes: soaked. Maartjes phone: ruined. The newspaper: dripping with water and sand. But a few things were saved: Good spirits, and my grandmothers camera.
When we drove home in nothing but swimsuits and wet tops (thank God we didn't come by train) I realized I was going to have to walk out of the car in this outfit with a terrace full of people right next to my house.
Actually, I don't think anyone even noticed.
Maartje is in Buenos Aires right now, and I am in San Francisco. But mark my words.
We will go swimming again.
Cheers!
Maartje and I lived on the same street, and I would pick her up and together we biked to the outdoor pool, rain or shine. Not particularly on a regular basis, just rain or shine. You know swimming is even better when it's not that great weather because there are less people wanting to jump the water right in front of you, and the pool doesn't feel like a gridlocked highway. It gives you plenty of space to swim next to each other and catch up on gossip like two old ladies, or talk about the more serious side of life.
Here, we were obviously not talking about the more serious side of life.
On September 14th, a nice autumn day two weeks after our outdoor pool closed down for winter, Maartje and I decided to go swimming in the North Sea. Drove up to Wijk aan Zee, walked down the beach, and even though it was sunny out, people were wearing coats and scarves. Not us. We stripped down and acted like it was midsummer. Look!
And what happened? We swam and swam and it was dead cold and we swam some more, and then someone whistled. A wave had soaked our bags. Our clothes: soaked. Maartjes phone: ruined. The newspaper: dripping with water and sand. But a few things were saved: Good spirits, and my grandmothers camera.
When we drove home in nothing but swimsuits and wet tops (thank God we didn't come by train) I realized I was going to have to walk out of the car in this outfit with a terrace full of people right next to my house.
Actually, I don't think anyone even noticed.
Maartje is in Buenos Aires right now, and I am in San Francisco. But mark my words.
We will go swimming again.
Cheers!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Pepernoten
Tomorrow is Sinterklaas. I don't actually really even like to celebrate this holiday. It includes spoiled children, nasty poems, surprises with gook and paper maché, and a national excuse to celebrate slavery.
But, I have the newfound identity of an expatriate, so I felt the urge to go Dutch. Real Dutch.
I decided to bake pepernoten, the tradition sweets that come with the festivities. You know, Saint Nic's slaves hand them out.
Now I haven't baked a real anything since, say, 1996. I didn't have an oven for the larger part of my life and I don't have a sweet tooth. I looked up the recipe on the internet, and set myself to work.
Here goes.
I started out real neat om my batches, making them really orderly. And cute, might I add.
It failed pretty miserably. The were flat, uncooked or overcooked, and altogether gross.
My second batch went extremely well, after I had googled 'cookies too flat' and got some advice from my fellow online housewives. Too bad they didn't tell me to cut down on the baking paper, which decided to set afire in the oven, making me slightly panic, and having to throw my second, perfect, batch in the sink.
But you live you learn, and as we speak I have made batch after batch of pepernoten, to hand out tomorrow to anyone who will eat them.
I was so ridiculously happy I made it work, I did a little dance for you guys.
Hahaha!
So, who wants some?
But, I have the newfound identity of an expatriate, so I felt the urge to go Dutch. Real Dutch.
I decided to bake pepernoten, the tradition sweets that come with the festivities. You know, Saint Nic's slaves hand them out.
Now I haven't baked a real anything since, say, 1996. I didn't have an oven for the larger part of my life and I don't have a sweet tooth. I looked up the recipe on the internet, and set myself to work.
Here goes.
I started out real neat om my batches, making them really orderly. And cute, might I add.
It failed pretty miserably. The were flat, uncooked or overcooked, and altogether gross.
My second batch went extremely well, after I had googled 'cookies too flat' and got some advice from my fellow online housewives. Too bad they didn't tell me to cut down on the baking paper, which decided to set afire in the oven, making me slightly panic, and having to throw my second, perfect, batch in the sink.
But you live you learn, and as we speak I have made batch after batch of pepernoten, to hand out tomorrow to anyone who will eat them.
I was so ridiculously happy I made it work, I did a little dance for you guys.
Hahaha!
So, who wants some?
Biking under influence
Transportation in this city scares the shit out of me. Not the BART. The Bay Area Rapid Transport is just fine with me. But the rest..
Whenever I am in a foreign place, I act all cool in public, especially if I am on my own. It kills me when someone asks me for directions. This means, I have done a successful job at 'going native' (a term us anthropologists like to throw around casually). I feel right at home on the L train in Brooklyn, the Erasmuslijn in Rotterdam, the RER in Paris and the N Judah line I take everyday, right here in the beautiful city of San Francisco. That said, I am going to be a little more honest with you guys. I may look as calm as ever riding the night bus in the middle of the night, sitting there all squeezed between drunks and bums, trying to read my book. But it freaks me out.
It all started when I rode my bike over to a party, and everyone was all shocked that I rode 45 minutes in heels ánd was planning on making the same trip on the way home. This is completely normal to me, but when they started telling me about the tickets they hand out for biking drunk (BUI's!) it made me think. Maybe I should just take the bus. They go all night anyway, stop in front of my house, and cost a buck fifty.
So, there I was, all waiting for the bus in the Mission, getting on, having a nice conversation with some hobo. We were fine up until then. Then, came the stopover on Market Street. Now Market Street may be downtown but right along Civic Centre, it gets all sketchy. So my conversations became conversations with pimps and beggars (mostly me saying 'no' to every question and ignoring the rest). On the bus, I was the only woman. A guy with no teeth tried flirting with me. I got through two chapters of my new book, before I arrived in my safe, residential and Chinese neighbourhood.
Next time, I decided I wasn't going to be as cheap, and took a cab. The first cab wouldn't drive me to Sunset. The second one did, as long as I didn't pay with a creditcard. While driving, he turned up the fucking house music (international taxidriver vice?) and I realized I had a camera pointing straight at my face. Who the hell films that? They should film the drivers.
I can not wait to get a decent bike and ride my bike home again. BUI shmiyoueye.
By the way, I found some interesting and quite different modes of transportation as well. Check it out:
Slides instead of stairs in the Google office makes working so much more fun and creative! And at the end of the slide you can play some Wii! Sit in the massage chair! Drink some free soda! Fun! Creative! Work!
Sofa's on elevators are just so classy. They made me want to ride this one for hours, but they wouldn't let me.
Whenever I am in a foreign place, I act all cool in public, especially if I am on my own. It kills me when someone asks me for directions. This means, I have done a successful job at 'going native' (a term us anthropologists like to throw around casually). I feel right at home on the L train in Brooklyn, the Erasmuslijn in Rotterdam, the RER in Paris and the N Judah line I take everyday, right here in the beautiful city of San Francisco. That said, I am going to be a little more honest with you guys. I may look as calm as ever riding the night bus in the middle of the night, sitting there all squeezed between drunks and bums, trying to read my book. But it freaks me out.
It all started when I rode my bike over to a party, and everyone was all shocked that I rode 45 minutes in heels ánd was planning on making the same trip on the way home. This is completely normal to me, but when they started telling me about the tickets they hand out for biking drunk (BUI's!) it made me think. Maybe I should just take the bus. They go all night anyway, stop in front of my house, and cost a buck fifty.
So, there I was, all waiting for the bus in the Mission, getting on, having a nice conversation with some hobo. We were fine up until then. Then, came the stopover on Market Street. Now Market Street may be downtown but right along Civic Centre, it gets all sketchy. So my conversations became conversations with pimps and beggars (mostly me saying 'no' to every question and ignoring the rest). On the bus, I was the only woman. A guy with no teeth tried flirting with me. I got through two chapters of my new book, before I arrived in my safe, residential and Chinese neighbourhood.
Next time, I decided I wasn't going to be as cheap, and took a cab. The first cab wouldn't drive me to Sunset. The second one did, as long as I didn't pay with a creditcard. While driving, he turned up the fucking house music (international taxidriver vice?) and I realized I had a camera pointing straight at my face. Who the hell films that? They should film the drivers.
I can not wait to get a decent bike and ride my bike home again. BUI shmiyoueye.
By the way, I found some interesting and quite different modes of transportation as well. Check it out:
Slides instead of stairs in the Google office makes working so much more fun and creative! And at the end of the slide you can play some Wii! Sit in the massage chair! Drink some free soda! Fun! Creative! Work!
Sofa's on elevators are just so classy. They made me want to ride this one for hours, but they wouldn't let me.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Homesick
Sometimes you stumble upon a windmill next to the Pacific and it makes you think of sunny days and a sweet glass of Zotte at the Ij brewery.. Except there are no palm trees around the Mauritskade!
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