do you ever look at the sky and wonder what's looking back at you? I do.

the las vegas of europe

New Location- Amsterdam, The Netherlands

After an hour flight, I touched down in Amsterdam around noon on Friday. The first thing I noticed was English. Lots of it. It dawned on me slowly that Amsterdam was a mythical haven for 18-25 year old foreigners, a lawless land of decriminalized drugs and free-roaming dames de la nuit set against a background of European exoticism. I had 72 hours in this country, and my agenda contained only one item: Have a-dam good time. Mission accomplished, and with several interesting experiences.

1. Our hostel. The sign upon entering read "Currently under contracting, water may leak from ceilings." We're off to a good start. The 320 euros we owed upon check-in (cash only, of course) bypassed the register in favor of the desk clerk's front pocket. The 4 of us were placed in a 5-person room (complete with heinous decor) that contained 3 available beds and 2 duvets. I know marijuana is fair game in Holland, but it only takes 2 functioning brain cells to figure out this isn't going to add up. The hall bathroom also proved unconventional. I've never had to sit on the john side-saddle, but when the front of the bowl is 4 cm from the wall, I don't suppose there's much choice. I still can't figure out which I like better, the lime green walls or the sagging, musty curtains.

2. The red-light district. We saw the hookers, giggled/marvelled/speculated at the items in the sex shops, and inhaled the tangy synthesis of cannabis and syphilis wafting in the breeze. Though the city is gradually purchasing all the windows and shutting down the district, the selection is like standing in front of a Jelly Belly display. There are more colors and flavors than you can possibly imagine, some natural and others that activate your gag reflex. Note: Do not photograph the ladies in their windows. They will chase you down and douse you with a cup of liquid they've prepared earlier. And it isn't water.

3. The canals. I got to the city hours earlier than the rest of the group, and wound up walking along the canals quite a bit. Lanterns appear in the windows of the houseboats, streetlamps bathe everything in a dull, soft glow. Oddly, the red-light district's canals are home to bevies of swans, an odd juxtaposition to behold. To me, canals are the most enduring and identifiable element of the city. They're also quite handy for disposing of dissentors: the city used to execute troublemakers by putting them in a bag with a feral cat and tossing them in.

4. The van Gogh museum. I may have a new favorite ginger. I can't believe the museum managed to aggregate so many of his works. Despite missing The Starry Night (which is in MoMA), 12 euros still bought you views of The Potato Eaters, Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette, Bedroom in Arles, and The Yellow House. We caught the current exhibition, which chronicles van Gogh's life through letters he exchanged with his brother, with whom he was very close. Insanity and brilliance are truly 2 sides of the same coin. Van Gogh is evidence of that.

I'd been to Amsterdam before, but with a completely different group of people and in a completely different context when I was here during globe. The weekend was a microcosmic representation of this transatlantic experience: the places remain but the people and terms differ. Fun for sure, but bizarre indeed.

pyramid scheme

Why walk like an Egyptian when you can walk with them? My tickets are booked, my passport has an appetite for new ink, and yours truly will touch down in Cairo Thursday, January 21st. I'm thinking the trip is going to go something like this:

21st: Get in, settle down
22nd: Giza (pyramids+sphinx)
23rd: Either Cairo Egyptian history museum or day trip to Alexandria (library)
24th: Stroll about Cairo and take sleeper train to Luxor
25th: Luxor tombs and temples
26th: Valley of Kings (Tut's tomb)
27th: Nile river valley tour
28th: Day train back up to Cairo
29th: Fly out

In case you can't tell, I'm a little excited. I'm flying solo at this point but if anybody else wants to get in on my pyramid scheme you're more than welcome. Egypt 2010, counting down the days.

atypical tuesday

“Hey Ben, have you heard of Phoenix?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard one or two songs, why?”

“They’re playing at Vega tonight, I have an extra ticket if you’re interested. It’s 250 kroners.”

“Nah, that’s a lot of money for a band I’m not too familiar with, I think I’ll pass.”

I knew instantly I was making a mistake.

“Actually, I changed my mind. It could be fun, I’ll take the ticket. See you at 8!”

Phoenix rose from the ashes of the French dance-pop craze of the mid 90s, in the same vein as compatriots Daft Punk and Air. They actually began as Air’s backing band before spinning off, acquiring a new vocalist, and inking new material. I spent Tuesday afternoon listening to them, trying to gain some familiarity, and I wasn’t entirely enamored. Besides the delightfully infectious 1901, other songs were mired in mediocrity. My expectations were tempered.

After an enjoyable but forgettable set by opener Noah and the Whale, Phoenix was due up. The house lights went down, the stage lights came up, and I was instantly atomized by a sensory barrage. Strobe lights, flood lights and spotlights meshed together in an ecstatically disorienting array. Blinding light interchanged with sheer darkness to emulate still-frame animation. The drummer appeared silhouetted, a primal creature bludgeoning an assortment of metal and animal skins in mach 4/4 overdrive. Thomas Mars' thin, swooping voice drifted from pitch to pitch as the songs themselves slurred together. This was a 90 minute mutualistic symbiosis between band and crowd, each feeding off the other’s energy in an emotional crescendo that climaxed with the performance seen in the video below. I came away exhausted but elated. My expectations were thoroughly exceeded and I was left with a singular thought: tonight Phoenix soared.

Futility is the greatest instigator of solitude.

danish delicacies

I would smack up and inject Taco Bell intravenously if I could. Why am I addicted to this American bastardization of Mexican cuisine? I identify with it. Taking a Cheesy Gordita Crunch to the face is as American as wrap-around porches, morbid obesity, and the fascinating meat amalgamation known as "Turducken."

Most every country has a distinct food culture. Spain has tapas, Italy has lasagna, and Laos has venomous snake blood. I would face little opposition in asserting that food accounts for a significant portion of a country's culture. Thus, I find it necessary to provide an (admittedly skewed) overview of Danish cuisine. Here we go.

Rugbrød med leverpostej
English: rye bread with liver paté.
Tastes like: Home Depot's finest plywood slathered with Fancy Feast.A staple element of any Danish lunch, this "delicacy" consists of bread denser than diamond and darker than Darth Vader. Smother it in pig liver and voila! And if this amount of pig product doesn't satiate your Scandinavian palate, you can purchase the paté imbued with bacon bits.

Frikadeller
English: Modified Meatballs
Tastes like: a meaty basis with unrecognizable overtonesAn enlarged and culturally adapted version of Swedish meatballs, frikadeller are typically a pork composite, a ball of ground swine mixed with onions, spices, and bits of other unidentified yet unquestioned foodstuffs. Individual recipes probably exceed danish individuals, and each recipe is a carefully kept secret. It's like your mother's banana puddin' recipe: ain't nobody getting it.

Wienerbrød
English: Danish
Tastes like: The fluffiest croissant with fresh fruitDanish danish isn't danish. It's wienerbrød, but it's just as good. Actually better, since it's only sold by specialized bakers and made fresh the same hour it's purchased. Pick your pastry, pick your filling, enjoy immediately and repeatedly.

Lakrids
English: Salt licorice
Tastes like: Salted shit

Undoubtedly created to be a menace to foreigners, these "candies" are loved by Danes and hated by anyone with sensible tastebuds. A perfect example of Danish dark humor, these are included in packs of gummy candy and serve as a gastronomic land mine to the unsuspecting snacking foreigner.

There you have it. I'll be passing on most traditional Danish food and Americanizing most everything I purchase in the grocery store. I'm of the opinion that one develops taste early in life, and finds familiar flavors favorable. Though I'm trying to assimilate, I'll stick with my Whopper. The liver's all theirs.

I relish the ride home, my music a solitary serenade to a city soundly sleeping.