Transportation and Efficiency

When a person buys a truck or an SUV, there’s no long term practicality being considered; rather, only the short term. Transporting out-of-town relatives, the infrequent carpooling to work, towing a mobile home up a mountain, etc. are more practical, obviously, in the short term because they are rare occurrences, not the daily habit. While it might seem like a novel concept to be immediately ready to host a party of 20 in your people-carrier, the truth is it rarely happens. Having such a small occurrence weigh so heavily on such an important decision, at this point, seems silly.

How can transportation, of such great importance to so many people, not be more effectively provided in our society? Where are the local chains that provide access to a large number of pickups and gas guzzlers, when they’re occasionally needed, for a cheap monthly fee? Such an organization, if effectively handled, would virtually eliminate the last seemingly plausible reason for having to buy one in the first place.

Prejudice in Satire

It seems unfair and discriminatory to advocate for prejudice in satire. While the humor in question may be in bad taste or even offensive, fairness and standards in equality should be upheld in all forms and applications.

The disabled and handicapped, for instance, are generally seen as untouchable in most forms of satire. As such, it is rare to see a disabled person in comedy, even if the humor is in no way related to the handicapped. This seems repulsive, as if the disabled are somehow unfunny, or even incapable of being funny.

In order for the handicapped and disabled to maintain a fairer and more equal stance in society, they should be allowed the invitation to, and be included in, all forms of satire and comedy.

The Relationship of Employers and Employees 1

Employees of any company, as thanks for their service, should be given merchandise and/or services offered by the company at the private cost that the company pays for them.

There is no logical reason for a company to be attempting to make money off of their own employees. This is not to say that the employees should receive services for free, just that paying cost for something allows the company to break even.

Allowing employees to pick up these goods at a lower cost than retail helps establish a stronger bond between the employer and employee, breeds better respect, and boosts morale.

Evolution as a People

Everyone evolves. Sometimes mistakes are made. However, it seems ridiculous to allow the unavoidable collateral damage of evolution to physically and un-ashamedly disrupt the lives of innocent and ordinary individuals.


In life, friends can have squabbles or disagreements, and later choose to continue their friendship or end it. This situation can and does happen normally between people. It also can be accepted because both parties have a choice in many aspects.

Things that are avoidable, such as war, most murder, oppression, prejudice, etc. are without reason to be tolerated.

On the Future of Music and the Record Industry

It seems that the time has come to enter a new era of portable music. Cd's are a thing of the past, as people are more openly embracing downloaded digital media and using devices like the ipod. Let's take it further.

Instead of an artist releasing a new album every year or so, why not embrace a more constant way of releasing new material. As more and more people have the ability to record from home, and many artists setting up their own personal studios, it seems a better idea to release a few new songs every couple of months by way of itunes or some other online service.

This would allow a relative constant hype for a band, without the former downtime associated with having to wait a year for new material, which can seem like an eternity if your favorite band's latest album is garbage.

Cd's are wasteful and expensive. And a constant flow of music from artists throughout the year seems a much better alternative.

Separation of Humor and Resolve

Humor, by definition, isn't serious. It seems illogical to assume satire for seriousness, however personally dis-tasteful or unfunny.

It's hard for me to accept that the most 'racist' comedian could, by default, be a privately racist person. It's not to say that he is or isn't. It's just to say that a racist/sexist/prejudice joke doesn't necessarily impy a private, seriously racist perspective.

Satire is not necessarily meant to be taken seriously.

Hypothesis on Altering Earth's Trajectory

Is it possible, given the geographical redistribution of earth's goods and resources, that overabundance of certain materials in certain areas of the planet could contribute to a weight imbalance, thus altering the path of Earth through space?

Let's say heavy mining takes place in a poorer area of the world, with less commodities and material goods, and is sent to a (now) resource heavy area, with a wealthier population and more material goods. Over time, vast quantities of heavy materials are transferred from one area of the world to another. Weight transfer can affect the physics of a moving object and potentially alter the trajectory.

Could too much resource piling in formerly un-piled areas contribute to a change in Earth's path in space?

In Defense of Principle

As long as debate focuses on variables and shallow misgivings there cannot be honest discourse. These types of arguments usually rely on spin and resort to ad hominem, in place of honest and open understanding of issues and problems.

Principles have the unique advantage of transcending time and events to explore the root and basic understanding of issues and events. Anyone can interpret any event in any way, and a clever presenter can seemingly prove it through deception, whether intentional or not. To focus on the principle understanding of an issue is to take away all the spin and interpretation, and to look at it for what it is.

Take, for instance, the issue of universal health care. Any and every human being deserves the right, as long as its technologically available, to good health and the ability to see a doctor when sick, regardless of wealth or social status. To disregard this basic human need, on principle, seems disgustingly selfish and cold-hearted. Unfortunately, public debate on this issue is usually reserved for the financial underpinnings, whether fair or unfair, and other shallow and ridiculous interpretations rather than honest, principled debate.

A position is only as strong as the logic that holds it together. Shallow positions deserve only shallow reflection.

On Soviet Socialism Inc.

Socialism and communism have been slandered and denigrated, usually unfairly, for many years, especially in America. Ironically, they are seen as technically different, but basically the same.

The Soviet Union is seen as the testing grounds for these ideologies, and its failure somehow obvious as a result. This is bullshit.

The Soviet Union was a repressive, authoritarian dictatorship with little regard for the needs of its people, especially during Stalin's reign. Many were tortured, and dissidents were rounded up and exterminated. This is in no way representative of a government based on equal rights and opportunity for all.

The powerful will tell you that the weak need them. What they won't tell you is that the weak allow them to be powerful.

Sympathy to Anarchism

Virtually everyone agrees that some form of control should exist in society, though the amount and method of practice vary widely. One way is through control, the other through individualistic responsibility.

Opponents of less government, and in more extreme forms anarchism, argue that the individual is inherently bad, and that laws must be in place to insure the safety of the community and its inhabitants.

But in reality, people do what they want to do. Most people follow basic and loose social rules, like trying to be a good person and not a dick.

Besides, if laws deterred crime, there would be no crime.

Laws don't deter crime, they promote criminals. There is no crime without a law.

On the Nature of Politicians & Leaders

If all people are considered equal in ability, and fundamentally respected as such, it seems hardly necessary for a small group of individuals to represent them. It makes no difference whether this is politically, religiously, spiritually, etc. To imply the necessity of a leader is to deny a person the basic level of respect that every human being deserves.

If there's a problem in a society, the people and the community, above all, would be the ones to understand it as it principally effects them. As such, they should be the ones to find the correct solution.

It is ineffective and ridiculous to believe that a politician has the ability to supersede the common wisdom of both the people and the individual.

On a Realistic Utopia

Any attempt to thwart or diminish progress in defining and working towards a realistic form of a Utopian-type society would seem illogical on all counts.

If individual happiness is the ultimate goal of living, why not attempt to achieve it?

On Resistance and Relationships

Resistance can be seen as a response to a perceived oppression. This could be verbal, physical, emotional, etc. This is usually the start of a confrontation.

A confrontation is a sign of losing the focus of a problem and multiplying potentially worse results. If resistance is encountered, it usually means that an individual should change tactics and/or approach. Respect is the key to good relationships and progress.

To forgo respect is to expect resistance.

Drugs as Training Wheels

The problem with drugs and chemicals seems to be that a person either gets it or they don't. The users obviously agree but are equally biased. The same could be said about many hostile non-users.

If exercising is a moral way of relieving life's problems, it seems difficult, in principle, to deny the same respect towards drugs.

Drugs can be seen as like training wheels on the bicycle of life. It makes some things easier, could possibly slow you down a bit, but are really just a particular fancy of certain individuals.

On Children's Rights

It seems that the idea of rights for children (or even teens) is so far removed from general perception. Children are practically legal slaves until they reach the magic age of adulthood. I'm not attempting to define legalities as much as stir up talk on the idea.

Where does the age of 18 come from? We allow a legal system to identify the absolute age of maturity for everyone. What about bright students? Slower students? It's neither good, bad, right, or wrong. But it is different, and different size cogs working together aren't going to pull the same speed, thus losing individual potential and growth.

When will young adults be considered legal, full citizens? Probably right after atheists have their revolution.

How to Explain Cognitive Dissonance

Ask a preacher, during a church service, where God was during the 2008 Chinese earthquake (which killed an estimated 100,000+ people), if he had the power to stop it. It did, after all, kill many obviously innocent children, babies, etc.

Cognitive Dissonance is the headache that 90% of the churchgoers present will immediately get while trying to figure that out.

Preventing Oppression in Wikigovernment

Virtually any/all policy changes (laws, decrees, order, etc.) limiting any/all rights of the people should automatically be given a week/month maximum length in all cases.

After the exceeded length, the policy would be nullified. The particular policy would then need to be resubmitted in the same way as before and ultimately re-considered in the same fashion. This prevents the absolute power of government/oppression from regaining a foothold into the will and lives of the people.

As American as English

If English is "American," what do Brits speak?

Compassion in the Current State of Healthcare

There's little compassion in a health care system where a Doctor can charge an arm and a leg to fix an arm or a leg.

Stereotypes and Racism

It seems that to understand a stereotype would imply that a person would identify in some way with racism. Even on a minute scale.

Language Accents

It seems most, but not necessarily everyone, develop some sort of vocal accent. Usually it's of the native, local, or geographically-specific variety, but why do some people seem to enunciate in almost perfect English?

Could these people be more advanced audible-learners than most? Do audible-learning and vocal pronunciation relate?

Freewill or Fate? (2)

Perhaps existence cannot be explained as simply freewill or fate. Rather, it could be seen as a type of struggle between the two.

Fate could be interpreted as genetics. No one asks to be born, so that part is without choice. Any lack of growing/maturing (intellectually, spiritually, etc.) seems a bit like running on auto-pilot. Evolution has placed you somewhere, and you can change or stay the same.

Freewill, however, would allow a person to, in a way, influence their own path. The beauty of choice may always be there, but without an honest effort the individual would remain where their genealogical line has placed them.

Freewill could be seen as earned. Fate would be default.

The Amsterdam Diaries (essay)

Arrival

If I explained it, I don’t think you would believe me. I’m not even sure I believe me.

I arrive, after the 9 hr flight, in Amsterdam around 7:40am. Imagine going from perfectly capable to stunningly incompetent overnight. I recognized a Burger King at the terminal, and the shapes of people, many of which speak decent English.

The terminal is huge and complicated. Or, as the Europeans would refer to it; stunningly efficient. They handle it well; I’m navigating about as efficiently as a blind man.

I went straight for the train, only to be told that I needed a ticket. I then went to the ticket booth, only to be told that the card machine’s down and they don’t accept traveler’s checks. After finding the check cashing place, I re-proceed to each place, waiting in line twice. Everything is breathtakingly different, but not so much so that it feels like Mars. It feels more like the difference between cavemen and advanced, intelligent peoples.

It’s a chilly morning, and my pace is painfully, unforgivably slow; even for my standards. At each new stop I am completely unaware as to what to do next. Signs are useless, and looking at them is only asking to be hit by one of the many moving vehicles.

Everybody drives a hatchback-stick-shift-something. I noticed a tiny Nissan something, a two-seater I believe. Smallest car I’ve never seen. I do not see many American vehicles, and no SUVs. My conscious prevents me from asking why.

I arrive at my hostel, passing the most beautifully adorned buildings, many covered in graffiti. The first thing I smell as I walk into my hostel is, in fact, freedom. Not the American kind of freedom that allows a person the luxury of 1 choice. No; this was the real kind of freedom. Freedom that burns.

I’ll attempt to explain all that comes next.

I go downstairs to what a sign refers to as "metal breakfast." I enjoy a delicious croissant while Iron Maiden blasts all throughout the basement. There are no overhead lights in this part of the basement, none on at least. Just candles. Bongs and water pipes are everywhere, just placed wherever the previous user decided to set it.

Breakfast: Check

Coffeeshop right outside of my hostel: Check

Iron Maiden: Check

This is normal: 1 seriously righteous check.

I pop an Adderall and decide what to do next.

Day 1

Lesson learned: Trust the locals. Even falling for a prank is much better than learning the hard way

Tasks accomplished: find coffeeshop, hash, long walk around the city, get solicited cocaine, buy some Hawaiian woodrose

After a hearty breakfast of Maiden and croissants, I began to make my way out into the city. My hostel is located right in the middle of downtown, so a walk to anything is hardly a walk at all.

I took the advice of the desk lady and made my way to a ’choice’ coffeeshop. The girl behind the bar obviously understood my lack of culture (read: ability to speak) and showed me where the menu was. The lighting was dim, which I’ve found to be pretty standard in many places. Whether or not this is because of my currently exclusive choice of shops I haven’t yet figured out.

The menu offered many different strains by weight, as well as pre-rolled joints. I ordered a hash joint and was surprised to see that it came in a tapered plastic tube with a sealed top. I made my way over to a table and began to enjoy myself.

Across the room was a picture of Ronald Reagan, a long lost ad of him promoting Chesterfield cigs. I smiled at the irony of the situation: A conservative icon famous for his lack of compassion and strong stance against drug users (read: infidels).

I decided to smoke only about 1/3 of the joint, taking the advice of the locals regarding the local potency. This was my first day, and I wasn’t about to go FUBAR on myself this early. Only an asshole would go fubar this early in the game. I made my way back outside.

The streets are relatively narrow, although what I’m referring to probably isn’t called a "street." There are main roads everywhere; most seem to be 1 way. Virtually every road has a strict bike section/lane with as many or more bikes and mopeds than cars.

It’s very rare to see anything but hatchbacks, and I’ve yet to find out why. Many cars I’ve never seen before, though I’d say I probably saw more Volkswagens than anything. Many people own ’mini’ cars with only 2 seats. They look like big go-carts with shells. I’d heard that Europeans preferred manuals, so I decided to take notice of all the parked cars I passed. Roughly 400 cars later and virtually no distance covered, I decided to give up actively checking, as I could find only 2 or 3 cars with automatic. Police cars, vans, and even an SUV (the only 1 I saw) were ALL MANUAL. Case closed.

The buildings are all marvelous. Street after street after street of the most elegantly designed and beautiful buildings I’ve ever seen, as if they were straight out of a movie. I felt as if I could walk all day up and down the streets, checking out all the shops and admiring the architecture. It’s indescribable. It isn’t long before I stumble upon a large courtyard outside of what appeared to be a large government building. The sight is breathtaking.

I find myself suddenly missing my fam back home, in a way regretting my choice to come alone. I close my eyes and imagine: Robbie with his tripod and camera, clicking away and talking nonsense of things unseen by mortal men; Cock explaining the date and time each individual was built, from memory; Sexy talking some bullshit about me being in scooter heaven; Pizzal coming all over everything at the site of so many goddamn Beamers; Junius walking around quietly and suddenly laughing out loud about something; Sean yelling "fuckin’ qwer!" at all the guys on scooters; etc.

I made my way towards what I was hoping was the Red Light District. My hostel gave me a map, but I keep my use of it to a minimum. Walking around Amsterdam with a map screams tourist. It’s also a way get coke dealers to spot you in a crowd, just dying to ask the question. Trust me.

I’m suddenly aware of how easy it would be to get lost. Shitty lost. I’ve got an idea of where I’ve come from but only a vague idea of where I am on my map. Lacking any knowledge of the language I find myself incapable of even figuring out what street I’m on, and generally relying on my sense of direction. After about 20 minutes, I’m walking down a corridor when I spot a sex shop ahead. Bingo.

Dildos, tits, porn, ads for sex, and even a 3 ft. high wooden replica of a cock (read: a cock, not the cock) are completely visible from the street. I see kids with parents and old ladies all around. No one seems to care or pay too much attention to the erotic surplus that is, well, everywhere. They tolerate it, respecting the choice of people they’ve never met doing things they’ve probably never heard of, I suppose. Smile and keep walking.

It begins to rain. With the combination of 40 degree weather and steady rain, I attempt to make my way back to the hostel. I could always continue exploring the Red Light District later. A hospital visit was not, unfortunately, on the agenda. Or on the map I was given.

I arrive back at the hostel and make my way to the bar. I plan ..ing the hash joint, a seemingly noble idea. After there’s about 1/7 left, I start feeling woozy. My layers of clothing and jacket weren’t helping things. Shit starts getting weird. Heading to my room, it’s all I can do not to collapse from the strain on my brain. I maintain my composure long enough to crumble on my bunk.

The fubar-ed asshole (read: me) woke up some hours later. Brushing the humiliation off of myself, I make my way back outside.

I’m very fond of a jazz musician named Chet Baker. He died in the 80’s in Amsterdam, fell out of a hotel window. I’ve been looking forward to seeking out this particular hotel, as well as a potential jazz club in the city named Alto.

4 hours later, I’ve failed to locate either place, and frozen my hands still in the process. I did, however, manage to see many beautiful sites and explore a large part of the city. Each street is equally as breathtaking as the last.

During my walk, however, I stumbled upon a right nice little shop of curiosities, mainly of the fungi-derived. I picked up some Hawaiian woodrose and made a mental note to return later for "further inspection." Upon leaving I was greeted (I was looking at my map, no less) by a gentleman who hastily approached me and asked if I was "going to a party tonight?" To which I replied "no." He then got real serious and asked if "I would like to buy some cocaine?" I declined the solicitation and he was on his way. I will attempt to continue denying such advances as best as I can, but in the words of Michael Walkerstein, "ummmm, I can’t promise anything."

The sun is starting to go down, so I make my way to a small café. Everything looks handmade, and tastes like it looks. The Euros I have look like Monopoly money, but he accepts them, and I don’t complain.

After finishing, I begin my nice stroll back to the hostel. I get the laptop and make my way downstairs, where I’m sitting and writing this now, surrounded by people living freely in many different ways all around me, and Pulp Fiction playing in the background.

I’ve found heaven, but God is strangely absent.

Day 2

I awoke to the sound of 3 of my roommates leaving. They had stayed a few days, and were off to Barcelona. All 3 were from Mexico, and seemed to be quite cultured. Only 1 spoke English, which he did pretty well. He functioned as translator for his friends and me.

I dozed off again and awoke some time later. I had turned my phone off and packed it back up, and without any sort of clock or phone I usually have to rely on the sun or a few large building-mounted clocks throughout the city for the time.

I went down to the basement for breakfast. I was slightly disappointed that there wasn’t a ’theme’ to the breakfast like yesterday. Metal breakfast kicked some righteous ass. I helped myself to a croissant and cereal, same as yesterday, and had a few cups of coffee. It seems I had misjudged all of Europe as being tea-drinkers and coffee-haters, due to the Brits speaking so badly of coffee. I was wrong.

I went upstairs to get ready, and also met the 3 roommate replacements. This time, there were 3 girls, apparently from Britain, who were only staying one night. They gave me a very tourist-y vibe.

After getting ready, I retreated back down to finish the previous night’s joint in the lounge. People seem really comfortable and keep to themselves, unless to offer a friendly conversation. It’s nice to have a choice between being the only one in the room or among company. I maintained conversation with some ’dude’ from Arizona who worked out in the desert for ’archaeology,’ and with another guy from Britain who was very friendly.

Upon finishing I embarked on a deeper exploration of the Red Light District. There is a strict rule against photography of the stores ’lady’ displays, so when taking pictures I had to choose my shots carefully. The ladies in the windows do much to get your attention, like tapping and excessively seductive gestures. There are some people, presumably tourists, who will stand there in front of the windows, smoking a cig, just staring at these ladies. I find this slightly repulsive and in bad taste, so I simply smile and keep walking. After all, they’re just working for a living.

I made a stop and visited the Cannabis and Hash Museum, and learned many new things first hand. I was a little disappointed that it appeared to be slightly biased in some areas, like giving only the best info for everything, or not giving equal say to members within the community who might disagree on the efficiency of certain methods over others, but it was a great experience none the less.

After leaving, as I was walking I noticed a few cops hassling some guy. He had the appearance of a ’local bum,’ and it seemed that what he had been doing was walking around the city getting hammered. An officer had taken his bottle and he was getting a little upset. I kept walking, but it didn’t appear to be too bad, either way. He still wasn’t hurting anybody with what he was doing, but that joint I lit up on my walk a few blocks back didn’t cause any alarm.

It’s very surprising how well aware everyone here is regarding traffic and transportation. Near collisions are so common that it’s not long before you stop noticing. I have yet to see any angry drivers and many stop to allow people to cross streets constantly, and I haven’t heard a car horn yet.

After finishing my stroll, I retreat back to my room. There’s a rule at the hostel that says that hash and grass smoke is perfectly ok in many areas, but use of anything else, including mushrooms, is prohibited. I pretend not to have seen it and head up to my room to up the ante. It’s time to find out what that story is, Morning Glory. After taking them, I headed back downstairs to smoke one, and start another journey. The weather has been beautiful today, and I’m hoping that it will stay that way.

Upon arriving outside I was dismayed to see that it had apparently rained while I was inside. Thankfully, it was no longer raining. Feeling comfortably, I made my way towards the main square, just down the street (I say "main" only in the sense that it’s the largest open area closest to my room and there are massive buildings).

After passing the square, I made my way down many streets and alleyways hoping to locate Café Alto, a local jazz club. I am simply in awe at the level of beauty that so many ladies here possess. It can only be described as natural. Sure, there’s a definite level of ugly, but it seems that it’s masked by the large level of beauty. There are so many pretty faces it’s hard to not notice.

I start taking notice of the massive differences in mindset of transportation in regards to what it is back home. The vast majorities of vehicles are tiny. Mini Coopers seem very popular. They even seem wider than average, but a little shorter than most cars. Opel is another popular brand. Their circular logo with a ’Z’ looks scheming-ly like a Nissan when approaching.

It takes me what seems like 3 hours to locate the club. I was, after some time, beginning to get worried that my methods of location were inhibiting my ability to find it. I all but refused to ask people for directions. I feel that it is my responsibility to find it myself, so I can at least learn how to do it. Traveling with people, it’s easy to rely on their ability to navigate well, and consequently never learn. This is a madness I was prepared to stop.

During the journey, it became apparent that it was going to rain, though to what degree I was unsure. The effects of the drug seemed to be kicking in, and I was beginning to feel that each street was just the same as the last. I had, for some time before, been paying closer attention to the culture and people, and less about my direction.

There was a brief moment of panic, where I felt as if I really was lost, and in minor desperation decided that if I couldn’t ask someone, it was time to calling it quits. The sun appeared to be going down, and my odds are obviously better in the daytime. Luckily, I was greatly calmed by my new-found freedom. I’m going to call it "freedom smoking," but you call it whatever you want.

I stopped an asked a lady who was unlocking her scooter from a rail. She gave me quality directions and I proceeded back (thankfully) in the general direction of my room. I had gone too far, apparently.

After covering a great deal of distance, I again asked someone for directions. He pointed me to an area where jazz clubs are more common, just up ahead. After walking up and down a few streets, I finally found Café Alto. It was closed, although it stated that it didn’t open until around 8:00. It was, then, around 6:30.

I decided that, having some time to kill, I would head back to my room to get a bite to eat, before coming back to experience awesome. The prices for food at the hostel are significantly lower than at many of the cafés and eateries.

It took about 25 minutes or so to walk back to the room. It was during this time that I began to realize how long I had been outside. My hands and fingers were pretty much useless deadweights, and clenching a fist was an impossible and slightly painful task. I kept walking.

Upon returning, I sat down at the bar. I ordered a Corleone veggie sandwich, and lit one up for good measure. It’s amazing how difficult it is dealing with their currency. The Euro isn’t so much different from the dollar, other than the fact that the dollar is worth less than a pack of gum these days. Somehow, though, it takes me about 5 minutes to count out some change. 1 euro and 2 euro pieces are coins, not paper money. Many times I simply end up showing them my money and the cashier takes what they need. It’s a lot like what many Mexicans who come to my work in the morning do. Boy, how things change practically overnight.

It was after my food arrived that I began to realize how exhausted I was. 2 days of all day walking and exploring was almost enough to cause me to fall out of my chair. I made my way up the stairs, planning on taking a short break from wonderland and head up to the bar later. Wishful fucking thinking.

The room was empty when I got there, and the light was on. I hopped in bed and fell asleep pretty quickly. No hope of getting back out tonight; I’ll shoot for hitting the club up tomorrow night. Tomorrow is going to be a bit of a work day, as I have some shipping matters to attend to. Today’s special was LSA, but tomorrow I’ll have to make another trip back to that shop I found yesterday.

Looks like tomorrow will be like a real-life Mario game

Day 3

I awoke suddenly. It was still nighttime, but without a clock I’m unable to tell much more than that. I lay me head back down, and try to continue sleeping.

"RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAACCCKKKKKKKKKKK!"

"What?! What the hell was that?"

"RRRRRAAAAAAACCCCCCKKKKKKKK!" *cough* *cough*

"Shit. Is it a person? An animal perhaps? A wolverine? That’s it! A wolverine has invaded the hostel and we must take up arms in defense. For freedom even."

"RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAACCCCKKK!" *sputter* *cough* *wheeze*

Fuck no. It’s just some fat slob from Minnesota snoring loud enough for the entire building to collapse. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, I put my musket down. He would continue this charade for a couple of hours, until sunlight. The other 3 girls were doing no better at sleeping than I was, as they were tossing and turning quite often. I eventually got down and retrieved my Ipod, which only helped with the roar, but did not fully eliminate it.

I would eventually come face to face with the beast later that morning. He was a pretty heavy-set guy, and hella-sloppy. He managed to get my sleeping pants and shirt, which were resting on my bed, wet from his shower. He let a chocolate bar melt on the bunk above him, and managed to shit all over the toilet.

I did not cry when he left later that morning. In fact, I hosted a huge party. All of Amsterdam came, and the local politicians even presented me with a key to the city. I’m sure Customs will seize it when I return home.

I went downstairs for breakfast which, sadly, was still not Metal Breakfast. I did get to enjoy Coldplay, Pink Floyd, and some other bands I was not too familiar with. They fit in some Bob Dylan, and I was glad when they changed it mid-song.

After breakfast, I retreated to my room to get ready. I figured I would hit up some coffeeshops and take care of some ’business’ before heading over to the mushroom shop to start my day.

"Head over to the mushroom shop to start my day." I never thought I’d say some shit like that.

Apparently, there’s a limit to the amount that a coffeeshop will sell, over what span of time I’m not sure. They sell pre-rolled joints (they are cone-shaped and come with a filter at the end. Everyone I’ve gotten has been consistently well wrapped.), 1g and 5g amounts. Strange, it looks like I’m going to have to do the coffee-shop-hop to get what I need.

Customs confiscated my shampoo, Isopropyl, and toothpaste. Any liquid that was over a certain amount… Somehow, my Listerine bottle and 3 lighters were not important. I’m using a bar of soap for shampoo and body wash, which only seems to dry everything out to the point where I’ve almost exhausted my reserves of lotion. I feel like I’m in a perpetual state of dryness.

I’ve managed to make friends with a few of the staff. Aside from that, it’s hard to keep track of people. The hostel doesn’t feel huge, but I’ve heard of some rooms with upwards of 32 people in them. Luckily, there’s only 5 other beds in my room. From time to time, I find people to talk to in the lounge and at the bar, but it’s usually the last time I see them. I’m starting to realize that my entire trip may be spent alone. I am indifferent to this idea, although it would be nice to have someone to walk with around the city. If I could have anyone here, right now, I think it’d be Morning Glory. Something tells me it would be entirely appropriate.

I heard from someone at the hostel bar that the prices in coffeeshops were better in stores in other parts of town. During my walk I was feeling a little more comfortable getting around. The honeymoon arrival was over. I can greatly appreciate this, as it allows me to observe more subtle quirks in the culture.

Bicycles outnumber automobiles by a large amount. Mopeds appear to be the Cadillac of bikes. There are many but are still heavily outnumbered by the bikers. I happened upon a new Civic sedan and, compared to the average auto here reminded me of a Maxima. By far, the funniest occurrence yet has been the sight of an old Lincoln. I swear to god I thought it was a boat as I was approaching it. The many canals make boating pretty common here, so it wasn’t that far of a stretch.

I walked for about 30 minutes before feeling comfortable with the area, and began to look for shops. I was beginning to get flustered, as it seemed that the only time I started looking for a shop, I wasn’t able to find one. I strolled for about 5 minutes before I came to the realization that I was in a goddamn residential area. I made good use of my legs and got out of the bad zone immediately.

A few streets over was where I started finding shops to hit up. One was some type of "eastern" shop, and the guy behind the counter asked me to remove my hat. I did, and apologized for my ignorance.

While he prepared my order, I was fiddling around for my money. I couldn’t find the particular coins I was looking for and subsequently put the hat back on to make use of my other arm. Realizing my mistake, I stopped and took the hat off. Realizing I needed to get my money out, I put my hat back on to look. I repeated this pattern until I was done.

I was able to check out many more shops than just the one I’ve frequented. Each has their own vibe, and the ones located a little uptown were a little more favorable than the ones around the corner.

I’m beginning to notice a definite difference in the areas of living. The poorer sections have a less classy appeal, but do not appear to take too much away from the beauty of the city. The more upscale areas have more area for automobile parking, and tend to be Mercedes and BMW.

If there are any traffic regulations, it’s hard to see what they are. Everybody travels everywhere. Cars on sidewalks; cars on street; people on street; bikes in bike lane; people in bike lane; bike lane becomes sidewalk; bikes on sidewalk…

During all this commotion I have yet to see any unruly or aggressive driving behavior on the part of anyone. Everyone seems fully aware of what’s going on around them, yet it doesn’t deter them from enjoying whatever it is they are doing.

I discovered an auto that I had never seen before. It was so funny looking I stopped and asked someone what it was. I couldn’t understand what it was he said, but he said it was also called a "schnook, like a fish." It appeared to be fit for an older crowd, solidly post-retirement.

I can’t seem to shake this feeling I’ve been in since arrival. It’s neither good, nor bad. It’s not homesickness, because my desire to return diminishes with each passing day. Rather, I think it’s more akin to loneliness than anything else. I have yet to be able to access the internet, so I have not had any connection back home.

On the solidly positive side, I’ve been realizing that any problems or issues or drama back home is completely absent. I had previously toyed with that concept, and was glad to see that it is appearing true.

After stopping at about 4 different shops, I decided to begin the trek back to the room. I figured it was probably a 20-25 minutes walk, and I estimate turned out to be fairly accurate. While I was walking back I walked past a policeman, who was directing traffic or something. I can’t begin to describe the feeling at that moment, walking-by-a-cop-in-the-city-smoking-a-joint. Only 1 thing came to mind: "WTF"

It was good that I decided to come back when I did because when I arrived it had started to rain pretty steadily. I didn’t seem to get very wet though. The rain had a lot of hail, but the pieces were so small that you probably wouldn’t realize it was hail unless you looked at it. It’s more convenient to brush off bits of hail than it is to dry off.

After 2 ½ days here, I’m starting to realize how out of shape I am. I don’t really feel winded from all the walking as much as how sore so many muscles have become, especially in my legs. This was a factor I didn’t take into account before. Next time, I won’t leave the trip info in the lurch.

I decided to get a bite to eat. I ordered another Corleone Veggie sandwich. It tasted better this time, for some reason. After that I went back to my room. I planned on getting a bit of nap in before tonight, so I could stay at the jazz club for a while. Maybe take another Adderall or something. I considered saving the shrooms for tomorrow.

I almost detonated my chest explosive when the beast from this morning ­re-arrived. I was completely shocked…stunned even. How had he survived after the onslaught that was this morning?!?! I know I put three rounds in him alone!!!

He talked for awhile and I was pleasantly surprised to find that another roommate had arrived. She was from Spain and made much effort in trying to speak English to us. She was trying so hard, in a good and friendly way, to communicate with us, and she did very well. She was with 3 other friends, all of whom were very beautiful. They left after a short while, and the beast commenced to a roar slumber with me mere feet away. The sound alone is unhealthy even at a distance of 300 meters.

I haven’t been eating very much, so I decided to get another bite to eat before tonight, because the shop recommended the shrooms on an empty stomach. I really wanted to avoid a bad trip. I found out that some of the pre-rolled joints in many shops contained the bottom-of-the-barrel shit weed, and I can vouch heavily that some of the shit I’ve smoked has put me out a few times. This lifestyle can’t be terribly healthy, but I feel it’s important to experience. That way, you can learn what patterns lead to what types of behavior.

It’s all in the cards, you see. A 3 of a kind always beats a straight.

I feel fine when I get to the bar. I order a sandwich and work ..ing the blizzie from earlier. After finishing the blizzie and sandwich I start to feel like ass again. Should’ve thrown the blizzie away. Fuckin bastards got me.

I head back upstairs to see if I can shake off the shitty before heading to café Alto. With hindsight, I feel like the King of Wishful Thinking. I’m starting to realize how hard I’ve been pushing myself this week. My bodies sayin no, but my mind…my mind is saying lets go. I think that’s a line from a song, but can’t remember which one. Check you local cable listings.

After getting to my room, I hop on the bed, put the Ipod on; it’s Oasis again. I pass out before I realize I’ve arrived at my room.

Day 4

I awake to the sound of some type of monster entering my room. I jump up, sword ready, and prepare to battle. Fortunately, it’s just somebody in to vacuum the room. My reaction surprises her. Something tells me she didn’t get that my Ipod was a sword.

It’s the same girl that took my order last night at the bar (everybody seems to do everything here, and all the employees don’t seem too much older than I am). She referred to my sandwich as a ’toasty.’ She is from South Africa, and they she pronounces it almost makes me want to giggle. Giggle in a Bruce Campbell kind-of-way.

We start talking, and another employee comes in and joins the discussion. She was showing off a bag of grass that someone had given her. That person was leaving, and wasn’t able to take it with them. It’s a very interesting perk to a job, I must say.

Now, back home, giving someone a bag of grass might not seem like anything special. I mean, it’s just fucking grass, right? Well, sort of. You see, here the grass that the Dutch have is more like magical grass. It does all of sorts of things to you in a (sometimes) merciless way. In other words, ’that shit is sssweeet!’

I get up around 1. I’m determined to hit up the jazz club tonight. It seems like such an easy thing to do. I mean, you just go to the place. That’s all I’ve gotta do. Somewhere along the way, though, my body just doesn’t get it. It’s complaining about slaving away for only an Adderall-a-day, sometimes breakfast.

Meanwhile, my mind still thinks we’re on the spaceship.

This is what I’m working with. I managed a little pick-me-up this morning when I put on some Butch Walker. I haven’t been carrying my Ipod around the city, and haven’t really listened to much music this week, other than just happening to be where others are listening to music. It was a good zone.

I haven’t even bothered with the shipping yet. I’m a little behind, but I can’t seem to manage shipping much more than I’ve got. The way I’m dropping 40 and 50 euros is making my spinning head get vertigo.

I’m starting to question whether I ever have any ’official’ roommates. There’s always new people in my room, loading or unloading. It feels like I go to sleep with different people than I wake up with. This time, they’re all Spanish. Spain-type Spanish. Right now, I’m not sure what the other types are.

Today, I need to get the shit ready to be shipped. At my current efficiency rating, I should have everything ready to go by tomorrow. I’ve never heard of a deadline. I’m also going to definitely find the Chet Baker death-hotel. I’ve managed to locate where I think it is, only a few streets over; just a short walk.

The shower in my room is pretty interactive. The shower head is tiny and has about as much pressure coming out as baby spit. The streams of water are as thick as toothpicks and manage to spray the whole shower area. Everything, that is, but me. It takes about 10 minutes to wash out shampoo and another 10 to get fully wet after that. If it gets any worse I plan on seeing what the black market has to offer by-way-of shower heads.

One thing is certain, though: after the shower, it’s Mario go-time. I pop an Adderall, wolf down some shrooms, and head out to do some exploring, blizzie in hand. It’s time to see the baker death drop.

I’m dismayed when I get outside to find that it’s raining. Not hard, but enough to get you wet. I guess that’s the point. I start feeling the shrooms kick in around the time that I find the hotel. I notice this when I ask the attendant if the room is open, and if I can see it. He replies in the negative. I could be biased, but he was a bit of an asshole. I take some pictures and leave.

As I’m walking away from some construction outside, I can’t decide if I should head back until it stops raining or keep walking. After taking notice of a few very wet people, I head back to the hostel.

I head downstairs to the lounge area. There are two distinct rooms, one with speakers and an itunes playlist, and the other with a TV and some guys with their Ipod. One has some Sinead O’Connor bullshit going on, so I choose the other. After a few minutes they leave, and take their Ipod with them. Silence from the TV, making there only 1 soundtrack to the lounge.

All this time (relatively) alone has done some wonders to my soul and inner self, if you will. It seems that it’s easy to get caught up in a busy life, with people around us all the time. I never believed that shit like that could make you a hectic person. Just from being here a few days makes me realize how shitty a lot of that is. It’s just fluff.

I miss the guys and gals. It would be nice if they were here. It’s weird that it seems so scary to take a journey to somewhere with only yourself for company. I think there might even be a slight adjustment shock when I get back.

A German guy comes and sits down in the room on a sofa across from mine. He looked like that guy that comes out of the pictures in Ghostbusters 2.

We talk about politics and government and America and shit. I thought it would be funny if I showed him some of the signs and shit we used to make of Hitler and Mussolini, just to see his reaction. I wasn’t sure if it was really appropriate or not, but whatev.

It became hard to tell how ’normal’ the situation was, as I was fucked to hell and he just wanted to eat his cheese and olives. He told me it was his 5^th trip to Amsterdam. I told him I was just working for a living.

I feel like I have adapted very well to a ’time-less’ system. Granted, I’m not working and out of my mind, but I feel a little better about it. I never know the time, therefore there is no time. There is only ’now.’ I can’t be late in ’now.’ ’Now’ is awesome.

Some people would say that’s lazy-bum-nonsense-talk. I call those people haters.

I find that I’m returning to the hostel frequently throughout the day, doing bits of journaling. I don’t want to leave out anything, but everything’s happening so fast. I don’t seem to be having any memory problems, but without anyone else here, I wouldn’t fucking know anyway.

The weather here is very different than back home. It will be raining, sunny, cloudy, and back again in a matter of 10 minutes. It manages to never be too much of anything, except cold.

People get by very well, it seems, while knowing only bits of each other’s language. Communication is made through gestures and miming. It’s funny to watch 2 people try and converse this way. It’s even funnier when neither of them speaks English.

I realize I’ve been down in the lounge for a while, and it’s time for a new surrounding. I retreat back to my room. It’s around 3:30 at this time. It seemed as if the shrooms were either too weak or were just through, because I wasn’t really feeling very freaky anymore. I mean, you know.

I decided that it would be a good idea to grab a bite to eat and get a quick nap in, because tonight was going to be straight to jazz central on the fucked-up-express. I decided that, although it was sprinkling outside, it would be a good idea to ’swing by’ that little café I had tried the day I arrived. I put my cashmere sweater on, followed by a jacket, popped collar, and hat.

About halfway to my destination, I begin to realize that it is actually raining pretty steadily, and had apparently forgotten to consider the walking distance from last time. My hungry clock registered 5-7min, while in actuality it was a solid 25 min walk.

It was around this time that I began to realize that I had made a poor decision in leaving when I did. I was beginning to get pretty wet, and I still had to walk back. I figured I could alleviate this problem by staying and eating at the café, and waiting to see if the rain would calm down. I could even dry off in the process. Novel idea, here we go.

I’m not sure how long I had been fucked up and not realized it, but it didn’t dawn on me until I reached the café. I found it hard to speak to the guy, and my soaked and shade-less appearance made my state of mind all the more recognizable. I ordered, and struggled a bit coordinating my movement while carrying food. I managed to sit down, but couldn’t decide if I should keep my chair out or in. I half-assed both ways and moved on about a minute later.

I’m struggling to eat, soaking wet, in a strange café and completely la-la. I was a little disappointed in myself for being so dumb, but I finally managed to finish my meal, wrap up what I was taking with me, and head out the door. I hadn’t managed much in the way of drying off; rather, the droplets were now soaked in.

It was somewhere between leaving the café and about 45 minutes later that I noticed something was wrong. I suddenly realized that I was in a residential area of the city I didn’t recognize, and I shouldn’t have come anywhere close to one. I had managed pretty well every other day, so I didn’t really question my ability to continue walking and recognize where I was. I kept walking.

At this point I’m starting to get pretty wet, jeans and hat too. The rains picked up a bit, and I can barely feel my hands. My whole face is dripping fresh rain. I don’t manage to notice much of where I’m going, preferring to use my new found mental power to fight for justice, all things considered.

The first point that caused a serious panic was the realization that I was going in a large circle. I’m not sure how long I had been doing this, but I began to notice that the "hey I know that landmark…" ended up being obviously wrong ways. I would effectively do this at 4 corners of a complex in the city, effectively going in a large square(d circle).

I decided to pull my map out, which had been folded and refolded so much it was torn and difficult to use in the current weather. This illicit-ed some giggles from some people in the area, and I couldn’t tell if they knew what was really going on. I pretended to be top-of-the-morning and kept up a solid pace past them.

It was around this time that I started telling myself I needed to calm down, get my head straight, and handle it. I was telling myself that I wasn’t lost; I had no problem navigating before anyway, so this wasn’t much at all.

It was when I started noticing people staring at my appearance that I started to really resorting to fighting to kept my head straight, and realizing how out of touch I was with everything. I started asking people for directions, but found myself unable to tell them where I needed to go. I could only really manage to attempt to point to where I thought it was, but that was what I was asking them. I suddenly forgot all the landmarks and hip spots in my area. Some girl asked me if I was looking for the red light district. I started to knock her out over one of the canals, but I figured that would just make me look more suspicious.

The high point came when I happened upon another residential district. It was obviously not a very affluent area of sorts, and when I heard some screaming a block over I began to stifle panic as best as I could. I began walking very fast, but the thing about being lost is you always feel like you’re heading in the wrong direction, so you never get anywhere.

I was really wet by now, and was starting to sweat under all the fucking layers I had put on. I really didn’t want to get too hot and deal with that, laying in a gutter, so I began to unbutton my jacket and loosen my collar. It feels like it’s in the 30’s and raining; and I’m soaking wet with an open jacket fanning myself and walking like a madman.

I’m still terribly out of my head at this point too, and would manage that trip for another 4 hours or so. I can’t decide if I’m cold or hot, but I’m definitely wet and lost and freaking out. I began to notice people who, if walking the same way, would speed up as I approached them, as if I was following them. One guy took to darting in some little alcove; it was kind of silly, even then.

I began thinking about bad shit. Passing out, freaking out, lying on the sidewalk fucked up and in the slums; bad shit. I decided to ask for directions again. I chased a guy down and apologized profusely for stopping him in the rain. By his face he seemed sympathetic to my cause; I had to look like total shit at this point. All I could manage this time around was to pull out my torn, wet map and ask him to point. It was the lowest of low.

He managed to point out the direction of two landmarks I was familiar with and I thanked him over and over and started walking furiously in that direction. I didn’t stop for anything. I was getting even more freaked out by how every road looked identical; same building, same roofs, same windows, etc. I had not noticed this fucked detail until now.

As quickly as I had descended into lost oblivion terror I was back into familiar territory. I was still completely on the brink of collapse, but at least I knew that I was going to make it back. The increased rain had put many people in doors, and some streets I didn’t see anyone out.

I managed to get back to downtown and made my way pretty quickly to my hostel. There were 3 fat idiot bullshitters standing in front of the door, trying to use their keycard to get in, but failing 100%. It took every muscle in my body to maintain my composure as I stood and watch them fail. Finally, they got it opened. I brushed past them as they worked to pick up their bags and made my way inside.

Because of the rain, the lobbies and bar of the hostel were packed; at least twice as full as I had ever seen it. People were everywhere. I received a couple of looks as I did battle with the keycard machine thing inside. There’s another barricade inside that you have to unlock with your keycard. For security, you know.

After busting through, I headed very quickly upstairs. All idea of reality was gone at this point. I stumbled up the stairs and managed to regain composure when passing people in the hallway. I busted through my room door. My room was empty, as it usually is during the day.

I figured I would take my wet clothes off, throw them in the cabinet under my bed, leave the shit in the pockets for later, and get to sleep asap. This was a feeling I had to get rid of. I tried laying down but was too wired to do anything. I was freaking out still and couldn’t figure out what to do. There are times when you realize how badly shit can get, and the stress that causes is absolutely unique. I was out of joints, and new I was in no shape to head back out again. I did have the other shit I bought, and that would have to do.

I was worried that a meltdown in the middle of a crowded bar wouldn’t help the situation, but if I didn’t get out of the Alice in Wonderland bedroom and take something to calm down I was going to start climbing the walls.

I managed to get dressed, somehow, and get everything ready for a short trip downstairs. The hostels provide many, many different kinds of pipes for anyone and everyone to use. Some of them are sitting out for anyone to use. You can even go to the bartender and ask for one and they hand you a basket full of them.

I approached the bartender, using every muscle in my body to keep from falling over. I pick a pipe out and head down to the lounge to pack one, huff it down, and head back up to pass out. I get downstairs and, you know, casually sit down. I pinch pieces off, stack them in the bowl, and compress. There wasn’t any time for primping the bowl. I smoke a little bit and start to calm down a little. Some people are watching a movie in the other room, so I try to check it out to calm my head.

It can get very hot downstairs, and I’ve managed a few times where I started to get too hot because I had forgotten to take it off when I got inside. This would be another one of those times.

I started to get another bad feeling all of a sudden. I had just packed the rest of what I had taken out when I decided to just shovel it back in the bad and get to the room asap. I’d just have to return the pipe later (which I did).

I got up and started walking. I, of course, stood up too quickly and combined with the less oxygen in the brain from just smoking, and started to feel really bad. I started holding on to an adjacent bar and was fighting to stay to keep from falling over.

I managed to push off and just keep pushing until I made it to my room. One step at a time; one step at a time. Fast rhythm. When I finally made it in, I threw my clothes off and laid down to start cooling and work on getting to sleep.

It was shortly after this point that I was able to calm down and enjoy my trip. It was more intense, in its own way, than the stuff back home, but it was definitely fun once I was in the proper environment for it. I lay on my bunk looking up at the ceiling with music in my ears. The trip had been a demented, Jekyll and Hyde vibe to it. I wondered aloud if someone was up to something.

This would go on for well into the night, until I passed out a few hours after that.

Day 5

I woke up in a much calmer state than I was anticipating. Going from caveman to space god in the course of about 6 hours could do a lot of things to you. I looked around and noticed that the room had, somehow, gotten full. People seemed to be popping up everywhere.

My head was still a bit scattered. I was a bit worried about traveling into the city anymore. I didn’t want to get into another second-guessing match with myself, and end up lost again. I figured I would have to head out a bit and test the waters to make sure I wasn’t too loony after yesterday.

I threw some wrinkled clothes on and made my way down to breakfast. I’ve been very pleased that, although they only set out one type of jelly for breakfast, it’s strawberry. Grape jelly is for Christians.

After breakfast, I make my way to the computers to see if I can finally get connected to Yahoo and send some sort of email back home, alerting a few select locals back home of my arrival 4 days ago. This time was not like the others. This time I was successful. I type this email back home:

"Amsterdam is crazy. I never see the same people twice. Girls in windows in lingerie. jazz club. Coffeeshops everywhere. Some have good shit, others will put you down for awhlie. had both. tried some new shit wow wow wow. bought some shrooms for today. tomorrow I willfind out what that story really is, morning glory. that's an oasis reference. walked all around the city. red lights okay. the uptown section is much better. going shrooming to the jazz club tonight. traffic is so efficiently fucked up its funny. cars on sidewalk; people on sidewalk; bikes in bike lane; people in bike lane; cars in bike lane; bikes on sidewalk; cars going around bikes and people on sidewalk; cars going both ways down 1 ways...nobody honks or gets mad or yells. I've never seen anything like it. Near accidents happen so often they stop scaring you. Nobody even looks up. I've been fucked up and lost more times than I can count now, but it works out ok. I refuse to pester the locals about getting around, preferring to do it myself. It makes for much longer walks, to put it mildly.

Tell swoons i said hey. give her one of those delicious can foods she loves so much, maybe even microwave. Is she handling everything ok? jade come by? sorry about the quality of this email...long day...a bit scattered.

Word.

- Cole"

I realize after I send it how ridiculous it sounds, but my inclination to worry is all but removed, both after yesterday's events as well as my geographical standing didn't warrant much fear.

I go upstairs and kill some time. Some time later I get ready, and decide to go out for a final round of coffeeshop hopping, maybe visit the Sexmuseum, and stop by the mushroom store to pick up some Morning Glory and Salvia.

I brought the camera along to take some more pictures of the city, and figured that would give me a legitimate excuse to experiment with my navigational sense. I found no problem in being able to function while walking around, which was relieving.

The sexmuseum was real special. I took some pictures of the crazy shit. There was this section detailing the history of sex, from ancient Romans and Greeks, etc. There were many different types of people inside, and none looked like a pervert of any shape of size. Families with teenage kids were readily exploring all the hardcore s&m, anal, vintage, bondage, etc. pictures and stories that were on display. Some English mom took a picture of her two teenage girls sitting on a massive, hard, penis-chair. I tried not to get in there way.

I stopped by a café and picked up a something to eat. While I was in line, it started raining again. I chatted with a middle-aged, British couple. They were very fancy looking. Proper, as it were.

Plus, I needed to get all that shit packed up. My procrastination habits are not so easily forgettable, even if many other things are. I finally got settled in and started preparing the stuff. About an hour in, some of my roommates returned. They were from DC, and spoke English. Asians, no less, and they were a couple.

We sat and talked for awhile before they invited me to go out with them tonight. I accepted. By now, I was dying for someone, anyone, to make conversation with. I was already forgetting how to formulate sentences.

I allowed them to lead the way through most of the walks, as they were more familiar with the area. They were incredibly fond of this little eatery I had missed, right down from where the hostel was. They took me there, and was surprised by the ingenuity. It was, essentially, a store front café, where all the food was behind these little glass doors and you got the food by putting coins into a change machine of sorts. The food was decent, but it was pretty cheap. It gave me the feeling of an odd, Dutch-McDonald’s-school-cafeteria hybrid, as it were.

After getting some food, they were anxious about showing me some of their favorite coffeeshops. They were strange, in that they kept recounting and repeating how many coffeeshops they’d been to. What began to follow was a string of coffeeshop hops that sent us high as kites.

Their method to the madness was, essentially, like bar hopping. We would arrive at Coffeeshop a, and order. Then, roll a blizzie and sit for minute. After which, we left and would hit up the next-closest coffeeshop. We made our way around a large section of the city before heading back.

It was an environment like no other bar-scene I had ever seen: Coffeeshop after coffeeshop, each getting progressively stranger than the last. Some asked me to take my hat off, which I obliged. But the caliber of people was not so much what I expected. Middle-aged, average Joes sitting in a smoke-filled bar smoking Dutch-quality grass. In the middle of the city.

At one of the shops we stopped at, I purchased a space cake. Edible goods. The Asian couple told me that, on their previous trip, they took some space cakes with them and had no problem with Customs, dogs included. I decided to keep the space cake for the train ride to the station the next day. It would be nice to have if I’m not able to leave the terminal when I arrive in Paris.

Days 6 & 7

I awoke a short time before breakfast, feeling well rested. I threw some clothes on and walked downstairs to do battle with the hostel’s network and internet connections. They were nice enough to provide 5 desktops and internet for free, but obviously spent all their money on that stuff cause I’m sure they’re only paying for dial-up internet. Or they’re getting fucked big time.

I managed to check a little of the news and my email before the connection crashed into oblivion. I headed downstairs for breakfast of the same stuff I’d had every other morning. They only provided one kind of jelly, but I’ll be goddamned if they didn’t make it strawberry. Every American retailer always carries grape jelly. Who really likes grape jelly? The secret is no one.

After breakfast I retreated back to my room to pack. I had to be out of my room by 10:30, but I could make use of their luggage room until I had to leave. I got all my shit together, stuffed the envelopes in my jacket pockets, and went downstairs to check out and put my stuff in the luggage room.

I then headed out to find the post office and hit up a couple of coffeeshops. You know, for good measure. I had ½ a joint left and that just wasn’t gonna do. I finished that one and stopped by a place that was on the way to replace it. I stopped by the mushroom store, again, and picked up a small pipe as a souvenir.

It was a nice walk to the post office. The air was cold outside, and looked like it would definitely be raining some today. After taking care of the business, and having quite a few hours to kill, I lit one up and made my way a short distance to the Torture Museum. Inside was all this information and pictures about the history of torture. It was charming, as it were.

On my way back, I stopped by the Amsterdam Historic Museum. It was some old building with all these old, massive paintings of previous colonial leaders and such. Their penises must have been massive.

I made an impromptu stop at a nearby liquor store and picked up a bottle of Absinthe. I had heard it was now legal to purchase in the States but figured it would be more appropriate to get where an icon of the city allegedly cut his ear off while under the influence of it (read: Van Gogh). A real stand-up guy.

After returning to the hostel, I found that my keycard no longer worked, and they buzzed me in. I sat down in the lounge and smoked again. A group of people were in the other room watching episodes of some show from HBO called Flight of the Concords. I was unfamiliar with it but heavily impressed. I’ll have to make a note to download it when I get home.

I got my stuff together upstairs and lit up the last one of the trip. It was a little sad. A moment followed. Then, I grabbed my bags and started my walk up to Central Station, where I would take a train to the airport. Some French guy and his wife stopped me to ask if the train was going to the airport. I told him it was.

It only takes about 20 minutes to get to the airport, so we were there in no time. When I checked it, I was told I could only bring 1 carry on this time, so my larger suitcase was sent ahead to Atlanta. Being able to carry on both bags meant quicker departure from the airport and would reduce the risk of a bad getting lost, but no matter now.

The flight to Paris was a short one. The stewards barely had time to pass out crackers and drinks. We had just received a snack and were told that we were being prepared to land. Living in France, perhaps, has more perks than I thought.

I was a little disappointed that my 10 hr layover in Paris would be spent all in the terminal, Victor Navorski-style. Apparently, the trains don’t run at night and a taxi is out of the question. I was pretty cold outside anyway. It was even shittier when I found out everything closes. No food. No drink. Just a long walk through a large airport terminal. I, and several others, happened upon an area of the airport that had a little café, with booths for seating. We decided that they made great beds and napped there for a couple of hours.

I awoke about 2 hrs later by about 5 police officers telling us we had to move, and to see our passports. They were kicking out the homeless people. Either way, the metal chair I ended up on was far more uncomfortable than the café booth.

I noticed some French army men walking around the airport. They were carrying a gun I recognized. I can’t recall the name of it, but it looked very similar to a weapon my friend Junius preferred on a game he used to play all the time. It seemed a little strong to be carrying around like they were in an empty terminal.

Even without visiting the city, I get a different sense of the people here than in the Netherlands. They seem to be a bit more proper. Better kempt, perhaps. I can’t explain it, but they seem to be a little more professional about things than in Holland, but not so much in a bad way. It just might need some deeper exploration at a later date.

I managed a couple of more naps during the night. The terminal started filling up around 5:30. I was surprised at how quickly it started buzzing. My flight didn’t start boarding until 7:35, so I had some time to kill. I decided to go in search of some open food establishment.

None was open yet, so I had to wait a bit. I took another little stroll around the terminal, as it were, scanning for any other open food places I might have missed. I found one on the bottom floor, near where I was supposed to check in. I got a raspberry strudel and a small box of Toblerone chocolate. I was first introduced to this brand of chocolate by the Szekes family. The have quite the knack for anything edible. This, of course, makes them awesome.

I grabbed my breakfast and headed towards my flight. I had already received a boarding pass the night before when I arrived in Paris. I went through all the motions before getting to the boarding area. I waited while everyone else went through the line to be approved for boarding. Towards the end, I hopped on and proceeded through.

Some cocksucker asked me to stop while he searched through my luggage and thoroughly patted me down. They didn’t pat me down when I was on the way to a godless, sodomite-infested country; They didn’t even pat me down for drugs when I was leaving; but I’m forced to wait in an airport terminal for 10 hrs and suddenly I look suspicious. Efficiency has, apparently, never really been important.

I’m very pleased, when I get on the plane, to find that this is the nicest plane yet. The seats are very comfortable and there’s built-in TVs on all the seats. I watched American Gangster and an episode of Friends and The Office.

While on the plane, I also finished the rest of Cat’s Cradle. I began to think of my biological family as a granfalloon. Perhaps this was mean, but I’m not going to tell anyone.

With slightly over an hour to go, I get comfortable and put on another show to watch. It’s time to enjoy the second meal they accidentally brought me by mistake.

I’m not sure where to go, or what to do now. Nobody back home will understand what the trip was like, what I learned, or how it’s changed me. I despise many things back home, and I’m not sure how this is going to adjust.

I’m sure I will call out of work tonight, as I’m simply going to be too tired to move. They will probably complain, but fuck them. They’re asses.

School in France is still looking appealing. I enjoy some of the luxuries in the states but, above all else, I can honestly say that I feel more respected as an individual and as a person in Europe. Things that are seen as daily crises’ back home are silently absent there. Less drama could lead to more enjoyment; Or, to something else.

Europe may or may not be for me, completely, but I feel more a part of something useful and productive afterwards, that I did not feel before. As I sit here on the plane, contemplating the trip, my arrival, and my sanity, I slip the trash from my first meal into my suitcase. What they won’t know won’t hurt them. After all, I’m really just working for a living.

But even after all this, there’s still no catharsis. Things are still the same when I return. Our country’s still in a shithole, and everybody with it. It’s a goddamn shame. All the wonderful, fabulous things about Dutch culture aside, I’m left with only one understanding upon returning home.Having to save, book, plan, and travel halfway across the world simply to enjoy something that my Constitution guarantees me anyway is, simply, a massive goddamn inconvienence.

But it was worth it.

Our Duty as Citizens

It is the ultimate duty of the citizens to police the government and demand that the rights of the people are to be upheld fully and completely, indefinitely.

If a person can't guarantee the rights of his neighbor, how can he be sure of guaranteeing his own rights?

It's important for everyone, regardless of beliefs or personal practices, to stand up for all the rights of the people. Virtually every issue is important to only a minority of people.

It's not just the responsibility of women to stand up for women's rights, or gays for gay rights, or drugs for recreational users, blacks for civil rights, etc.

Women should have the right to vote, not because a person is or isn't a woman, but because it's the right thing to do.

On 'Godly' Interpretation

Everyone tries to 'play' God,

Preachers simply get paid for it.

On Raising Children

It seems so many children are treated cruelly in the name of "discipline" and "raising them right." Some politicians even favor stricter or equal penalties for child and adult law-breakers.

This is a shame, as the time for learning is especially strong as a child. That's when it's, obviously, okay to fuck up: They're still learning!

Kids are told that strict discipline is important so they will "know how to act as an adult," and when they reach adulthood is "when they can make their own choices."

However, it seems when someone turns 18, they are automatically expected to immediately "act like an adult."


When is it ever appropriate to have fun and be a kid?

2 Fundamental Differences of Government Application

Is the creation and function of government to:

Protect the people (Government sees citizens as territory)

-or-

Protect the rights of the people? (Government sees citizens as people; responsible individuals)


When has society failed from too much freedom??