Hey Al! I know, I know. I thought the entire open letter routine would be over too (especially since nobody cares about them). But, honestly; I haven't posted for a week, tuesday's a slow news day, and I've got the fucking fwu, so bear with me. Basically see it as you making fun of Donald Rumsfeld, it's easy, it's fun, and you can sleep peacefully by the end of the day.
Anyhoo, the reason I'm writing you is because I just finished reading your new book 'The Truth (with jokes)', the long awaited follow up to your 2003 book "LIES and the lying liers who tell them" about... well.. lies. Although the title may fool some, in your new book you're basically doing the exact same thing you did in 'Lies'; talk about how right wing people lie and counter it with the truth.
Well, your truth.
Overall, I have to say; funny. Not always Lies funny, but definetly more funny than Michael Moore funny (but honestly, these days, what isn't?). During certain parts of your book I had a bit of a deja vu feeling (even a deja vu all over again feeling if you will) concerning your earlier material and certain parts I already knew just by following the news.
Mind you, there was some stuff I really liked about the book. Your views on the Kerry campaign, for instance, were pretty darn good (especially on how they decided to make the American people relive everybody's favorite era.... The Vietnam War), I liked your story on how you lived through election night and if what you wrote about Tom DeLay is only true for 20% the man should be in jail for the rest of his life. Oh, and that part where you talk about how you feel about religion and the role your father played in that... tears in my eyes, honestly.
I just have two little pieces of criticism.
First, the title. Now, I agree this isn't really your fault, and I also agree that the title (The Truth - with jokes) is quite funny. So no issues there. The problem is that my beloved bestest friend the Squirrel now adds 'with jokes' to every other word he says to me. If he were to talk about food he might say "Pizza.... with jokes". Sure, our pizzas are usually served with jokes, but I'm afraid this one might stick (we still do the SNL cowbell sketch every week).
Second, and this is sort of the main one; the last chapter, in which you write an open letter to your grandchildren. First of all, open letters, puhlease! So boring. But more importantly; you write the letter from the perspective of the future.
Ouch.
The problem here is, that it's just so painfully awkward. Awkward as in, I'm still trying to get my toes straight after reading it. In the chapter, you talk about how basically the Democrats have won everything after the 2004 election. You yourself even become senator (you live in New York, does this mean you expect Hillary to become president? or are you planning on killing the other senator?) . Then, in the few days between the installment of the new congress and the installment of the new president, you impeach George W. Bush for the fun of it. Also, as of now you have no grandchildren, so you're kind of putting the presure on your kids there.
The problem with the "writing-from-the-future-style" is that you're always gonna be wrong in the end. I mean, look at George Orwell with 1984, man was he wrong with that one! (.... no wait!). More importantly, it's so common. Michael Moore did it in one of his book for instance (and just as awkwardly... I like the word awkward, have you noticed?) and even this particular letter is written from the perspective of tomorrow morning.
Oh, and if you are getting in a fist fight with Bill O'Reilly, could we have video footage of that?
Cheerio!
boris
ps. do you know Michael Bolton?
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
The fools they are as men
Before I start I would like to make it clear that the "men" mentioned in this title are not the ones of the "Hi, I have a penis and I like chopping wood" variety but of the general "animals related to monkeys" species. Just wanted to make that clear, continue reading!
As careful readers of this bilog (NOTE; I'm trying to introduce this as a new way of saying blog, you know, like bi-atch instead of bitch, is it catching on?) may know, I have a job. A job that includes way too many responsibilities for the amount of money they pay me and a nice, but homophobic, boss, but still a job. A job I have to get to. On sundays. Just bear with me.
To get to the place where I work I usally take a tram (which didn't drive last sunday because of the marathon, no problem I walked) and then the subway. The subway drives through a trainstation. Usually I have to wait about 10 minutes or something before the subway I need arrives. Honestly, I'm getting to a point.
When I entered the platform (does one enter a platform? I'm not sure) a woman was standing there with two little girls. At first I assumed they were waiting for a train or a subway, but when a man ran up the stairs and started screaming at the woman I quickly figured out what was going on. The man and the woman were either divorced or trying desperately to get to that stage and this was that magical moment where the kids were to be turned over from one parent to the other.
Or, as you could also call it; the moment the shit hits the fan.
Since the man was screaming at his (soon to be) ex-wife, it was fairly easy (if not impossible) for all the other people around them not to hear what was going on. The two had apparently agreed that the mom would bring the children to the station, where the dad would then take them home. Apparently the two weren't on the level of allowing eachother into their homes.
However, when making the appointment, the two had apparently forgot to specify where they were going to meet. The result was that the mom was standing on the platform with the two kids, while the dad was waiting at the main entrance. And, from what I got from the screaming, both had been there for over half an hour.
Usually when a mix up like that occurs, you get worried, you try to call people on cell phones (apparently they also were not on the level of calling eachother), and when you eventually do find eachother, there's a feeling of relief that nobody died. Or maybe that's just me, I'm a drama queen. But when you're in the middle of your divorce, apparently you don't feel that way.
Out of the two, the collective platform sympathy went to the woman. She remained calm while her ex-hubby screamed. Her ex-hubby lost even more valuable points by the sort of sentences he barfed out; "I'm giving you extra service by coming to this platform!" he yelled, "Do you know how much time you've stolen from me?". The fact that he had the worst (nouveau)-riche accent I have ever heard, didn't do much good either.
The entire thing could have been amusing in a disturbing way, were it not for the girls. From what I understand, a lot of kids of divorced parents for a long time keep on hoping that maybe they will come back together after all, add to that the fact that it's never fun to see two people you love scream to eachother, and you have the perfect nightmare. While their dad was screaming at their mom, the two girls wandered off to the end of the platform where they both cried like only little girls can cry; hard and heartbreaking.
When my subway finally arrived, the guy also finally decided he had enough of his own screaming, took the kids and left. Leaving me with the impression that his two daughters will probably be screwed up for the rest of their lives. Now, I may be getting too Dr. Phil-ish here, but all of this made me really, really sad.
Crap, I forgot to put jokes in this thing.
As careful readers of this bilog (NOTE; I'm trying to introduce this as a new way of saying blog, you know, like bi-atch instead of bitch, is it catching on?) may know, I have a job. A job that includes way too many responsibilities for the amount of money they pay me and a nice, but homophobic, boss, but still a job. A job I have to get to. On sundays. Just bear with me.
To get to the place where I work I usally take a tram (which didn't drive last sunday because of the marathon, no problem I walked) and then the subway. The subway drives through a trainstation. Usually I have to wait about 10 minutes or something before the subway I need arrives. Honestly, I'm getting to a point.
When I entered the platform (does one enter a platform? I'm not sure) a woman was standing there with two little girls. At first I assumed they were waiting for a train or a subway, but when a man ran up the stairs and started screaming at the woman I quickly figured out what was going on. The man and the woman were either divorced or trying desperately to get to that stage and this was that magical moment where the kids were to be turned over from one parent to the other.
Or, as you could also call it; the moment the shit hits the fan.
Since the man was screaming at his (soon to be) ex-wife, it was fairly easy (if not impossible) for all the other people around them not to hear what was going on. The two had apparently agreed that the mom would bring the children to the station, where the dad would then take them home. Apparently the two weren't on the level of allowing eachother into their homes.
However, when making the appointment, the two had apparently forgot to specify where they were going to meet. The result was that the mom was standing on the platform with the two kids, while the dad was waiting at the main entrance. And, from what I got from the screaming, both had been there for over half an hour.
Usually when a mix up like that occurs, you get worried, you try to call people on cell phones (apparently they also were not on the level of calling eachother), and when you eventually do find eachother, there's a feeling of relief that nobody died. Or maybe that's just me, I'm a drama queen. But when you're in the middle of your divorce, apparently you don't feel that way.
Out of the two, the collective platform sympathy went to the woman. She remained calm while her ex-hubby screamed. Her ex-hubby lost even more valuable points by the sort of sentences he barfed out; "I'm giving you extra service by coming to this platform!" he yelled, "Do you know how much time you've stolen from me?". The fact that he had the worst (nouveau)-riche accent I have ever heard, didn't do much good either.
The entire thing could have been amusing in a disturbing way, were it not for the girls. From what I understand, a lot of kids of divorced parents for a long time keep on hoping that maybe they will come back together after all, add to that the fact that it's never fun to see two people you love scream to eachother, and you have the perfect nightmare. While their dad was screaming at their mom, the two girls wandered off to the end of the platform where they both cried like only little girls can cry; hard and heartbreaking.
When my subway finally arrived, the guy also finally decided he had enough of his own screaming, took the kids and left. Leaving me with the impression that his two daughters will probably be screwed up for the rest of their lives. Now, I may be getting too Dr. Phil-ish here, but all of this made me really, really sad.
Crap, I forgot to put jokes in this thing.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Paperback Writer
As Jari, my favorite Finn in the world, already said on his blog; it's NaNoWriMo time.
NaNoWriMo, as you may, or more likely may not, know is a yearly thing that enables wannabe writers like myself, Jari and thousands of others around the world, to finally actually write something. The idea is quite simple; so many of us who try to write a book get stuck after page 5. The problem is that, even though we may have great ideas, we don't quite know how to move beyond the first stage. Also, we start combing through that first stage so finely that in the end there's nothing left, really. This generally makes us forget about the project and it stops us from imagening ever winning the Booker Prize.
Enter NaNoWriMo (short for National Novel Writing Month). The concept is the following; in one month (specifically November) people taking part are expected to write a book (fiction, non-fiction, thrillers, short stories, romantic novels, anything goes really) of 50 000 words. You start on november 1 at 0;01 and you end on november 31 at 23;59. If you succeed, the only thing you get is the right to gloat. If you lose, well, you lose.
Last year I took part for the first time. I tried to write a novel about two guys, of which one had just killed their mutual best friend (oh relax, he didn't mean to, he was stoned). The two guys were sitting in a car trying to get out of the country, which, obviously is not a bad strategy after you killed somebody. The problem was, that the amount of stuff you can write about two guys sitting in a car, is... well... limited. Needless to say, I learned that the hard way.
An additional problem was that the story took place in the United States, a country I love but I do not live in. This meant that I had to make a lot of stuff up. Sure, with fiction you make most stuff up, but entire landscapes in actual existing towns and places, I dunno. On top of that, I had no clear idea on what I wanted with the characters, loads of papers to write, and classes.
So yes, I failed. Lost. Screwed up. Crashed. Died. At the end of november I had nothing. Nada. Niente.
THIS year, I'm doing it completely different. Instead of one good idea, I have two ideas. One of them could actually lead to a good book, but it's going to be pretty darn difficult to write. The other one, might be very easy to write but it will be nothing special at the same time. For both ideas I have no plot, no characters, no names, no places.......
But! I do have the titles ready. So, basically, I can't think of a reason why this year I'm not going to win the Booker Prize next year.
===
For more info visit www.nanowrimo.org
NaNoWriMo, as you may, or more likely may not, know is a yearly thing that enables wannabe writers like myself, Jari and thousands of others around the world, to finally actually write something. The idea is quite simple; so many of us who try to write a book get stuck after page 5. The problem is that, even though we may have great ideas, we don't quite know how to move beyond the first stage. Also, we start combing through that first stage so finely that in the end there's nothing left, really. This generally makes us forget about the project and it stops us from imagening ever winning the Booker Prize.
Enter NaNoWriMo (short for National Novel Writing Month). The concept is the following; in one month (specifically November) people taking part are expected to write a book (fiction, non-fiction, thrillers, short stories, romantic novels, anything goes really) of 50 000 words. You start on november 1 at 0;01 and you end on november 31 at 23;59. If you succeed, the only thing you get is the right to gloat. If you lose, well, you lose.
Last year I took part for the first time. I tried to write a novel about two guys, of which one had just killed their mutual best friend (oh relax, he didn't mean to, he was stoned). The two guys were sitting in a car trying to get out of the country, which, obviously is not a bad strategy after you killed somebody. The problem was, that the amount of stuff you can write about two guys sitting in a car, is... well... limited. Needless to say, I learned that the hard way.
An additional problem was that the story took place in the United States, a country I love but I do not live in. This meant that I had to make a lot of stuff up. Sure, with fiction you make most stuff up, but entire landscapes in actual existing towns and places, I dunno. On top of that, I had no clear idea on what I wanted with the characters, loads of papers to write, and classes.
So yes, I failed. Lost. Screwed up. Crashed. Died. At the end of november I had nothing. Nada. Niente.
THIS year, I'm doing it completely different. Instead of one good idea, I have two ideas. One of them could actually lead to a good book, but it's going to be pretty darn difficult to write. The other one, might be very easy to write but it will be nothing special at the same time. For both ideas I have no plot, no characters, no names, no places.......
But! I do have the titles ready. So, basically, I can't think of a reason why this year I'm not going to win the Booker Prize next year.
===
For more info visit www.nanowrimo.org
Monday, October 10, 2005
Graceland - the pictures
EDIT; also check the link above.
"You're gonna put this on a photo blog. Dude, you're using too much!"
Obviously I am aware that this blog is not a photo-blog (Perish the thought though, old chap! A photo blog! Will the madness ever end?) but there's a few pics of my Kenya trip I wanted to share. Sorry for the immensly crappy quality of the pics, I'm trying to figure out a place where I can put the bigger versions online.
Two girls working at a school project. Unlike most Dutch and American schools, this school doesn't have internet so the computers are actually being used for studying, instead of porn searching. I am just as surprised as you are.
"You're gonna put this on a photo blog. Dude, you're using too much!"
Buffelos on safari: "Are you.... local people?"
This is a baby elephant crossing the road right behind our car. It's mommy was in the bushes to the right, and the driver was sorta nervous about it. I think he saw Jumanji too many times.
My friends at the school for the mentally handicaped...
... and the kids I talked about in my post below.
I've got loads more, but as I said, I just need a place to put them online. Suggestions are more than welcome!
Friday, October 07, 2005
Graceland
Fear not my faithful followers (... hi Jari), I have returned! And, just to kill the suspense I know so many of you are feeling right now, so far, I appear to be free of any weird disseases. So sorry Squirrel and Merel, you'll get my stuff later.
Anyhoo, Kenya. To somewhat paraphrase Jon Stewart; the short way to describe it is wow. The long way to describe it is wooooooooooooooooow. It is, maybe with the exception of certain parts of Italy (*Barry White music starts now* Honestly baby, that other country, it meant nothin' to me *Barry White music stops*), the most beautiful country I have ever seen. It's almost impossible to describe it, but there's a certain calmness and serenity in the landscape. Actually, in a way, it's exactly like Tuscany, but then again not quite.
Kenyans themselves are also a lot like Italians. But worse. Basically, I think they are how Italians would be if they had to deal with Kenyan temperatures and humidity rates. What that means is that Kenyan people are the most friendly and laidback people you will ever meet. What that also means is that, like with Italians, it's practically impossible to make appointments with them. In Italy, some trains have 'squigly lines' next to them on the schedules in the trainstations. These lines mean (and I swear to god I am not making this up) "this train may or may not arrive". In Kenya squigly lines would be everywhere. It sounds horrible, but once you let go of European or American time and surrender to Kenyan time, you'll find that an additional 15 minutes (or 30 minutes, or hour) doesn't really matter.
Not that any of the other tourists who go to Kenya ever find out. The hotel we were staying in was somekind of expensive resort located at the beach and with a huge pool. The people that go there generally went into the hotel, laid in the sun for two weeks, and then left. Most never got out of the entire resort. To give you a picture of what their vacation must have been like; at 7 in the morning breakfast started, which meant that at 7;05 at the latest they were awake and active so that they could dump their towels on one of the chairs around the pool. Not that there was a lack of chairs, but imagine having one not exactly next to the pool. Then after breakfast they sat in the sun. Around noon they had lunch, so they were back in their chairs around one. At 4 in the afternoon high tea started. This meant that everybody started waiting outside the restaurant area at five minutes before 4. After that they washed up for dinner, had dinner and went to bed.
Now, personally I don't see how you can do that for one day, let alone for 14 without either killing yourself or your fellow hotel guests (the same goes for being locked up at some godforsaken campingsite in France). The fun of traveling is that you go out, see new things, hear new things and meet new people. You can do nothing (or even worse semi-artistic crap) at home. Is it scary to go out into a new continent. Sure. Is it worth it? Damn right. But the thing I really really don't get is why they go to Kenya for that. It's an 8 hour flight. You can get the same sort of sun in f%cking Spain people!
While in Kenya I got to visit two schools. One is a school for orphanaged girls. Most of these girls have lost both their parents, and usually also some of their brothers, sisters, uncles and aunts to AIDS and god knows what else. It's almost impossible to imagine how anybody can survive that, but these girls are being brought up to basically take over the country. They're strong, they know what they want, they have a sense of humour and, because of international money they get the chance, not only to go to high school, but maybe even to university.
But even more impressive was a school for mentally handicaped children. These kids were dumped by their parents, sometime literary at the front gate, and they are some of the sweetest kids alive. The place they are now going to is, in fact, an actual school where they are being taught to read, to write and to make clothes. Because they can't stay at the school until they day they die they have to be prepared for real life, and the amazing teachers try their best to do just that. One teacher, who was working with four kids who couldn't yet write but who tried to copy lines and shapes, had a student that couldn't use his hands. The kid was extremely bright though, if you showed him a bottle, he could give the English word for it within a minute. The teacher explained that she was trying to help him to find ways to express himself "I'm trying to make it possible for him to try to write with his toes", she said, "Unfortunately, he can't walk so that might not work either. But we'll figure out something".
Forgive me for slipping into JFK mode, but let all those who don't believe in sending money and resources to Africa visit those two schools. Talk to those children. Talk to their teachers. See what is being accomplished there, and then explain to me why it's not worth it.
But then again, they'd have to leave the hotel to see that.
PS. for the record; during a Safari I have seen (aprox.) 8 elephants, one bush thingie, loads of antilopes and buffeloes, an eagle, two giraffes and wild swines. In the real world, I've seen quite a few monkeys, but none of them stole any of my stuff (*......checks for wallet*, nope none of them stole anything), also I didn't get stung by any f##### mosquito, but I was stuck with the side effects of the anti-Malaria pills (which appear to be similar to Malaria itself, so go figure).
Anyhoo, Kenya. To somewhat paraphrase Jon Stewart; the short way to describe it is wow. The long way to describe it is wooooooooooooooooow. It is, maybe with the exception of certain parts of Italy (*Barry White music starts now* Honestly baby, that other country, it meant nothin' to me *Barry White music stops*), the most beautiful country I have ever seen. It's almost impossible to describe it, but there's a certain calmness and serenity in the landscape. Actually, in a way, it's exactly like Tuscany, but then again not quite.
Kenyans themselves are also a lot like Italians. But worse. Basically, I think they are how Italians would be if they had to deal with Kenyan temperatures and humidity rates. What that means is that Kenyan people are the most friendly and laidback people you will ever meet. What that also means is that, like with Italians, it's practically impossible to make appointments with them. In Italy, some trains have 'squigly lines' next to them on the schedules in the trainstations. These lines mean (and I swear to god I am not making this up) "this train may or may not arrive". In Kenya squigly lines would be everywhere. It sounds horrible, but once you let go of European or American time and surrender to Kenyan time, you'll find that an additional 15 minutes (or 30 minutes, or hour) doesn't really matter.
Not that any of the other tourists who go to Kenya ever find out. The hotel we were staying in was somekind of expensive resort located at the beach and with a huge pool. The people that go there generally went into the hotel, laid in the sun for two weeks, and then left. Most never got out of the entire resort. To give you a picture of what their vacation must have been like; at 7 in the morning breakfast started, which meant that at 7;05 at the latest they were awake and active so that they could dump their towels on one of the chairs around the pool. Not that there was a lack of chairs, but imagine having one not exactly next to the pool. Then after breakfast they sat in the sun. Around noon they had lunch, so they were back in their chairs around one. At 4 in the afternoon high tea started. This meant that everybody started waiting outside the restaurant area at five minutes before 4. After that they washed up for dinner, had dinner and went to bed.
Now, personally I don't see how you can do that for one day, let alone for 14 without either killing yourself or your fellow hotel guests (the same goes for being locked up at some godforsaken campingsite in France). The fun of traveling is that you go out, see new things, hear new things and meet new people. You can do nothing (or even worse semi-artistic crap) at home. Is it scary to go out into a new continent. Sure. Is it worth it? Damn right. But the thing I really really don't get is why they go to Kenya for that. It's an 8 hour flight. You can get the same sort of sun in f%cking Spain people!
While in Kenya I got to visit two schools. One is a school for orphanaged girls. Most of these girls have lost both their parents, and usually also some of their brothers, sisters, uncles and aunts to AIDS and god knows what else. It's almost impossible to imagine how anybody can survive that, but these girls are being brought up to basically take over the country. They're strong, they know what they want, they have a sense of humour and, because of international money they get the chance, not only to go to high school, but maybe even to university.
But even more impressive was a school for mentally handicaped children. These kids were dumped by their parents, sometime literary at the front gate, and they are some of the sweetest kids alive. The place they are now going to is, in fact, an actual school where they are being taught to read, to write and to make clothes. Because they can't stay at the school until they day they die they have to be prepared for real life, and the amazing teachers try their best to do just that. One teacher, who was working with four kids who couldn't yet write but who tried to copy lines and shapes, had a student that couldn't use his hands. The kid was extremely bright though, if you showed him a bottle, he could give the English word for it within a minute. The teacher explained that she was trying to help him to find ways to express himself "I'm trying to make it possible for him to try to write with his toes", she said, "Unfortunately, he can't walk so that might not work either. But we'll figure out something".
Forgive me for slipping into JFK mode, but let all those who don't believe in sending money and resources to Africa visit those two schools. Talk to those children. Talk to their teachers. See what is being accomplished there, and then explain to me why it's not worth it.
But then again, they'd have to leave the hotel to see that.
PS. for the record; during a Safari I have seen (aprox.) 8 elephants, one bush thingie, loads of antilopes and buffeloes, an eagle, two giraffes and wild swines. In the real world, I've seen quite a few monkeys, but none of them stole any of my stuff (*......checks for wallet*, nope none of them stole anything), also I didn't get stung by any f##### mosquito, but I was stuck with the side effects of the anti-Malaria pills (which appear to be similar to Malaria itself, so go figure).
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