davethegrinch.net

Sarah says:

My parents’ love of American football did not rub off on me. Their pilgrimages to the Super Dome, their New Orleans Saints shirts, hats, all around color coordinated outfits, the non-stop football on television, both college and pro – none it made an impression on me. In our house, football was not only on the television but simultaneously on the radio as well. In fact, it was not at all uncommon to find my dad sitting with headphones on listening to one game on the radio while watching a different game on TV. You could hear him yelling at the TV down the street. He was religious about his college game statistics. I liked for my Dad to teach me about football, but not really because I was interested in the game. It was just fun to see my Dad get so excited. I also secretly liked that my Dad had football on the TV all the time. Again, not because I was at all interested, but because it was one of our family traditions and I liked that. To this day, the sound of football reminds me of my Dad.

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Dave says:

I’m literary impotent. Please reread the first sentence in case you interpreted the second word to be literally. I should be scrawling a dozen notes concerning the daily deltas of living in Amsterdam but all I have managed in the last three weeks are these last three sentences. It cannot be something in the water that causes my dereliction of duty – it is the best in the world. This I know from my latest faux-pas. Whilst checking into our new apartment, the conniptions caused by my mere suggestion that a water filter be made available were quite hostile. Two real estate agents, the landlord and the previous tenant all took offense to my question in a choral unison of “Nee, Nee” (pronounced “nay” like a horse). An equine harmony of incredulity and offense as a response to my implication that Amsterdam tap water is not the finest in the entire world. Our 1705 apartment overlooks a canal so my mind forces me to glance first at the tap, then to the canal and then worry as to the degree of technological advancement of early 18th century plumbing. The same process happens in reverse whenever I walk into the bathroom.

See, one paragraph in and all I’ve been able to talk about is tap water. My malady? Oh yes, the pressure of maintaining a blog when nothing of great excitement is occurring. Usually I would refrain from posting because I am, as I have repeatedly prattled about, a great believer in self moderation concerning contributions to the public internet. There is an inordinate amount of mis-focused photos and mis-directed opinions in the cybersphere that do nothing but clog my google with irrelevance. I wish not to be one of the cloggers but, I have an audience, they demand to be entertained and so the show must go on.

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Sarah says:

Date – Saturday, September 22, 2007

Time – 8:30pm

Location – Frenzi http://www.frenzi.nl/, a lovely little restaurant serving Mediterranean fare.

Good ideas based on information had at the time:

1. wear a white shirt and brown leather belt to accentuate new brown, leather knee-high boots

2. rest the hard-cover wine list behind the salt & pepper shakers and bottle of olive oil

3. have a glass of red wine

David reaches for bottle of olive oil.

Salt & pepper shakers do not hold up hard-cover wine list.

Wine list falls into glass of red wine.

Full glass of red wine topples over in slow motion.

The glass shatters.

I look like Carrie.

The entire restaurant gasps……

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Dave Says,
It is not going to escape my notice that nobody is going to be very sympathetic with the sentiment that follows. After all, I have everything I could possibly want: no job, no responsibilities, the world before me and now the prospect of living in one the finest European cities but all that has been rudely shattered by…. work.
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Sarah Says:

It’s now Sunday evening, September 16^th. I am sitting at the living room desk of our apartment in Amsterdam. We have Skype. David is talking on the “phone” with our friend Chadwick. It’s been beautiful weather here this weekend, much much better than it was when we were here in June. So beautiful that it’s made me feel completely giddy to be here. So far, everything has gone smooth as silk. We arrived Friday early evening and by that night, I’d bought myself a bike. Please see the pictures of us out playing with the bike at 10 o’clock at night before we’d even had dinner. We’ve spent the weekend loving our new temporary city, our new temporary apartment. We’ll be in this place for about a month while we find a permanent temporary home. We’ve been grocery shopping and bike riding and wine drinking with our friend, Beth, and lunch out today at a canal side cafe. It’s been bliss.

But, real life is knocking at the door. This isn’t just about living in a cute city for the winter. It’s also about saving money to continue the journey. I’ve already experienced the shock of walking back into an office and sitting at a desk for 8 hours so I know it’s not SO bad. However, David has to go through that adjustment tomorrow morning, bright an early, so this is the first time it’s a school night for the both of us in 9 months. Amsterdam is just as adorable (and deplorable to some, exotic, erotic to others) late into the night and it’s very easy to find yourself still out playing on your bike at 1am in the morning but tonight we rest in our little space. Our rucks have found another resting place to collect dust for a little while but the adventure continues.

With love from Amsterdam,

Sarah & Dave

Sarah says:

It is 7:46am on Thursday, Sept 13^th 2007. I am on the southwest train service from West Byfleet station to London Waterloo. I am commuting. I am a commuter. To work. To an office. I am awake, dressed in the best that my backpacker wardrobe has to offer, fiercely fighting for a spot on a train with all the other early morning commuters who are all dressed in their office attire, looking half asleep, carrying ever-enlarging cups of chain coffee. And everyone reads the London Lite, the Metro Lite, The LondonPaper. In this country, you get your tabloid news for free.

Not a bad opening paragraph but it likely makes no sense to anyone reading this. How has it happened that I’m commuting to work in London?

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