davethegrinch.net

Dave says:

One can turn either right or left from my parent’s driveway; it makes no difference they both will take you in a circle – so, I turn right. This is the longest time I’ve spent living with my parents since I was 20 and it’s also the longest time I’ve spent in the UK in ten years. Having nothing particular to do this afternoon, I’ve decided to take a wander around the old neighbo(u)rhood for the opportunity to consider the nature of circles. In actuality, it’s ellipses that interest me more, it’s what happens to a circle when gravity gets involved. Around and around celestial bodies go, sucking up a little gravity to act as a slingshot from the thing they are trying to escape but, just as they look to break free that very same gravity sucks them back ad-infinitum and so the ellipse is formed. We all try hard to break out of the orbit of our upbringing but inextricably find ourselves sucked back in again. I consider this on my amble as I pass shops, schools, pubs, roads & roundabouts that once were so familiar to me I’d forgotten they were there. And, surprisingly, they’re there still, patiently waiting for me to pass by again on my wide orbit. So here, accompanied by a photo or two, are my thoughts on September 12th 2007 of the blink-and-you-miss-it village/town/sprawl called New Haw, the place I was born, formed, was not afraid to leave but to which I am always a little reticent to return.

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Dave Says:
The wonder of the world in general lies in the beauty of the small and simple coming together to make the large and complex. For example, DNA to cells to an individual human to a family to a community to a town to a country and so on. The strength of the larger entity relies on the integrity of it’s components. A few bad cells can be policed by the good ones but what happens when the good cells are overpowered by the sheer number and intent of the miscreants? Why the anthropology lesson? Well, I was asked by my good friend Ms. Hearn what was it I was hoping to learn or discover during our travels. I answered quickly believing the truthful answers lie just beneath the surface. I answered that I wished to know if mankind was basically good; were the good cells winning their eternal battle against those who would seek to destroy the whole. Then, a few hours later, I had my camera stolen!
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Sarah says:

I want to say something about Portugal and I think it’s important to be as truthful as possible. However, it will be very difficult for me to seperate the truth from, frankly, one of the only good things that happened to us in Portugal: spending two weeks with our good friends Patti & Leslie. Now how can I keep what I feel I need to document for our diary from reflecting negatively upon how happy we were to see our friends after 6 long months….hmmm, very tricky territory but I must proceed. Wish me luck.
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To: Minister of Tourism
Portugese Government House/Casa
Lisbon, Portugal

Dear Madam:

May we first congratulate you on installing Portugal to the southwest of Spain. Not only does this location insure blue skies, golden sands and aqua clear, albeit chilly, seas but also provides a natural buffer from the bothersome French. I am sure you are very busy, perhaps too busy to have noticed my wife Sarah and I as we have traveled around the world. This is understandable as ministers of tourism should be spending their time concentrating on domestic affairs of their country and not the domestic affairs of their country’s visitors. By the way, are you elected or appointed? We find this makes a difference.

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Dave Says:
A country as devout as Portugal wouldn’t be as devout as Portugal (95% Catholic) without its own site of holy pilgramage. So the story goes, in 1917 in the small village of Fatima, the Virgin Mary appeared to three children in an oak tree. I speak not of children in a oak tree but of the dear virgin. Why she chose an oak tree, I’m not sure. As a fully grown adult, even standing at ground level and even without the celestial light, chorus of angels and the satisfiying glow of a well polished halo it’s not hard to make yourself seen to three small children. However, the oak tree turns out to be an essential prop in our story because her repeated visitations on the 13th of the five sucessive months, to an ever increasing crowd, would have required ever increasing elevation to make herself seen to the 70,000 amassed for her final visit. Had she not first appeared in a tree to three small people the miracle would have become a little cumbersome as she clambored for more height. Perhaps a small stool for her next visit, followed by a mid-sized tea chest for her third, then a humble hay cart, and finally the stool, on the tea chest on the hay cart. At this point the good Virgin would have probably given up and wished she had just levitated in the first place. But, the tree it was and there the tree (or one that looks just like it) stands to this very day.

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Dave says:

Randy Roy’s Redlight District Tours is not owned, managed or even employs anyone by the name of Randy Roy. I don’t think there even is a Randy Roy or a Roy who is remotely randy. The company is really just Kimberly, a twenty year veteran of Amsterdam and an American ex-pat who makes her living taking tourists to the redlight district as opposed to taking tourists in the redlight district. A measly €12.50 (even more measly if you’re not abroad and suffering from the economic polices of the US government) buys you all the sleaze you can squeeze and a free drink. Never one to shy away from the words “free” and “drink” especially when advertised in that order and with the implication of sex nipping at their heels, Sarah, Beth and I made a threesome and took a walk on the wild side.

[If you are a mother of one of the aforementioned people (except Kimberly or Roy), afraid of sex, offended by rudeness or lewdness, still think I'm a "nice boy" and wish to maintain that illusion or in anyway agree that the FCC should be arbiter of morality in the American media think twice before tickling your mouse and either don't click the (more...) link or read any further.]
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I’m in pain. I need to see a doctor. I’m ill. There’s something wrong. You see, the Dutch are such pleasant people and Amsterdam is a such a agreeable city that I’m having trouble thinking of anything vaguely snarky to say. Have I lost the art of pessimism? Did my dyspepsia take a dive in the Amstel and has my cynicism cycled off along one of Amsterdam’s thousands of red bike lanes?

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