31 May

This one took a little longer then planned mainly due to other things keeping me busy but it is one I have wanted to do for a while (since the movie came out). Click here to see the original scene it is based on.

In other news: I’ve been accepted into the Big Blogger House.

Big Blogger 2007

21 May

When I first moved to Holland I quickly realized that being an expat in a foreign country meant any simple task had the potential to become confusing and baffling.

This was mainly because I was unfamiliar with the countries customs, traditions and its language. Normally these occurrences were small and easily sorted out.

However, every once in a while something so bizarre happened that I had to question weather it had really occurred. There is one such event which still puzzles me to this day. It was so strange that I had not even imagined that it might happen.

Try to imagine that you are strolling along a street one day, enjoying the weather when an enthusiastically happy looking girl catches your eye. She returns your gaze and approaches with a smile. When she is close enough for you to hear she starts to talk to you in Dutch. You smile back a little nervously and wonder what she is saying.

The language barrier might course a small amount of confusion but this does not really count as a bizarre situation yet. Imagine the scenario again but this time with a little more detail:

You are strolling along a shopping street one day, enjoying the weather when you notice a strangely enthusiastic girl being followed around by a camera crew. She notices you and suddenly runs towards you while grinning. When she is close enough to point her microphone at you she starts to say something in Dutch. You smile nervously into the camera and wonder what it is all about.

This would be more confusing but a camera crew on the street is still not a truly surreal event yet. Imagine the scenario once more, this time with all the details:

You are strolling along a busy shopping street one day, enjoying the weather when you suddenly see a strange girl being followed around by a camera crew while wearing a large fake rubber strap-on erect penis. Despite your best attempts to avoid being seen she notices you and suddenly runs at you while her counterfeit member bounces up and down disturbingly on her crouch. When she is too close for comfort she suddenly thrusts the microphone into your face and shouts something in Dutch. You look nervously at her prosthetic manhood and wonder if you should run.

I explained I did not understand Dutch to which she replied, “Oh. Ok. Sorry to have bothered you,” and skipped off in search of another victim. What would you have done in the same situation?

14 May

There is an ancient ritual that has been passed down through time from father to son since the sun first cast light across the surface of our tiny world. Women have only heard of its existence through whispers and rumours. They have never been allowed to attend since their attendance would be an unforgivable violation of the first rule of this sacred ritual. This ritual has gone by many names during its long existence but you might know it as The Lads Night In.

For centuries womankind has only been able to imagine what depraved events unfold at these sacred gatherings. However, I can assure you gentle lady that the reality is much worse then you can conceive. You might have visualized scenes of uncontrolled animal like aggression as men resort to their primeval nature, fighting each other for domination and leadership over the proceedings, ripping raw meat from the bone of a freshly slaughtered cow with their bear teeth, telling jokes so depraved that would make a prostitute blush, drinking ale until only one man is left standing, howling at the moon in a celebration of everything that it means to be a man (in a non homo erotic way).

Last Saturday I went to one of these events and I am finally going to lift the vial of secrecy around this sacred ritual and tell you what really happens. Revealing this secret may very well make me an out cast amongst my own kind. I will be hunted for the information that I am about to pass onto you female reader. The truth will shock you. It may make you weep uncontrollably. The world will seem like a much darker place and your perception of reality will be for ever changed once you know the truth. If you have a weak heart you should stop reading now. You can not say I did not warn you.

We ate Doritos and watched the Eurovision Song Contest. I didn’t think Finland were as good as last year.

8 May

Some where in an imaginary meeting room the following scene is taking place:

“Hello… My name is Stuart and I am an addict.”

A small round of applause follows from the other people sitting in the circle.

“I’ve been clean for almost a week now since my provider cut me off due to an administrative error. It’s not been easy. Even after losing my supply I had to hit rock bottom before I was willing to admit I had a problem.”

“At first I started walking the streets at night with my laptop, looking for a new supply. All I needed was a little bandwidth to keep me going. I didn’t even care where it came from. Any unsecured wireless network would have been enough to ease the pain of my addiction. I am not proud of it. I even started looking through bins for old 58k modems.”

For a moment I feel like the memories are too painful for me to talk about but a member of the circle puts their hand on my shoulder and gives me a supportive look.

“When I was unable to find an unprotected connection I started abusing my friends trust. I would visit them just to check my email and steal a little bandwidth from them. Sometimes when the withdrawal was really bad I would beg them day and night to download files for me.

“I finally knew I had hit rock bottom when I started actually seeking out penis enlargement and Viagra adverts as a substitute for spam emails.”

A few members of the circle nod in a way that lets me know I am not the only one who has been down this path.

“Since then I have been adjusting to life with out the internet one day at a time. Sometimes I still feel like I would do anything just to be able to log into World of Warcraft for a few seconds or check the internet movie database to settle an argument about how many movies Alec Baldwin has been in but I am slowly learning to cope. I hope that one day I will be completely over my internet addiction… Thank you for listening.”

Another round of applause follows as I sit down. When the next person stands and starts to speak my mind drifts off and I wonder if there is an internet café anywhere nearby.


In a few days time my internet connection should be reactivated and normal blog service will be restored. Until that time would someone mind downloading a file for me? I just need a little bandwidth.

2 May

This was supposed to be the post where I wrote about my humorous activities on Koninginnedag (Queens Day). I even made the promise of a few photos to demonstrate the previously mentioned humorous activities. However, there are several very good reasons why I am unable to write about Koninginnedag this year and the humorous activities involved. Those reasons are as follows: Three Vodka and Cokes, several bottles of beer, one whiskey and some shots.

I had measured the Vodka and Cokes quite badly so they were probably equal to six Vodkas with a hint of Cola seasoning. The whisky I don’t remember drinking but apparently there were witnesses and the shots I can’t prove but I know what my friends are like. If you do the maths that list of alcohol equals about a five hour gap in my memory, some embarrassing stories and a very large hang over. This all took part on Koninginnenacht (Queens Night) at a friend’s house party which is why I was too ill and ouchy to do anything on Koninginnedag that involved more effort then breathing and laying down.

Past the first few hours I only know what I did due to eye witness reports and photographic evidence. If I wanted to uncover anymore of what happened that night I would need the help of a CSI team.

There are eye witness reports of my rather clumsy dancing and a photograph (which I wish did not exist) proves that I spent at least some time in the early hours of the morning walking around Amsterdam wearing a pink wig. This photographic evidence also shows me flicking my synthetic hair back in a very feminine way.

However, the biggest surprise came when I woke up the next morning. After the party a group of us had gone to The Absinth Bar (which I don’t remember). I woke up on Koninginnedag at 11am in the morning wearing a coat. It was not my coat. It was ‘a’ coat. I had no idea who it belonged to, nor did I remember acquiring it. Since the owner did not seem to be near by I could only guess that I had made a bit of a mistake some time during the night. Instead of picking up my own coat when we left the Absinth Bar I must have drunkenly picked up someone else’s. However, the coat mix-up was not the only mistake I had made. When I reached into the pockets looking for clues that might lead me to the identity of the previous wearer I found something that made the small mistake seem bigger. I had the person’s keys as well. I had either stopped some one from drunk driving or I had made their night very complicated. My hang over suddenly felt worse.