Invading Holland

Invading Holland Has Moved

2007-02-20T13:14:00.000+01:00

Coming Soon

2007-02-13T12:51:00.000+01:00

The paint is still drying, some things are held together with sticky back plastic and the Plummer has made a complete mess but the new and improved Invading Holland site is almost ready.

For that reason this post is going to be a little different from the usual kind as I invite everyone to contribute to the new site in a small way. Since it includes a profile page I am looking for any questions people might like answered there. Feel free to ask anything (but any inquiries into my credit card number will have to go unanswered). Any questions that won’t suit the profile page I will still try to answer here.

I would also like to hear which posts everyone has enjoyed the most for the most popular post section.

If there are not any technical hick-ups I will be revealing the new site in a week.

Student Politics

2007-02-07T16:59:00.000+01:00

Politics has never really been my subject. It’s one of the topics that makes my head hurt if I think about it too much. Maybe that is one of the reasons why I decided not to run for the position of Student Council Class Representative when I was at college (as a theater design student). I left that responsibility to my fellow class mates who had more political ambitions. There were three candidates but only one clear winner once all the votes had been counted, Malcolm.

Malcolm had won by a land slide but there was one small problem, something that made it difficult for him to for fill his new position in student politics (or any thing else for that matter). Malcolm was an inanimate green amphibian, a stuffed toy frog to be more precise. He was our class mascot who had been nominated because we needed a third candidate.

He would have been more at home on the Muppet show then in a meeting room debating what should be available in the college canteen. It had been amusing to vote for him but we had to face facts. Malcolm was not capable of representing us (something that was fundamental to the position as the title suggested). His muteness would impair his abilities and influence on the student council. We were forced to take another vote.

Once all the votes were counted again the winning student was awarded with his new title. However it was not the title of Student Council Class Representative. That would have been unfair to Malcolm. Instead the chosen student was crowned, "The Voice of Malcolm." He became Malcolm's emissary, his vessel, his voice.

The Voice of Malcolm took Malcolm to every meeting of the student council and spoke his wishes aloud for them all to hear. I never attended one of the meetings myself but often imagined Malcolm perched on his shoulder while whispering ideas into his ear like something out of a Philip Pullman book. However, some suspected that The Voice of Malcolm was only speaking for himself. No one showed any signs of being unhappy though (even if it would have been a great injustice).

Then one fateful day disaster struck. Malcolm had been left by the studio’s open window. As he sat their minding his own business (either thinking about the pond out side or his dreams to climb the political ladder) he fell out of the window into the car park bellow. By the time we had reached the car park to rescue him he was gone. We will never know if it was a simple accident or a political assassination attempt that led to his disappearance.

We tried to find a replacement but no other toy frog was worthy of filling Malcolm’s shoes. He had become more then a class mascot, he was our leader and he was mourned. You might think the story of Malcolm I have told you is far too strange to be true but we really did vote for a stuffed toy frog to be our Student Representative, someone really was appointed as his voice and he really was lost the day he fell out of that window (we were strange/typical students). I like to think that maybe he is still alive some where (as alive as an inanimate green amphibian can be) living like a king and leading some small country we have never heard of to a state of prosperity. Long live Malcolm.

Back to School

2007-02-02T11:50:00.000+01:00

Maybe it is because I am English and the stereotypical politeness that comes with it that courses me to ask a Dutch person “Spreekt u Engels?” before I bombard them with the language. Whatever the reason may be a lot of them reply with a very simple, “Yes, a little.”

However, when a Dutch person suggests they only know a little bit of English it is usually the equivalent of Albert Einstein claiming he only knows a little bit about mathematics or Steven Hawkins saying he only understands some Physics. In contrast to this when most English people say they can speak Dutch it’s usually the equivalent of claiming to be a gourmet chef when all they can do is burn toast.

English seems to come easy to the Dutch but most (not all) expats struggle with Dutch. Attempting to learn Dutch often feels like returning to school. This isn’t because every Dutch person runs around in school uniform, scraping their nails down any available chalkboard and making out with the girls from the neighboring country behind the bike shed (although some probably do). It’s because it’s like trying to learn reading, writing and speaking all over again (especially if you are dyslexic like me).

Counting has to be re-learnt. The system for telling the time is different. There are new names for the letters of the alphabet. You even have to learn how combinations of different letters make new and unfamiliar sounds that will course you to talk like a Klingon with a cold.

During the first few months of learning a conversation with a Dutch person is like trying to understand Scooby Doo. You might be able to figure out what they are saying from their hand gestures and the noises they make but the words themselves are impossible to understand.

Every conversation becomes an exam that you have not studied for enough, possibly because the X-Box or PS2 provided too much of a distraction. A simple solution to this might be to write the answers on your arm and have a sneak peak when no one is looking.

If you get caught however you might end up getting sent to the head masters office along with the Spanish kid who did not realize his Dutch friends were only teaching him swear words (which would make him seem to have Dutch tourettes) and whenever he thought he was asking for directions he was in fact asking for something that would make most prostitutes in the red light district blush.

Dancing the Night Away

2007-01-29T23:29:00.000+01:00

Whenever I am in a bar or night club having a few drinks with friends I find it impossible to stop myself from tapping my foot in time with the music being played. It doesn’t even matter if the music is terrible. Half the time I don’t even realize I am doing it.

It’s as if a little devil and angel are sitting on either shoulder while they argue with me in the center. The subject of their argument is not my mortal soul however. The debate that rages between them is much more important then that. To dance or not to dance?

Despite my involuntary foot tapping I have always been someone who initially resist the call of the dance floor as if everyone’s attention will be on me as soon as I step a single foot upon it.

However, I always find it impossible to stay on the side lines for long. Slowly the foot tapping turns into a head bob. The head bob turns into a sway. The sway turns into a dance and before I know what has happened I suddenly realize I am out on the dance floor getting jiggy with it as if guided by some unknown mystical force. This might partly explain why I ended up dancing like a maniac last Friday while wearing a large novelty pimp hat. I was later described as a dancing machine but still have no idea of where the hat came from. Hopefully it was not from an actual pimp.

Threw my experience with involuntary dancing I believe I have worked out the mathematical formula that predicts what will make someone dance. I have worked out this highly scientific theory using a percentage system. The closer to a 100% scored during the course of the night the higher the chance that dancing will ensue:

If there is no one on the dance floor: -20%
If there is a small group on the dance floor: +15%
If there is a large group on the dance floor: +25%
If there is a really embarrassing drunk person on the dance floor who will over shadow even your worst moves: +15%
If the really embarrassing drunk person is alone on the dance floor and you will be in direct competition with them -20%

After consuming four beers: +25%
Every additional beer after four: +10%
After every beer over eight: -12%
After 12 beers: You are the really embarrassing drunk person.
After 16 beers: Call an ambulance. Find a stomach pump. Reset to 0%

Your favorite song (otherwise known as the Catalyst Song) is played: Multiply score by 1.5.

The Catalyst Song rule also applies to the following: YMCA, Fame and the head banging part of Bohemian Rhapsody.

A Little Lost

2007-01-25T02:21:00.000+01:00

I freely call myself an accident prone man. I am comfortable with doing so because it is something that gives me a lot of funny stories to write about. Lately I have been a lot less accident prone but I still got a chance to live up to my blogs reputation this week when I met fellow blogger Blonde but Bright.

We had arranged to meet at a bar for a few drinks along with another of her friends but I was having trouble finding the place. After some unsuccessful searching I decided to give BBB a call.

Me: “Hi. It’s Stuart. I’m near the cinema but I’m not sure where this bar is.”

BBB: “Ok. What tram stop are you near?”

Me: “Er… None I think. I don’t know this area too well.”

I’d only ever been there to go to the cinema.

BBB: “Really?”

Me: “Yeah.”

BBB: “Do you know The Heineken brewery? It’s right near there.”

All I could see was the Heineken Music Hall but I didn’t think they would be hiding a distillery behind the bar where any drunken customer could get to it and drink them into bankruptcy.

Me: “Umm. I don’t really know where that is either.”

I suddenly felt like I could not truly call myself English because of my lack of beer related landmarks.

BBB: “Really?”

It sounded like she could not believe I was English anymore either.

BBB: “It’s South of the flower market.”

Me: “Flower market? They have one of those here?”

I knew of a flower market but that was a few miles away.

BBB: “Yes. It’s near the big clock tower.”

I knew of a big clock tower as well but that was also a few miles away near that flower market. Slowly realization started to dawn on me…

Me: “Oh… wait.”

… and then I suddenly knew what I had done.

Me: “You’re in Amsterdam aren’t you?”

BBB: “Yes.”

As soon as my brain reorganized the landmarks into their correct setting I knew exactly where the place was. It was in a part of Amsterdam that was very hard to mistake for any where else and I wasn’t even in Amsterdam. I had got the address wrong by a few miles. Another train journey later and the charming Blonde but Bright got to meet Ginger but Dim.

Blown Away

2007-01-19T10:44:00.000+01:00

To say it has been a bit windy lately would be an understatement. Yesterday Holland suddenly descended into complete chaos as a large storm swept across the country coursing more damage then a visit from Godzilla.

The streets turned into high powered wind tunnels populated by pedestrians struggling to keep on their feet. Anyone carrying an umbrella ran the risk of being blown into a near by canal or Belgium.

All trains came to a complete stand still by order of the traffic police due to leaves on the line. Normally this would not be too much of a problem but the trees were still attached at the time.

Roads turned into rivers, people in high rise buildings were getting sea sick, traffic took over an hour to go just one hundred meters and everyone was advised to stay indoors and off the roads.

My journey home that normally takes 20 minutes took four and half hours. I spent the evening listening to the high winds raging outside as parts of the house rattled and shook. I would not have been too surprised to wake up in the morning and discover that the house had landed in Oz after being swept up in the storm and crash landing, killing The Wicked Witch of the East in the process.

On the upside, all the wind turbines in Holland must have generated enough power to supply the rest of the world into the 25th century.

Keep on Jogging

2007-01-16T11:02:00.000+01:00

New Years Resolutions are never easy to keep. Seven years ago I decided my goal would be to learn Chess. To date my only knowledge of the game is that trampling the opponent’s peaces with a toy dinosaur while making roaring noises is sadly not a winning move. My only successful New Years Resolution so far has been to stop smoking which was very easy because I had never started (so officially I still failed).

This year I decided my task would be to exercise more, eat healthier and get in shape. These goals were not easy either. Every short jog was an exhausting marathon which left me in desperate need of an oxygen mask and a stretcher to carry me home. Every snack left on a co-workers desk was a tempting offer, triggering a whisper of a voice in my mind telling me to blame its sudden disappearance on the greedy office mice.

There was several times where it seemed I would give in and fail. However, I have managed to be good and things have slowly gotten easier. I am able to resist the temptation of liberating co-workers snacks (the mice beat me to it anyway) and I no longer need a paramedic team on stand by in case I keel over during my evening run. My health is slowly improving and I can now out run every enthusiastic dog who think I am inviting them to take part in a friendly game of fetch the jogger (as they drag their owners behind them). Soon I might turn into Stuart Austin, The Six Million Euro Expat.

However, jogging has a darker side as well as a good side, its own Ying & Yang or Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hide.

On the one side a jogger is someone with a mission. As they run through the streets and fields in their trainers and tracksuit they are someone trying to improve their health through exorcise. You can see the determination and commitment on their faces as they speed by. These are qualities to admire.

However, all that changes the moment any jogger slows to a walk. Suddenly they no longer look like a jogger. Suddenly they look like a Chav. With out the act of running they simply look like someone walking around in a tracksuit as a fashion statement. The fact that they are still out of breath could be mistaken for the results of a quick get away from a shop security guard. At least that would explain some of the strange looks I have got in the street.

The Experiment

2007-01-10T23:29:00.000+01:00

It is possible that I am the unwitting participant in some sort of social studies experiment. What the aim of this experiment is I can not say but I definitely know I drew the short straw.

Recently my flat mate started a new job in an office much like my own. We both do a lot of work with computers and both work similar office hours. However, there is one major difference between the two jobs, a difference he likes to keep on reminding me about. I work in an office mostly inhabited by men but my flat mate is now working in an office almost exclusively populated by women.

It’s as if we have both been placed in very different controlled test environments while someone in a white coat with a clip board and a mustache watches via hidden cameras and takes note on how we react to our different situations.

Step 1) Place computer nerd 1 (Subject Alpha) in an office populated with men.
Step 2) Place computer nerd 2 (Subject Beta) in an office populated with women.
Step 3) Observe and document results.

I keep on looking over my shoulder for Richard Hammond and the Braniac team or members of the Dharma Initiative.

Unfortunately for me programmers with long hair are not a substitute for female co-workers, the stubble completely destroys the illusion and the idea of them in a low cut top is truly the stuff of nightmares.

However, my flat mate has not won in every aspect. There are some negative aspects to being a man in an office full of women. There is no one in his office that he can debate with about who was the better captain, Picard or Kirk.

Hail to the King

2007-01-06T12:00:00.000+01:00

When my parents rather cryptically started making plans for an evening out during my Christmas visit I was more then a little puzzled. No matter how many times I asked they refused to reveal their scheme. Even my sneaky attempts at tricking clues out of them met with little success. Should I be dressing up? Would we be getting there by car? Would we be eating when we get there?

After a while my questions were met with a look that said they knew what I was trying to do and it was not going to work. My child like detective work had failed and I was back to guessing with what little information I had. One phrase they kept on using was, "Keep an open mind," which is usually a scary request when you don't know what you are about to let yourself in for. I narrowed it down to a few possibilities one of which was that my parents had enough of me being single and had set up an arranged marriage.

As the evening got closer the mystery grew. I was half expecting my parents to lead me blind folded to some theatre or festival, maybe for some kind of experimental audience participation performance. Luckily there was no blind fold but I was still just as confused when they led me into the local curry house. As I sat there I could not work out why a meal at an Indian restaurant had merited so much mystery and deception. However, all my questions were finally answered when music started to play and there was suddenly a rather strange announcement that I thought I would never hear.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Elvis is in the curry house."

And suddenly there he was; The King. He was standing between the tables with his quiff, dark sunglasses, leather jacket and microphone in hand. It's not the kind of sight you usually expect to see in an Indian Restaurant or many other places for that matter. Sightings of Elvis in England are usually limited to Fish & Chip shops and Tesco. However, he started to walk around the room and shake everyone's hand as he sang. There was no denying he was real (some people said he was an impersonator). Maybe the King had decided to swap cheese burgers for Chicken Korma.

He continued to perform a large selection of his greatest hits and occasionally got members of the audience to sing a few lines by suddenly thrusting the microphone towards them. Every time he started to walk in my direction I desperately tried to recall the lyrics of what ever he was singing in case I suddenly found the microphone (and everyone's attention) pointed towards me. Eventually I ended up singing a few lines of Tutti Frutti and The King commented on the Elvis G.I appearance of my spiky hair. That’s not a claim many people can make, The King knows my name and likes my hair.

By the second half of the performance he had changed into his familiar white jump suit with a leopard printed on the back. Waiters had to move the tables to let the steadily growing collection of drunken people dance as Elvis himself stood on one of the chairs and did his familiar hip movements. Passers by who peered inside might have thought they were witnessing a rather bizarre restaurant riot led by Elvis due to a lack of spiciness in the Red Hot Curry.

It was the last thing I would have guessed my parents had planned but it was a very entertaining night none the less. So the next time you are having a quite meal in a restaurant don’t forget to look out for Elvis. You never know, he might be there too. Long live The King.

Wet Paint

2007-01-04T00:32:00.000+01:00

Welcome to the new look. Be careful where you sit, some of the paint is still drying. I would not touch that yet either if I was you, it's only held together by string.

I have been toying around with a new appearance for some time. Originally I was going to keep it under wraps until I moved to my own domain but I’ve decided to try it out a little early and see what people think. However, this is not the full version. There are a few things I am still keeping secret for now. I welcome any and all feedback, ideas or info about any errors.

In other news The 2007 Bloggies Awards have started accepting nominations and votes. If you notice any subliminal ‘Vote For’ me messages in the blog re-design you are just imagining things…. or maybe not.

Happy 2007

2007-01-01T03:47:00.000+01:00

I hope you all have a great 2007. It’s time to start those New Year Resolutions. I’ll be back to Holland and my more regular posting pattern this Tuesday.

28th Birthday

2006-12-28T21:00:00.000+01:00

Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday dear me,
Happy B…. Oh god, only two more years to 30.

Birthdays are strange. Everyone younger then you comments on how old you are but at the same time everyone older then you remark on your youth. As a result you are both young and old at the same time. Either way it means I am still too old to have Bobo the Clown at my birthday party. At least I can go out celebrating by having a few drinks with my friends and making a clown of myself.

Merry Christmas

2006-12-24T21:44:00.000+01:00

I’ve managed to resist the urge to feel, shake, prod, probe and x-ray the presents under the tree so far but there is not much longer to wait now.

I hope you all have a great Christmas and New Year. Don't forget to be good for Santa.

Flying

2006-12-19T00:24:00.000+01:00

This weekend I flew back to England to spend Christmas with my family. It’s a trip I’ve made quite a lot in the last few years. The flight between the two countries is so short that I suspect the airplane takes a run and jump towards England rather then actually flying through the sky.

This might also explain why the music from Back to the Future always pops into my head as the plane speeds down the run way like Marty McFly in the time traveling Delorean. However, I am fairly sure that a plane has to be going faster then 88mph to take off and there is little danger of it traveling through time when it does so. If it did a wide range of new holiday options would suddenly become available.

I have only experience bad turbulence once in all the years I have been flying (a fact that I am not too upset about). It was during a flight in the winter. The plane was constantly shaking and dropping a few meters. Every time it happened everything within the plane seemed to stay suspended in the air for a second before realizing they too should be affected by gravity (I believe this is called the Wily E. Coyote theory of course and affect).

A lot of people were starting to get worried, including myself. There were cries of panic, a near by child threw up; all that was missing was Scotty from Star Trek screaming, “She canna’ take much more captain!”

Things were looking very bad. Then I noticed something that almost made me laugh. At the front of the plane there was a group of English tourists returning from a weekend in Amsterdam. Every time the plane dropped in one of its stomach churning losses of control they threw their arms into the air and cheered as if they were riding a roller coaster. Suddenly the situation was no longer scary and a short while later we landed safely.

If comedy can make a situation like that seem alright then maybe airlines should think about having a trained comedian onboard and replacing the oxygen masks with Helium.

Hang Over

2006-12-14T16:19:00.000+01:00

Today I am very very hung over. Last night was the office Christmas party and I am now suffering for my abuse of the free bar and my bright idea that I should order as many drinks as I could carry (at least three) on each visit.

However, not everything about a hang over is bad. Once you get past the pounding headache and the ill stomach there are some benefits to having a hang over.

I don’t have to be intelligent, fast or witty today. I can be as slow and dim witted as I want. I don’t have to expect anything from myself so I can freely walk around in a daze. This also means every achievement, no matter how small becomes an epic accomplishment. Even the act of rolling out of bed this morning takes on the same level of achievement as climbing Mount Everest. Being able to write this post with a hang over may even be equivalent to the greatest accomplishment of non-hung over man kind.

I'm going to crawl under my desk and hide now until the hurty pain goes away.

What Not to do in a Power Cut

2006-12-11T15:06:00.000+01:00

Sometimes I think I have an unhealthy dependency on Technology. It could almost be called an addiction. It makes me wonder how I would survive if I found myself trapped on a deserted island with out working electronics.

I realized the level of my dependency on technology a few days ago when a power cut suddenly plunged everything into darkness while my flat mate and myself were watching TV. It did not take us long to work out that the power would be out for a while and we would have to make preparations.

Our first challenge was to find illumination. After lighting a few candles this problem was easily solved and at the same time gave the room a Charles Dickens like atmosphere.

The second challenge was to save the frozen food. We took the easy option and didn’t.

Challenge three was to find non-technology based entertainment to keep our selves amused until the power came back on. This was a problem for us.

However, we were in luck. The battery in my laptop still had power so we could use it to watch a DVD. I turned it on and we started the lengthy debate about which movie to watch. Selecting a film is not a straight forward choice. There are several considerations that have to be made. Do we want a mindless movie with scantily clad ladies and explosions? Do we want a movie that demands our attention with a plot that has to be followed? Is the porn on my laptop hidden well enough? Can I trick my flat mate into watching Ghostbusters for the millionth time? We spent sometime pondering these issues. In fact we spent so much time thinking about it that just as I was putting the DVD of choice into the laptop the battery suddenly died and we were right back where we had started. Turning it on at the start didn’t seem like such a bright idea any more.

However, there was another option and a few moments later we were crowded around my PSP (Play Station Portable) watching Serenity (I had suggested Ghostbusters) on its tiny 4.3inch screen. It was a sad act of desperation. We must have looked like a group of lost arctic explorers desperately clinging onto their last source of heat. A few scenes into the movie we both decided we need to get out more.

I think I know what I would be doing on that deserted island now. As everyone else tries to builds shelters, find food and treat the injured from the plane crash I would be working on a way to power my PSP with coconuts and debating with the islands monkeys what movie to watch.

Jogging

2006-12-07T15:50:00.000+01:00

Red faced, gasping for breath and trying not to collapse after finally catching up with my flat mate during my first evening jog in a long time I was barely able to wheeze out the words:

“Dam… I can’t… even keep up… with a thirty-three… year old smoker… with a bad… back.”

Yes, I have decided it is time to get back in shape again. It might take a little while but it seemed like a good idea to start the New Years resolution early.

If you see a red faced ginger Englishman in a jogging outfit face down on a Dutch street as he tries to recover from lung collapse you will know it is me. Wish me luck.... then call an ambulance.

Meme: Ten Things I Will Never Do

2006-12-04T21:17:00.000+01:00

I’ve tagged by Alan from Random Burblings to inform every one of 10 things I will 'never' do in my life time.

1) Enjoy an Adam Sandler Movie:
I have never found Adam Sandler funny and I never will. I am still scarred from the time I was forced to watch ‘Little Nicky.’ That movie stole time from my life that I want back. I look forward to the day when audiences can sue the makers of bad movies. I've got a long list ready.

2) Be a morning person:
I can never wake up in the mornings and I don’t like coffee. I just stumble around for a while like a zombie in search of the shower and pass out again on the train to work.

3) Think Paris Hilton is a talented person and a good role model for the youth of today:
I’m not even going to start on this subject. I’ll only get angry and burn down every store stocking copies of her album.

4) Remember my college summer ball:
Drinking student punch at a pre-ball party is not a good idea. They make it very strong. My only memory of the actual event is waking up in a hallway in the recovery position after my friends had put me there. I was up and about again in time for the last song.

5) Understand how to use a Mac:
I’ve tried. I really have but I can not work them out. PCs might not be perfect but neither are Macs. I also don’t like the way a Mac is more like a fashion statement then a computer or Apples patronizing and inaccurate representation of PC users. Can’t we all just get along? If a Mac user ever tries laughing at me because my PC is not cool I just make them cry by asking when they will be getting the latest games release.

6) Be able to dance with out having a few drinks first :
It’s not easy getting the ‘sober and embarrassed vs. drunk and stupid’ balance right but when it is achieved I can dance the night away with out feeling shy or falling down.

7) Approach a lists like this seriously:
It’s just not in my nature.

8) Work in food retail again:
For a lot of my college life I worked part time in Iceland (the frozen foods store and not the country). I hated every second of it.

If you do not believe the old truth that the worst thing about working in retail is the customers (followed quickly by the employer) then I have a story to tell you. An old man once approached me and asked where he could find our ice-cream. It was a rule that we had to show customers to the location of something rather then simply point out the direction. As I led the way I suddenly felt his hand brush across my ass. It was worrying but it seemed like it could have been an accident coursed by walking too close, an embarrassing but innocent mistake. Then it happened a second time and there was definite feeling. I started walking a lot fast in a panic, pointed out the ice-cream and kept on going. My pace got even quicker when I heard him ask if I would reach into the freezer and get him an ice-cream from the bottom. To hell with customer satisfaction.

9) Be able to think of a number 9 in the list of 10 things I will never do:
I’m drawing a blank… um… I’ll never have an army of robot zombie mice. There you go.

10) Spell dyslexic with out the aid of a spell checker:
Dyslexix, dyslxix, deslxic….. bugger.

(Tag: BlondButBright, Bonestorm, ChickyBabe and VallyP but only if you want to)

Boom Chicago

2006-12-01T09:43:00.000+01:00

As someone who has worked in the theater industry I am used to running around unseen in the shadows backstage while actors perform before their public. However, I am not accustom to actually standing on stage in the presents of an entire audience who are waiting for me to say something funny, only equipped with a microphone to defend myself if things turn ugly.

I’ve been to the Boom Chicago Comedy Theatre in Amsterdam a few times but my first visit will always be the most memorable for me because it was when I found myself in the above situation. The show is a mix of improvisation and sketches and it was during one of the improvised scenes that I was called up on stage.

I was enjoying the performance with a friend (who was visiting from England). At first we didn’t really know what to think when one of the comedians asked the entire audience to stand and were only allowed to sit down again as he said things such as, “sit down if you have a tattoo,” or “sit down if you’ve had sex in the last 24 hours.”

Since I didn’t have a tattoo or a love life I remained standing. In fact I remained standing for quite a while as other people sat down. When there were only four of us left I realized two things: (1) I need a tattoo and/or a girlfriend and (2) something embarrassing was potentially about to happen.

It was not long before I found out because I was the last man standing and had to go on stage to help with the next improvised sketch. I was given the simple task of coming up with the title for a song but my mind went blank with embarrassment whenever the microphone was pointed towards me as if it was some kind of Kryptonite. Inspiration finally came to the rescue in the form of the logo on the T-shirt I was wearing but at the cost of turning me into a walking nerd stereotype in one simple sentence. “Atari is cool.”

I'm still not sure why I said it but when the title was rejected for being too short (artistic differences) I came up with a new suggestion and the smash hit, “Atari is really cool,” was born.

I thought I was off the hook as the comedian started to sing this moving tale of 80’s computer games but every few lines the song would suddenly stop and I had to provide the next line. The ballad told the epic tale of me on a heroic five hour Atari playing marathon, ignoring anything that stood in my way, end of level bosses, sore thumbs and a nagging girlfriend (who could have prevented me having to go on stage if she was not fictional). Suddenly I was a god amongst geeks and I had groupies.

Any heckling was quickly silenced with a shout of, “Shut up! This is Stuart and Stuart ROCKS!” from the singing comedian. There were chants of, “Stuart Rocks,” during the rest of the show (which led to other sketches about me).

A few weeks later I took my parents to see the show. When it came to the same part of the performance I was quickly off the hook when we were told to, “sit down if you have ever been on stage.” However, my mother was still standing. She remained standing for quite a while. In fact she was still standing when it was down to six people. At this point I started to worry but I was able to breathe a sigh of relief when she finally sat down (third to last). I was relieved for two reasons: (1) I did not have to be embarrassed while watching my Mother on stage and (2) she had sat down before the, “have you had sex in the last 24 hours,” question and no child should know that much about their parent’s sex life.

Cooking Disasters

2006-11-27T23:51:00.000+01:00

I lived with my parents until I moved to Holland. This made moving out a double shock. Not only was I going out into the world by myself for the first time but I was also doing it in a completely different country. I had to learn to cook for myself (or choose from less appealing options such as McDonalds or starving) but at the time I could hardly even boil an egg.

My early cooking attempts met with varying levels of success, including giving myself food poisoning from under cooking chicken. Since then my need for a stomach pump has reduced as my kitchen skills have improved. However there is one simple food item that I have not yet been able to master. Many of my attempts have met with bitter failure both figuratively and literally. For some unknown reason I am unable to cook rice properly. The mysteries of this simple ingredient continue to elude me and something always goes wrong.

During my first attempt I discovered that rice expands as it boils. Unfortunately this revelation came when it was too late to do anything about the oozing volcano of rice that was slowly pouring out over the kitchen.

One of my more recent attempts was awarded the title of worst tasting rice ever. At the time this statement seemed like an unfair over reaction. How bad can rice possibly taste? When I sampled it for myself I found nothing wrong. In fact it was light, fluffy and all the other things that rice should be. At least it was for the first few seconds before the hidden after taste kicked in. Suddenly it tasted as if a sickly rat with bad breath had decided to end its life by jumping into the boiling pot of rice when I had not been looking. Luckily it was only because I had accidentally let all the water boil away.

Rice is my kitchen nemesis and the source of much amusement for my friends (as long as they don’t have to eat it). The sound of rice boiling in water might as well be the sound of mocking laughter.

However, there can only be so many ways to get rice wrong. One day I will get it right even if I have to burn the kitchen down doing so. Then I’ll eventually be able to move onto the next challenge, boiling an egg.

Considering

2006-11-23T19:43:00.000+01:00

Mum: "Have you got any plans for the 19th? Your Dad is trying to arrange something."

Me: "No, nothing at the moment. Why? What is he organizing?"

Mum: "I’m sworn to secrecy but we’re going to book tickets and it should give you another funny story for your blog."

Me: "Considering that most of my funny blog entries involve me getting trapped in lifts, breaking bones or some other kind of physical injury, should I worry about what you have planned?"

Sinterklaas and Zwarte Pieten

2006-11-20T20:54:00.000+01:00

Imagine that you have been living in Holland for half a year. You are still unfamiliar with most of the countries customs and quarks. You are walking down the local high street one chilly but pleasant afternoon in late November. It is an ordinary day like any other. Suddenly you hear some kind of commotion up ahead. Imagine your surprise when you suddenly see coming into view a parade of men and women dressed in what looks like Renaissance jester out fits. You would find it a little strange wouldn't you. However, my description does not end their. Visualize that they are all white but have covered their faces in black shoe polish, painted their lips bright red and donned large fake afros upon their heads. If you do not find that extremely strange then you might be perplexed by the group of children cheering and singing as they pass.

If you can imagine this scene then you might understand my introduction to the Dutch custom of Sinterklaas. This is exactly how I experienced it for the first time. I did not know it but I had just witnessed a parade of Zwarte Pieten (Black Piets). At first I thought I had found myself in the middle of an Al Jolson appreciation ceremony or something much more sinister.

The Zwarte Pieten are the helpers of Sinterklaas who arrived in Holland again this weekend and should not be mistaken for Santa Claus. As every Dutch person will inform you they might both be old men with white beards who dress in red and give out presents to good children but they are nothing alike.

To avoid confusion I have put together a quick reference of the key differences:

1) Santa Claus delivers presents on December 24th but Sinterklass arrives in Holland during November, does some sight seeing, delivers presents on the 5th of December and returns home in time to enjoy a quiet Christmas.

2) Santa Claus rides on a sledge pulled by 12 over worked reindeer but Sinterklaas rides a white horse and saves money on animal feed.

3) Santa Claus comes from the North Pole but Sinterklaas comes from Spain (by boat) and saves money on his yearly heating bill.

4) Santa Claus puts presents for children under a Christmas tree but Sinterklaas puts presents in children’s shoes regardless if they are smelly.

5) Santa Claus gives a lump of coal to children who have been naughty so that they might learn from their mistakes. Sinterklass on the other hand has a zero tolerance policy and orders Zwarte Pieten to throw naughty children into a sack and drags them back to Spain while beating them with twigs.

6) Santa Claus has an elf equal opportunities program which has helped keep the fairytale creature unemployment rate down. However, Sinterklaas employs a 1920s racist stereotype which most other countries have not dared to mention since the 50s apart from in movies about racism (but it's not intended to be offensive).

Undercover Englishman

2006-11-15T22:09:00.000+01:00

After five years of living in Holland I have come to a conclusion that has not been easy to accept. I have been trying to ignore this revelation for some time but I must finally accept it. I would be a terrible spy. The child in me has taken this as a heavy blow. During my day to day life in Holland I regularly find myself in situations that would result in my cover being blown if I was an undercover spy.

It can happen in a supermarket queue, on a train platform or any other place where random people gather together in close proximity. It might begin with an observation about the weather, a comment about something amusing or any random topic that can spark a conversation between strangers. All that matters is as soon as someone says something to me in Dutch that I do not understand I only have a moment to decide; Apologize and tell them I don’t understand or react as if I did understand (and hide my identity as an Englishman).

Being honest usually results in a look of sympathy with out the comment being repeated in English so I often try to hide my lack of linguistic skills with a smile and a nod. It’s a simple plan designed to avoid the awkward moment but it usually back fires.

The fake response is sometimes so convincing that it starts an actual conversation. Although it is sometimes possible to continue this sham for a short while ‘something’ usually happens that brings the whole charade crashing down to the ground.

Even if it’s impossible to understand what they are saying the rising inflexion at the end of their sentence is unmistakable. They just asked a question, a question that demands an answer, a question that can’t be answer with frantic nodding and smiling unless I want to appear very simple and slightly scary.

If I was living in a World War 2 Spy movie (in Germany) it would probably not be long before I was dragged away to a basement to spend sometime in the company of a man who has an unhealthy interest in dentistry. However, my Dutch language skills would not be a complete loss. If my interrogator asked if I ‘had a bonus card,’ or ‘wanted mayonnaise on my fries,’ as he was pulling teeth I would be able to reply convincingly and still hide my true identity as an Englishman.

Luckily this extreme example has not happened yet but my failed attempt at blending in does mean I course myself much more embarrassment then I would have. This is why I would be a terrible spy but maybe it also means the Dutch would make great interrogators.

Nieuw Nieuw Straat

2006-11-11T14:31:00.000+01:00

English co-worker: "The bar is on new new street? There is actually a street called new new street? Cool."

American co-worker commenting to Dutch co-worker: "New New Street? Floris your people are dumb."

English co-worker: "And that's coming from an American."

Train Ticket Criminal

2006-11-05T13:41:00.000+01:00

I am a criminal. I have broken the rules of our society and paid the price. People will judge me for the rest of my life. As I walk down the street I already feel their disapproving eyes on me and I hear their hushed whispers to each other.

“Look… there goes the guy who forgot to buy a new train ticket.”

My crime is forgetfulness. Anyone who travels on the train with a monthly pass knows it is all too easy to forget it needs renewing during the early morning half asleep walk to the train station.

I only realized my mistake when I heard the familiar call, “Kaartjes Alsjeblieft,” from the train conductor who had entered the carriage to check everyone’s tickets.

I am an honest person. I didn’t try to pass my ticket off as being in date. When she approached me I apologetically explained my mistake and felt rather stupid. From the look on her face that followed I instantly knew I was in trouble. She was looking at me like she had just caught a hardened criminal stealing charity money from a children’s hospital. Apparently I had also taken their teddy bears just to be extra mean and make them cry.

“You don’t have to tell me if you do not wish to but why did you not buy a ticket?” She asked me with a stern face. It didn’t have the same ring as “you have the right to remain silent” but she said it as if trying to achieve the same level of seriousness and authority. Obviously no one messed with the train service when she was on patrol.

Over the course of the ‘telling off’ she asked me the same question several times. It was as if she was looking for a hole in my story, waiting for me to make one slip that would bring my whole web of lies (as she believed) crashing to the ground.

“I didn’t realize it had run out at the start of the week.” I told her truthfully. “I forgot to…”

“The start of the week?” She interrupted through clenched teeth. “You’ve been traveling with out a ticket for more then one day?”

She made a move that suggested she would have reached for a can of mace if she had one. From the way she talked I was half expecting to end up face down on the floor as she forcefully handcuffed my hands behind my back.

Suddenly the train carriage began to feel like a police interrogation room. I thought about asking for a lawyer or turn snitch and give up the names of other people with out tickets. There was no way I was becoming someone’s bitch in the slammer. Luckily I only had to pay a fine and I could put the plans for my prison break on hold.

I can live with the fact that I had to pay a fine for forgetting my ticket (even though I would have rather kept my money obviously); it might help me to remember next time. However I did not like the smug way the train conductor acted during the whole event. I was obviously a liar and a thief in her eyes. I got the impression she had failed the police force entrance exam and was taking it out on me.

The moral of the story: Never equip train conductors with firearms. Innocent people will die if they have had a bad day.

Trick or Treat

2006-10-31T01:41:00.000+01:00

Halloween is upon us once more and the undead walk the earth looking for candy. As a horror movie fan I always enjoyed this time of year and the basic special effects make-up techniques I was taught at college come in handy when creating costumes for Halloween parties. However, they also resulted in a few awkward moments as I traveled to my first Halloween party in Holland.

I had decided to go to the party as a zombie and spent an hour in front of the mirror molding morticians wax and latex into mutilated burnt flesh on the right side of my face (a little extreme I know). With the addition of fake blood and a dirty boiler suit I almost looked like a bootleg version of Freddy Kruger. Close enough in appearance to be mistaken for the well known movie villain but different enough to avoid copy right infringement. I could have been Fred Crewger, the killer from A Nightmare on Elton Street.

Since I knew it would take a while to get ready I decided to prepare at home and travel on the train to the party. It was not until later that I found out how much of a mistake this was. I thought people in their costumes traveling to parties would be a common sight but it turned out I was wrong. Halloween is not a very well known holiday in Holland (until recently). This is especially true amongst the older generation who must have been more then a little surprised to see a zombie buying alcohol at the local super market for a party. I probably looked like an off duty horror movie killer taking a break from murdering lost teenagers in the woods.

As I browsed the shelves for booze I heard a small scream and turned to see one of the regular checkout girls running towards me with a look of horror and concern on her face. She franticly asked me what had happened as I tried to calm her down and explain it was not real. I could have used the opportunity to ask for compensation money for extreme freezer burn from the frozen foods section.

The look on her face was similar to what I saw later on the faces of my fellow train passengers during the two hour journey to Rotterdam. However, they expressed a lot more horror and a lot less concern (unless you count concern for their own safety). As each of them boarded the train they would look at my face with worry before looking at my hands, going wide eyed and moving very quickly to another part of the train. In retrospect covering my hands with fake blood might have been a bad idea as well.

I wanted to explain to all of them that I was going to a party but at the same time I did not want them to run off screaming before I had time to elaborate that I meant a Halloween party and not some kind of serial killer reunion party. I decided to sit quietly and avoid eye contact which probably made me look like a very shy serial killer.

Eventually I arrived at the party and was no longer out of place amongst the vampires, zombies, witches and other party goers. Everyone was very surprised that I had traveled so far in my costume. It made an amusing story during the consumption of alcohol.

The next morning I discovered that pulling latex off the face is even less pleasant with a hang over and fake blood dyes skin orange. I only got a few strange looks on my return journey due to the orange rash like marks covering my hands and face. Luckily there was nothing in the newspapers about a shy serial killer timidly stalking people on the train to Rotterdam.

Next time I think I’ll go as a ghost under a sheet.

Drunken Train Fiasco

2006-10-28T23:18:00.000+02:00

Post Drunk Check List:

Hangover: Unfortunately
Bones: Intact
Location: Home, thank god
Dignity: Warning! Major damage to the load bearing structures!

I’ve been less accident prone lately. In general this is a good thing for me but it also means I have less silly accident prone stories to write about. I was probably tempting fate when I stated this to a co-worker on Friday night during a company outing to a local pub. We were all quite drunk and I’d already been asked to re-tell the broken ankle story again twice. I should have realized that was another sign that something would happen.

However, everything was fine while I was at the pub (even though I drank more then I intended to). There were no problems during my stumble to the station and the train departed with out incident. Unfortunately I was not on it because I was on a different train bound for another destination. This only dawned on my drunk brain when I realized the train journey was taking longer then normal. My suspicion was confirmed when I slurred out a question to a fellow passenger.

At the time I thought I must have been on the fast train to Hilversum. I know people in Hilversum so (although it would have been embarrassing) I could have gone over to their place if there were no more trains running. Unfortunately Hilversum came and went with out a stop. My train station of salvation passed by in a blur of speed and I realized I had no idea where I was going. Another slurred question and I was informed that the train was going to Utrecht. Utrecht is quite far from where I live which is why I then proceeded to pace up and down and look quite worried.

When I arrived at Utrecht it was obvious that I would not be getting home via a train. There were no more until five in the morning. The station was deserted apart from another worried looking individual who seemed to be in the same situation. The only place that was open was the nearby Burger King.

For a little while I stumbled around the station wondering what to do next. Given my past track record I did not want to temped fate any more by trying to find an alternative method of getting home and sleeping in a 24 hour fast food restaurant was not an experience I wanted to repeat. So I did the only other thing I could do. I phoned my flat mate and asked him to pick me up in his car. I felt like an drunk idiot teenager who had just been forced to call his dad to bail him out of a tricky situation. Luckily he did not mind helping me out. The only damage done was to my dignity but it did make me wonder what might have happened if my flat mate did not have a car.

In the future I’ll be paying much more attention to train signs.

Need Sleep

2006-10-24T12:59:00.000+02:00

I am not a morning person. I never have been and I probably never will be. I usually stumble out of bed looking like an extra from a zombie movie as I search for the shower (instead of brains). This would not be so much of a problem if it was not for the other thing I have never been; a coffee person. Because of this my main method of communication during the first few hours of the day is a mix of grunting and yawning, usually in reply to conversations that I am not awake enough to understand in the first place.

I have not helped matters recently by ignoring the suggested cure for tiredness, sleep. Over the last few nights (few meaning weeks) I’ve tried to maximize my waking hours (waking meaning computer gaming) by staying awake longer into the early hours of the morning. However, this has backfired on me and it is now harder to stay awake during the traditional time for being conscious, the day. Even as I type this I am finding it hard to control my yawning and resist the pillow like invitingness of my keyboard. In fact, am I typing this or only dreaming of typing?

I have diagnosed the symptom of my stubbiness when it comes to bed time as Bachelor-itus or (as it is better known by its more common name) Single-male-itus. Insomnia fueled computer game playing is not the only side effect of this condition.

Other known symptoms include:

A growing cultivation of beer in the fridge
An increase in the kitchen curry paste count
An out brake of the interior design method known as ‘guy’s place’
The inability to be in a room with out a computer or games console without feeling weak

(At this point in typing I had to stop and take a nap)

For a long time a girl-friend or wife was believed to be the cure for this condition but recent research has uncovered that this only treats some of the symptoms and not the course. This condition can still be controlled but if it goes un-checked it can develop into the rather more serous Mid-life-crises-itus. If this should occur the surgeon general strongly advises against the use of so called ‘alternative treatment’ such as buying a sports car or motorbike.

I have a long way to go before I reach this stage but I still need to sort out my slumber pattern before the sleep deprivation hallucinations start to set in or my blog entries become a collection of random letters as I pass out on the keyboard. If only I could use the computer while sleeping.

Anyone want to read me a bed time story?

Dutch Reality Game Shows

2006-10-19T23:38:00.000+02:00

Holland could be considered the birth place of the reality game show (despite being one itself). Many of the reality shows now airing on TVs around the world originated from the country. Big Brother, Fear Factor, and that show about that woman’s search for a sperm donor all came from the land of windmills and tulips.

Calling them reality shows seems like a bit of a stretch since neither the producers nor contestants appear to have a grip on the shows genre, reality.

The following are actual shows on TV in Holland. I promise I have not made them up:

The Golden Cage
It might sound like a strip club in the red light district but it is in fact the new incarnation of Big Brother. Contestants spend a minimum of a year in a Villa worth 2 million Euros (which is also the prize) but there is no voting off. The show goes on indefinitely until all but one person has left voluntarily. All participants can do is wait for opponents to get home sick or annoy them until they leave. The show is probably only a few seasons away from the ‘beat your opponents to death to win the prize’ rule with product placement weapon sponsorship.

Undercover Love
One member of a couple has to pose as singles as they take part in different challenges designed to test how far they are will go to keep their (soon to be over) relationship secret. All this is done while their partner watches via TV. The person who manages to keep their relationship secret wins the prize money which will probably come in handy for any divorce settlements or re-pair costs when their former partner slashes their car tires (or worse).

Weet Wat Je Date
A group of four singles stand behind a glass barrier in their underwear while a contestant picks out which one they would like to date before they know anything about them. All the producers need to do is put a red filter over the studio lighting and they have a televised version of Amsterdam’s famous red light district.

Fear Factor
I’m just waiting for the season that makes The Running Man seem less fictional as contestants are hunted down by a fat man on a motorcycle waving a chainsaw about.

For The Hord

2006-10-10T22:34:00.000+02:00

I have a confession to make. I have not been honest about who I am. I have hidden my true identity in a web of lies and secrets. The Stuart you might think you know is a work of fiction. I am really Sneed, mighty troll shaman, defender of Azeroth and champion of the Hord.

I have faced mighty foes such as Darkmaster Gandling, Hakah the Blood God and the bunny that decimated my vegetable patch last week. I am skilled in the arts of the sacred totems, the wielding of a staff weapon and touching my nose with the tip of my tongue. I fear nothing (accept the dark, the sight of blood, the alliance, thunder and the bunny that decimated my vegetable patch last week).

Not really but the rainy weekend gave me the perfect excuse to start playing World of Warcraft again, something that I had not done for a few months. When I logged on it was also raining in the virtual world of the game which seemed ironic and maybe defeated the purpose of staying indoors to avoid rain. However, where in Amsterdam would I be able to go questing before I found myself confined to a tiny jail cell and charged for running around the city with a big stick and screaming, “For the Hord”, as I ambushed tourists. It would not be long before I was then transferred to a mental asylum for claiming, “The goblin told me to do it,” as my defence. There are some activities which are best confined to the boundaries of a fantasy virtual world.

Playing a massively multiplayer online game can be a strange experience. Sometimes it is easy to forget that a player’s character is not an accurate representation of the player them self (they are not really Elves or Orcs). The reason some players might seem to have the maturity of a 12 year old is because they actually are 12 years old and most of the female characters in the game are probably male players who either go along with the flirting as a way to get free in-game items or because they are a little bit creepy.

During the summer I managed to go with out playing the game for a while but like most addictions I only thought I was over the habit. After just a few hours of playing I found myself hooked again, happily hunting through the land of Azeroth for quest items and evil monsters to slay (or run away from). I even managed to get one of my old characters up to level 60 (the highest level in the game).

I’ll probably be addicted to the game for a few more months (before I’m arrested in Amsterdam for confusing fantasy and reality) so if you see a cowardly troll named Sneed or a clumsy tauren called Oakhammer running around on the European Scarshield Legion server fell free to say hello. If I’m not running for my life from some scary angry creature I’ll stop to reply.

Rebuilding Amsterdam

2006-10-04T23:02:00.000+02:00

Amsterdam seems to be in a state of constant renovation and re-building. Ever since I arrived in the city something, somewhere has been under going reconstruction (BlondeButBright has commented on this too). The big projects at the moment are the addition of a new metro line and the re-building of Amsterdam Central Train Station (or Amsterdam Central Building Site as I like to call it), an undertaking that will not be complete until 2011.

Mini building sites can pop up any where in the city with out warning like black holes. At the start of this week one such construction zone appeared right outside the office where I worked. The street is currently being pulled up in preparation for a re-construction of the canal side.

The water supply to our office has already been cut off due to a miss calculation with a pickaxe and the strength of a water pipe. As a result our H2O was spilling out over the street and into the near by canal for most of the day. By the end of the week we might have a full defensive moat or we’ll all be floating out into the harbour on our desks when the building falls into the canal. Dutch safety laws do not seem to be the strictest in the world (if they exist at all).

The mishap with the water has also created one of the many daring obstacles I now have to navigate in order to get to work. There are JCB diggers to dodge, raging rapids (that was once the office water supply) to avoid, mounds of sand to navigate, holes to side step and various other building site perils to brave. All that is missing is a tense but adventurous movie soundtrack, a giant rolling bolder and a few treasure hunting Nazis. However, Indiana Jones might shy away from this one and even Bob the Builder would give up.

Don’t Drink The Canal Water

2006-09-28T23:42:00.000+02:00

Amsterdam is well known for its canals and although they are one of the cities main attractions they are well known for not being very clean. It’s not a desirable place to go for a quick swim even if you are diving for abandoned bikes. Drinking the water would most likely end up in the mutation of a third arm or eleventh toe. Given my accident prone nature it might be surprising to know that I have never fallen into a canal myself. However, I do know someone who has.

After leaving a house warming party late one night with a small group of friends we stumbled around the streets of Amsterdam looking for something to do while we waited for the trains started running again.

When a pile of bricks was discovered by a canal an impromptu game of ‘throw the brick in the water’ began. Despite the very simplistic rules I did not want to not take part. The first of the group picked up and threw his brick, almost reaching the other side of the canal. The second person grabbed a brick and did the same but his did not go as far. Then the drunkest person in the group decided it was his turn.

The drunken Scotsman picked up a brick, pulled back his arm and flung out as hard as he could in an awkward move that looked like it might dislocate his shoulder. The brick tumbled forward a few inches and landed just in front of his toes. However, he did not let the rather girly throw dull his determination and another brick was picked up for a second attempt. This time he decided a run up would give his projectile the acceleration it needed.

He took a few steps back, breathed in a deep breath, held the brick up high and ran towards the canal edge. Using the momentum of the run he extended his arm out into a powerful throw. He used all his strength to send the brick into the air. It looked like it could fly for miles. At least it might have if he had not forgotten one important thing. He forgot to let go.

The brick with the Scotsman still firmly attached flew a short distance before plunging into the brown water of the canal. There was panic all around but most of it was coming from the now soaking wet Scotsman who was trying to paddle back towards us. Baywatch might have made life guard duty seem glamorous but there is nothing sexy about fishing a drunk Scottish friend out of a murky Dutch canal at 3am on a Saturday night.

It only lasted a few seconds but as you can imagine he was very happy to be back on dry land again. He let us know this by screaming, “I’m alive,” every few minutes and sounding very surprised of the fact himself. Sadly the same could not be said of his mobile phone which was announced dead on arrival.

We dragged him back to a nearby friend’s house so he could dry off and shout out a few more times about his mortal status. This also gave the owner of the house (and the bathrobe the Scotsman had to borrow) a surprise when we turned up on the door step. The joke, “you look like you’ve been swimming in a canal,” didn’t really work at the time.

The next morning we were all very hung over but still amazed by what had happened. There was a lot of talk about what might have happened over breakfast as well as a few failed attempts to revive the drowned phone. Since that day I think the Scotsman has had a new respect for canals and to my knowledge he has never grown a third arm or eleventh toe, not yet at least.

Strange Dream

2006-09-22T20:54:00.000+02:00

I’ve always been fascinated by dream logic. I think it’ one of the reasons why I like writers like Neil Gaimen. So it is interesting when I can remember my dreams with such detail like the one I had the other night.

The dream started in an old Wild West town. I was there with my father (who has a great interest in the Wild West in real life). We were trying to fit in so the locals would not realize we were outsiders. My father was blending in perfectly but I was in trouble. All my clothes were too modern so I had to hide in the house as I tried to search for something close to a cowboy outfit. The best I could find was a checker shirt and jeans.

Then the dream suddenly changed location as they often do. I was in a hospital which was in my parent’s house. Although I did not remember arriving there I knew the reason for my visitation was to find a solution to my problem of not blending in. I spent what felt like ages waiting in the corridor. Every now and then a slightly over weight hospital orderly would come over and apologize for keeping me waiting.

Then the dream changed location again and the corridor was a locomotive pulling into a large train station. Some how I knew I was on my way to see a hypnotist to help me with my problem even though I could no longer remember what the problem was. I had a feeling of suspicion about the whole situation.

I stepped out of the train onto the platform expecting someone to meet me but there was no one around and yet the platform was crowded with people at the same time. Someone called out my name and I looked around to see a smartly dressed train station conductor. His hat was pulled down low over his face so I could only see his mouth under the caps peak. He was obviously trying to hide his identity so I took his hat off and discovered it was the hospital orderly I had seen earlier. Suddenly I knew I was being set up for something bad. Even though I knew this I followed him to the lab but I phoned my Mother for advice as we walked. She agreed that the way they had contacted me was bad (although she said it with many more swear words then she ever would in real life) but suggested going along with the experiment anyway.

I was introduced to the doctor who would hypnotize me. He explained that I would be taking part in a month long experiment to help people improve them selves through hypnosis. They promised they would not wipe my mind but I was still a little suspicious. Then with out warning they suddenly put me under. I was in a trance but I was fighting it so I could hear what they were trying to do to me. I struggled to keep my eyes open as the hypnotist instructed me to paint more and express myself on canvas. It didn’t sound like such a bad instruction. There was a second instruction. I know there was but I can not remember what it was and shortly afterwards I woke up.

It was a dream I kept on thinking about during the day and imagining what the out come might have been. I wondered if the suspicious behavior had been a set up to get me into the right frame of mind and what I thought was the experiment was just a distraction from the real experiment. Maybe at the end Darren Brown would have appeared from behind a curtain.

I still can’t remember what the second instruction in the dream was but if I suddenly start barking like a dog or try to kill a famous celebrity after someone says a trigger word one day I’ll know it must have worked.

Zombies

2006-09-18T13:27:00.000+02:00

Friday - 3:55am - 5 hours after the incident:
No one really knows how it started. All they can do is unimaginatively suggest scenarios from late night horror movies they have seen. "Maybe it’s a virus like in that movie based on that computer game," or, "It's a curse just like that movie starring Bruce Campbell," they say.

But the truth is it does not really matter how it started. We only have enough food to last three more days and the looks of mistrust have already started. It won't take long for that mistrust to turn into something much worse but that does not matter either. Our improvised barricade will fail long before that happens.

I don't know how bad the outside situation is. Maybe they have already spread across Holland or even the whole of Europe. Either way there is only one thing left that I can do. It's time to gather whatever weapons I can find, go outside and take down as many of the zombie scum with me as I can...

That or I could just turn off the games console and go to bed.

Friday - 3:55am - 5 hours past my bed time:
I might have spent a little too much time playing the zombie slaying game Dead Rising this weekend. On Friday night alone I was laying waist to the undead until 4am which left me feeling very tired and zombie like myself for most of the Saturday and Sunday. It also caused me to have some very strange zombie themed dreams. If I had carried on playing my sleep deprived brain might have blurred fantasy with reality, causing me to board up all of the windows and start shouting questions of, “Have you been bitten?!” at my house mate.

If there really was a zombie scenario in Amsterdam I don’t think anyone would realize for a while. For the first few hours it would simply seem like an influx of stoned tourists who have spent too much time in the local coffee shops. However, when the stoner’s ‘attack of the munchies’ takes on a scary new meaning panic would set in as the population realize what is happening.

At this point the government would put into effect an emergency plan to systematically destroy the bridges around the city. The spider web pattern of the canals would make it possible to isolate areas and at the very least slow down the infection. However if anything was to be the cause of a zombie invasion in Holland I bet it would be the canal water.

With the bridges destroyed the few survivors left would live on islands of what was once Amsterdam (who knows if the man trapped on the newly formed Red Light Island would be happy or not). Life for the non-Dutch survivors would not be easy. All the remaining food supplies would be covered in mayonnaise or pinda (peanut) sauce and Dutch music would be played to lift people’s spirits. At that point I think I would swim back across the canal and take my chances with the zombies if they have not already been scared away by the Dutch music as well.

So You Want To Move To Holland

2006-09-13T23:51:00.000+02:00

A few people have asked me about the process of moving to Holland and what they might need to do with in the first few days of arriving. For this reason I am going to take a break from my usual style of writing and attempt explaining a few things which might be useful.

Most of the information I am going to give will be from personal experience so I would still suggest checking other sauces of information for more details. Most companies will also help new employees with moving to the country and give them information on the essential things they need to organize upon their arrival.

The Move:
It may not be necessary to bring everything with you when you move to Holland. There are a lot of stores in the country where you can buy everything that you might need for modern life. The question you have to ask yourself is will it cost more to transport all your belongings or buy new ones?

Stores like Hema and Blokker are good for essential kitchen, bathroom, cleaning and other house hold items. Media Markt is a place where you will find lots of electronic equipment you might need and there is no shortage of clothing stores either.

A lot of Dutch towns also have second-hand ('tweedehands') shops if you are looking for cheap furniture and other items.

Residence Permit:
If you are a non-EU citizen one of the first things you will need to do is apply for a Residence Permit so you can stay in the country. For EU citizens a passport is enough to allow them residency in the country. Although a Residence Permit is optional for EU citizens it can still prove useful as an extra form of identification when organizing other things.

Tax:
EU citizens do not require work permits. However, they do need a Sofi number to register in the tax/financial and social system (non-EU citizens also need one). This is usually straight forward and can be done by taking your passport to a local tax office and asking for a Sofi number.

Finding a House:
Finding a reasonably priced place to live in Holland is not always easy if you are looking for accommodation in Amsterdam, Utrecht, The Hague or Rotterdam. However it is not impossible.

If you are looking for a place to rent you will normally be asked to pay a waarborg (deposit). This can be between one and three months rent. Some employers will help new staff find a place to live (maybe as a temporary situation) if the job is the reason for them moving to the country.

Opening a Bank Account:
If you are planning to stay in Holland it is advisable to get a Dutch bank account. There are several major banks in Holland such as Rabobank, PostBank, Abn-Amro and ING Bank.

Health Insurance:
You will require health insurance when living in Holland. There are a few companies that offer different packages (from basic to premium). Some employers also have health insurance (and pension) deals that employees can join.

You will also need to register with a general practitioner in your area. Most medical insurance companies will provide you with a list of general practitioners near your home.

Basic Translation:
If you do not know anyone who speaks Dutch but need something translated Babel Fish can come in handy. However, it is not the most accurate translator so you may wish to try other means as well.

More information:
I hope this information has been useful for those of you who may be thinking of moving to the land of clogs and windmills. If you are looking for extra information I can also recommend:

They Came From Holland

2006-09-10T18:45:00.000+02:00

I have never been someone who is easily scared by spiders. However, when I saw Arachnophobia as a young teenager in the early 90s I have to admit that I was creped out for a few days. As a result I felt uncomfortable walking under lamp shades and I could not look at pop-corn the same way again. However, it was only a movie and the chances of a spider attack on that scale really happening seemed highly unlikely….. until a few days ago.

Earlier this week I noticed a rather strange amount of spiders in the Dutch town were I live, much more then you would normally expect to see. Most of them were near some form of foliage and if there was no spider in sight there was at least a very big web that looked like it was still in use.

Some of the arachnids have managed to spin webs over seemingly impossible distances from one tree to another, possibly with ambitions of catching a human. It is lucky that I do not suffer from Arachnophobia otherwise I might have started running through the streets screaming, never to return. The little eight legged freaks have spun webs every where around town. Maybe this is the start of a combined attempt to cocoon the whole of North Holland. Shelob’s little minions might already be at work in other locations around the country.

Luckily they are only European Garden Spiders (I think) and their bite is harmless unless you happen to be a fly. However, if they form an alliance (or worse, a hybrid) with the mosquitoes we are all doomed. At the very least I will likely get sued by every arachnophobia sufferer for coursing them emotional distress with this post.

The Invasion Continues

2006-09-05T21:36:00.000+02:00

Most smugglers travel from Holland to other destinations with their illegal cargo. However, when I flew back into Holland on Sunday night I was smuggling supplies into the country instead. The flight itself was already a bit worrying when the plane hit heavy turbulence as it came into land but then I had to agonize about what would happen if customs stopped me as I collected my luggage. If they searched my suitcase they would have discovered that I was smuggling the finest British herbs into their country. Something so addictive it has millions of British people hooked. I was smuggling English Tea Bags, strictly for personal use of course. I was also carrying curry paste and catnip (for the cat not me).

There are some things that you simply can not find in Holland. So when ever I am back in England I stock up on supplies, cram them all into my suit case and wonder how confused the baggage handlers will get when they x-ray my luggage. However, I doubt it is as strange as the time my electric shaver somehow turned on in my suitcase during the flight.

My last few days in England were busy but fun. I went out to see my college friends who still joke about all the accident prone things I got up to as a student (I’ll tell some of those stories here some day). I also caught up with my old flat mate and even helped one of my friends and his girlfriend move into their first home.

Now that I am back in Holland I’ve lost most of my ability to eavesdrop on other peoples conversations. I also have to get used to being back at work again. I’ve already sorted through the thousand e-mails that were sent while I was away and deleted the nine hundred and ninety nine that were not for me.

I usually return to England for a little while every few months. My next trip is planned for Christmas. Hopefully the tea bags I secretly smuggled into the country will last that long. If they doesn't I might be reduced to using the catnip.

Return to the Home Front

2006-08-30T17:49:00.000+02:00

After a short flight and a slightly bumpy landing I arrived back on English soil late last Friday night. I've returned to the land of rain, red buses and tea for a week of catching up with friends, family and trying to remember how much the British pound is worth.

After five years of living in Holland returning to England for a few days always feels a little strange at first. There are a lot of little (and a few big) differences between the two countries which I have to acclimatize to again each time. However, after a day or two I usually stop confusing the staff in London shops by saying, "Dank U," (Thank you) and, "Dag," (Bye).

The language change is also confusing in another way. When I am in Holland I filter out a lot of the background conversations of passers by (with out realizing it) because I can't easily understand most of them. Returning to England is like suddenly being cured of deafness. I can understand every conversation with in earshot again and it makes it hard to ignore them. I suddenly have a small window of insight into the lives of the people I pass in the street. This makes it more like getting my hearing back during a TV soap opera. It's hard to explain if you have not experienced it yourself but some of the strangest things I've heard in the last few days include:

"You better stop skimming money off the top before you get caught."
"I think I took too much of my medication. I can't feel my fingers or toes."
They could be lines from an episode of Eastenders.

There is also a big difference in atmosphere between London and Amsterdam which is most noticeable in the ambient noise of the two cities. The soundtrack to London is all bleeping traffic lights, police sirens and barking dog. For Amsterdam the soundtrack is bicycle bells, canal boat engines and loud tourists.

By the time I’m fully used to it all again it will be time to return to Holland and do the whole thing in reverse again. However, at least I don’t confuse Dutch shop staff as much when I speak English to them as I do when I accidentally speak Dutch to British shop staff.

Parents Visit: Day 4 & 5 – Old Holland and the Heron Invasion

2006-08-25T02:34:00.000+02:00

As I stepped off the train at Amsterdam on the fourth day (of my parents visit) my phone started to ring. My mum was calling. Since they had booked their hotel before I knew I would be moving we were staying in different towns and had to meet up in Amsterdam each morning.

“Are you at Amsterdam yet?” She asked when I answered the phone.

“Yeah, I just got here.” It was the first time I was not late due to my inability to function in the mornings, something my parents kept on taking the Mickey out of me for.

“Ok… Well... We got off at the wrong stop and ended up at the Arena. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” She explained. I was finally able to take the Mickey out of them in return.

When they arrived we made our way to a traditional Dutch village near Zaandam. It’s an open air museum made up of old 19th century Dutch houses, factories and windmills all brought together from different areas of the country and restored. They even have the very first Albert Heijn shop from 1887. Albert Heijn is now the biggest chain of super markets in Holland.

We did not get lost trying to find the place like we had the other days. However, we did get lost trying to find our way back since we thought we could find a quicker way to return.

If you have not already guessed; both my parents love to travel and enjoy very long walks. Several people have commented on the amazing distances they will stroll in order to do a bit of sight seeing. I myself work behind a desk and spend most my days more or less stationary. I’m not used to hiking such long distances so by the fifth day I was starting to limp as I tried to keep up with my parents while they made jokes about young people having no stamina. Luckily this was the one day during their visit that we did not get lost.

We spent the morning looking around the Hortus Botanical Gardens and in the afternoon the Artis Zoo (both in Amsterdam). Since Artis is a Zoo there are a lot of animals (of course) but during our visit there were a few that were out of place. Our encounter with the Heron on the first day had seemed strange but the Zoo was practically under going a Heron invasion. They were every where, hiding amongst the flamingos, sneaking between the penguins, acting shifty around the camels. If there was food available in an open enclosure (and there was no animal likely to eat them) the Herons had taken over. Most of the animals had given up trying to chase them away. Luckily for us they did not try to nick our food when we stopped off for a bite to eat.

My parents returned to England the next day and I finally had time to recover from the week. I’ll be seeing them again tomorrow when I fly to England for the week to catch up with friends and family.

Parents Visit: Day 2 & 3 – The Blackmarket and Lost Again

2006-08-20T22:47:00.000+02:00

We should have learnt from the first day (of my parents visit) when our search for a nature reserve led to us becoming lost in Amsterdam. However, both my parents are nature lovers so we tried out luck again on the second day. This time we were in search of ‘The Dr. Costerus Botanical Gardens’ in Hilversum and it did not take long for us to get lost again.

The map we had picked up from the tourist board (just a few moments before) was not very useful. It had no road names; in fact a lot of the roads were not even on it. The road signs were even less helpful largely due to the fact that there were none. So we ended up walking around the area, trying to find it. The confused looks on our faces must have shown because a very kind Dutch lady stopped as she was cycling by and asked if we needed help. She was able to tell us exactly were it was and it came as no surprise that we had walked straight past it. Not only was it down a small alleyway but the huge sign that stood over the entrance to ‘Dr. Costerus’ Botanical Gardens’ was also heavily over grown with some of Dr. Costerus’ ivy.

Although the name suggested it could have been a magical land of candy trees and chocolate grass (Willa Wonka’s Factory) or a creepy garden of freakish mutant plants and animals (The Island of Dr. Moreau) it turned out to be just someone’s back garden. We spent just five minutes looking around after half an hour of trying to find it.

The rest of the day was spent showing my parents the new house and town I now live in. They had visited the old house but I had never really had them over as guests before. I cooked dinner as they watched TV. It was kind of strange but also fun having the role reversal. The cat was very happy with the situation as well. As far as she was concerned it meant more people to pay attention to her. My parents both loved the new place and the playful cat.

We spent the third day (today) browsing through the stalls at the Black Market. No, my parents were not shopping for deadly weapons, non-rationed meat or illegally harvested body parts. Although the name suggests otherwise the Black Market in Beverwijk is a normal legal market. I heard so much Dutch music while we were there that it might have actually improved my Dutch language skills but I’ll probably have to do everything in song.

We spent the evening at an Australian themed bar in Amsterdam. They serve kangaroo burgers which are almost as big as my head. I am still digesting mine at the moment and might feel hungry again sometime in 2008.

I’m not sure what we are doing tomorrow yet but hopefully it will not involve getting lost somewhere.

Parents Visit: Day One - Lost in Amsterdam

2006-08-19T00:24:00.000+02:00

My parents love to travel and they are visiting me in Holland at the moment. They have come over quite often in the five years that I have been here. It’s good because it gives me the opportunity to see them and visit parts of Holland I normally would not. All though both my parents are avid gardeners and love to visit the flower market there are only so many times anyone can explore Amsterdam and the surrounding areas before they want to see something new. So when ever they come over now my mum searches the internet for new places we can go to. One of the things my mum found this time as she explored the web was a nature reserve in the out skirts of Amsterdam.

The idea of a nature reserve in Amsterdam sounded a little strange but she had brought the map with her. However, the map itself was not very useful. It was sketchy at best and had no street names on it. However the print out did have a list of directions so we started a process of elimination by finding out where the location was not. In other words we got lost. After checking a few tram stop maps (and hiding from the rain that suddenly started) we managed to get back on track.

The directions were getting easier to follow as we got closer or maybe they were getting easier to follow because they were all left turns. By the third left turn my dad started joking that we would end up where we started. By the fourth left turn it turned out that he was right. We found ourselves looking down a street that we had been at the other end of 10 minutes earlier. This time I spotted something none of us saw when we had passed it previously; a one way street sign. We then realized the map we had been following was for cars. During our walk we had taken into account the one way road system with out even realizing. Although we had finally found the right road (Slauinenweg) there was no sign of the nature reserve. It didn’t even seem like the kind of place a nature reserve would be. So we gave up and caught a tram back, spending the rest of the day looking around Amsterdam.

However if we had not gotten lost we would have never have seen this huge Heron suddenly land right next to us on a car in the middle of the street.

Another highlight of the day happened when my dad coursed a small panic at the half built Amsterdam Arena metro station. Some gardening accessories he had bought fell out of his bag and clanged on the floor. Several worried looking commuters suddenly looked up at the leaking ceiling as if they thought bits of it were falling off.

My parents are still here for a few more days so I’ll have more of our misadventures to write about. If anyone has any suggestions on were I could take them while they are here please feel free to leave them in the comments.

Ik wil mijn fiets berijden (I want to ride my bicycle)

2006-08-15T18:45:00.000+02:00

Fiets (bicycles) are a very common sight in Holland. They are a popular mode of transport and it is estimated that there are more then 16 million of them in the country. This number may or may not include the mangled, rusting, one-wheeled, non-roadworthy bicycles found chained to lamp posts, bridges or sunk at the bottom of the canals around the country. Even if it does there are still a lot of them in use every day.

Some bicycles look like rusty old frames that have been handed down through the family generation after generation. In most of these cases the locks seem to cost more then the bikes themselves and there is no need for a bell since the squeaking of the wheels is enough to give any pedestrian a fair warning. Some Dutch people like to paint or decorate their old bikes as well. When visiting Amsterdam it is usually guaranteed that you will see at least one bicycle chained to a bridge somewhere that has been decorated with plastic flowers or painted with bright circular patterns to make them more unique. Another reason for this could be to turn away bicycle thieves.

Unfortunately, Holland has a big problem with bicycle theft. It’s not unusual to see a shifty looking junky walking around with a stolen bike asking, “Fiets kopen?” ("Buy a bike?"). If they are able to sell it to someone for 10 or 15 euros it does not take long for that person to then lose the same bicycle to another junky later. It’s a perpetual cycle (no pun intended). It is said that having your bike stolen makes you a true Dutch person and it is a right of passage for all expatriates. I have not had my bike stolen yet but I did have it taken away once when the authorities thought it had been dumped (I got it back though).

Despite the risk of theft there are some more modern looking bicycles around (as well as the old) but the one thing you will hardly ever see is a mountain bike. This might be because you will hardly ever see any mountains, hills, valleys, declines or inclines in Holland and using a mountain bike for speed bumps would be over excessive. Holland is a very flat country but this is also part of what makes it a very good place for cycling.

There is over 4,500 miles of cycle path through out the country and a surprising amount of tourists mistake them for foot paths. This intrusion of territory (as they see it) is not always met with understanding by some cyclists. Some will leave it until the last possible second to ring their bell to let pedestrians (victims) know of their stealthy approach. When this happens the best thing to do is to pick a direction and jump because you won’t have any time to look around and judge the right direction to dodge anyway.

For a Dutch person a bike is not just a one person vehicle either. The rack on the back can be used as a second seat for a passenger who is willing to sit sideways and risk having their knees knocked off by any passing objects. I myself have accidentally jammed my feet into the back wheel of a bicycle (that I was the passenger on) in the past because it got too close to sign posts and parked cars for comfort.

It’s hard to say why cycling is so popular in Holland (compared to other countries). It could be because traffic laws favour bicycles over cars or that it is a way of staying healthy. It could also be that they are an easy way to get from one place to another and when all the available parking spots are full there are still lampposts, bridges, fences and other city objects that bicycles can be chained to. Maybe they simply like to terrorise pedestrians with them or they all liked the song Bicycle Race by Queen. Whatever the real reason is the Dutch seem to love their bicycles.

I'm not the only one who has noticed this either. A fellow ex-pat has also written about the Dutch fondness of the two wheeled transport.

Power Cut

2006-08-10T15:44:00.000+02:00

They say silence is golden but I disagree. Silence is not so appealing when it is the result of a power cut you accidentally caused.

There are a lot of wires under my desk that power the computers, monitors and various other items of electrical equipment on my desk and those of the people near me. So when my foot accidentally caught the switch on one of the multi plug blocks today and turned it off all three desks (mine included) lost power. Half the room fell silent.

I tried to fix the problem as quickly as I could, apologizing while I crawled under my desk to turn everything back on but that turned out to be a mistake. The abrupt demand of electricity it caused when it all simultaneously came back to life forced the circuit breakers to shut everything down and the whole room suddenly went silent. You never realize how loud a computer fan is until they all suddenly go off at once. Silence is not golden. Silence is filled with the swearing of co-workers.

I had not just cut power to our room either. I managed to take out the power to a few of the servers used by the entire company at the same time. Everything is working again now but you can imagine how I felt.

I am Stuart. Destroyer of servers. Opps.

Chip and a Chair

2006-08-07T15:06:00.000+02:00

A few weeks ago I started playing Texas Hold’em Poker. I had never really played it that much before but I have been enjoying it a lot lately as my understanding of the game has improved. I enjoy the element of strategy vs. luck and a successful bluff always feels like an achievement when successfully scaring someone away if I have a bad hand or tricking them into betting more if I have a good hand. I am still a young rookie but I am quite pleased with the way I have been playing for my level. I’ve been in the last round of quite a few games already.

My first attempt at playing poker was during my college years and did not go so well. I didn’t lose money and fall into massive debt but I did have to give them the shirt off my back. My shirt was not the only item of clothing I lost either. We were playing strip poker.

I can’t claim that it was not having an understanding of the rules that made me lose. However, I can blame the alcohol. We were all fairly drunk but I was the only one drunk enough to be playing a different game entirely to the others. A few minutes (and items of clothing) into the game I was asked a question that made me realize my mistake.

“Stuart. Why did you just pick up two cards from the deck?” One of the girls asked me.

“Because a two was just put down and I didn’t have one,” I slurred back.

There was a short puzzled silence before she asked, “Are you playing Black Jack?”

“So that’s why I am losing,” I suddenly realized.

Even when I started playing the right game it did not do me much good. We were playing no-limit poker and I lost everything.

Luckily the last few games have gone a little better and I am very happy to say that we have been betting with poker chips instead of clothes. I think there has to be at least a 1:1 girl/boy ratio for playing strip poker to be legal.

My house mate and I have already set up a regular poker night with some friends (we had our second this weekend). I bought a nice set of poker chips a few weeks ago and the other day my house mate got a poker mat for the table. If we carry on we believe it will only be a few weeks before we get a roulette wheel, some slot machines and turn the house into the first in a chain of Invading Holland Casinos. Anyone who would like to apply for a job as a croupier or a member of bar staff should leave their application in the comments. Available positions are only temporary since it may only take a few days for us to be arrested for gambling with out a license.

A Day in the Life of a Game Designer

2006-08-04T18:33:00.000+02:00

My job keeps me very busy sometimes. I started writing a post earlier this week (which will still be coming later) but events have kept me occupied most of the time over the last few days. A lot of people I talk to think working in the computer games industry involves playing games all day and typing in a few bits of code here and there. Sadly it doesn’t even though it is still an enjoyable job.

My work day starts very early in the morning. It’s very early for me at least because I am not much of a morning person. I find it very hard to wake up which is why I sometimes look like an extra from a George A Romero movie as I stumble blindly towards the shower. A lot of people tell me I should drink coffee in the morning but I am cursed with an un-natural disliking of the black liquid (but I will drink it in extreme cases). I usually wake up during my train journey to work (or run the risk of waking up in Den Haag). If the train does not do the trick the tram usually does. Nothing wakes you up like having a tourist’s armpit get intimate with your face.

The work day usually begins with the obligatory checking of e-mail and a quick bit of internet surfing before the start of meetings, lua scripting, more meetings, polygon pushing, even more meetings, error fixing and other nerdy things that I should probably not bore you with or risk breaking my non-discloser agreement with. Trust me; it’s a lot of complicated stuff.

Lunch time is usually spent dodging the clip board holders doing surveys or collecting for charity on the streets. I’m not an unsympathetic person but they are on the street outside our office every day and every day at least five of them try to stop me with in the twenty meter walk to the near by supermarket on the way there an on the way back. After awhile it’s enough to drive anyone a little crazy.

Sometimes a group of us go out to one of the local cafes or restaurants for lunch. This week we were treated to a rather strange sight as we ate at a Dim Sum restaurant. As we all fiddled with out chop sticks we heard screaming outside. The sound kept on going back and forth as if someone was running past the restaurant every few minutes. When we looked out the window we saw a man jumping out in front of the passing trams, running along in front of them and screaming. Eventually he would jump out of the way, wait for another tram to come from the other direction and do the same. For a while we thought he was mad until we spotted the camera crew. Judging by the bags he was carrying as he waved his arms about and screamed they must have been filming a commercial for Media Markt.

The second part of the work day is usually much the same. However, this week I got to shout into a microphone again as I barked military commands for use in the game. It is only going to be used for temporary dialog until we get some real voice actors but it is surprisingly fun and therapeutic to spend half an hour screaming in a sound proof booth (even if I lost my voice afterwards). I was happy that this time I managed to sound slightly less like a timid teenage commander going through puberty.

Most work days usually end like any other but at the end of the week comes Friday and every second Friday at the office is free beer night. The reason for this is a while ago the company had a small problem. That problem was that employees would bring crates of beer into the office at the end of every Friday and all the rooms end up becoming a mess of empty beer bottles and full ash trays (plus there was the time we cellotaped one of the designers to his chair).

The solution to this problem that they chose was to buy lots and lots of beer every second Friday for the employees but only allow them to drink it in one room to contain the mess.

Everyone was happy with this and it just happens to be Friday night so I better rap this post up and get my free beer before it is all gone. Life working in the games industry might not be non-stop game playing all day but at least there is beer.

Montage Inc™

2006-07-30T18:26:00.000+02:00

Movie montages have shown us that anything is possible with a few camera cuts and some 80s music. They are the greatest un-tapped resource in the world today and the possibilities they offer are endless. However, this resource has never been made available to the public… until now.

Having noticed this gap in the market my flat mate and I have decided to start the company Montage Inc. Our goal is to offer the public the kind of easy self improvement only seen previously in movies such as Rocky.

Standard Montages:
Do you want to achieve something easily and fast? Montage Inc offers a wide range of montages to for fill you needs.

- Training/Learning:
This is one of our most popular packages due to its flexibility. In the past customers have used it for sports training, artistic training or training related to a job and/or education (some colleges have banned the use of montages by students). This package comes with a selection of optional 80s music including Eye of the Tiger, I Need a Hero, Footloose and more.

- Dating:
Want to charm that special someone? Let montages help your love life with a collection of date highlights. The strength of montage needed depends on how much your date likes you to start with. Customers wanting to use this package must provide ID proving they are over 18.

- Shopping:
This package is most popular with the ladies. However, our market research has recently shown that men have also chosen this package to make shopping trips with their wife/girlfriend as short as possible.

- Building:
This package was made popular by the A-Team in the 80’s. It is also a very flexible package due to the many things that can be built with it from a small sculpture to a huge battle tank. Other available montages: Building a business, cleaning, competition participation, writing, investigation and social interaction (becoming popular) montages.

Strength of Montage:
The strength of the montage required will be affected by the difference between the customer’s ability pre-montage and their desired result post-montage. Small changes will only require a mintarge (minimum montage) with long camera shots and slow music. More extreme changes will require a maxtarge (maximum montage) with quick camera cuts and fast music. More then one montage a day may also be required.

Travel Montage: Our research department has developed a way to use the power of montages for travel. If you need to travel long distances in just a few seconds you can use our new Montage Drive™ to experience the journey in just a few seconds of highlights.

Faster then Montage Drive™ – Coming Soon

Holiday Montage:
We can also offer cheaper holidays through montage. Can’t afford that dream holiday to The Bahamas? Why not experience the highlights and cut out the boring parts with a montage and pay only 25% of the full price.

Disclaimer:
Unfortunately not all effects are positive. Movies show a biased view of montages and hide the fact that (if handled incorrectly) they may have negative effects such as a decline into alcoholism, drug addiction or other undesired habits in just a few camera cuts. These are called negatages (negative montages).

In the event of a negatage Montage Inc can not be held responsible. However, we can offer a recovery montage at a reasonable price. In extreme cases mishandled montages may lead to an apocalypse montage. Custom Montages: Still don’t see the montage you would like? Contact one of our Montage Engineers for a consultancy. Let us know what you need.

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Happiness is just a few camera cuts away

Falling Apart and Sinking

2006-07-27T19:44:00.000+02:00

Twenty Seven percent of Holland is below sea level. Schiphol air port (the main airport for Amsterdam) is five meters below sea level. It's only due to Dutch ingenuity that passengers don't have to snorkel through passport control or dive to baggage reclaim.

A lot of the land that makes up Holland has been reclaimed from the sea by building dykes and pumping the sea water out. Dykes are like dam walls, except they also run through the sea and not just rivers.

This has worked for hundreds of years and is still done today. However, the water slowly seeps back in over time and it is a constant battle to keep the sea back. Since the country is slowly sinking and the ground is shifting frequently a lot of damage can occur to buildings. This is why a lot of homes in Holland lean and might also explain why the office I work in is slowly starting to fall apart.

At the start of this week we discovered a large chunk of plaster had fallen from the ceiling during the weekend. After it was cleaned up the white dust left behind gave the impression that a rather excessive cocaine party had taken place.

It is not the first time this has happened either (the cave-in, not the cocaine party). About a year ago a large mass of plaster fell directly onto a co-worker's chair only a few moments after they had gone home for the day. The falling debris also damaged one of the over head cable trays and caused a small electrical fire a few days later. It was like being in the plot of a 'Final Destination' movie. A domino effect of seemingly random events was taking place just like the incidents in the film but luckily for us no one died as a result.

After finding the most recent cave-in, other patches of plaster started to randomly fall from the ceiling during the course of the day and yet more cracks were forming (including one above my desk). At this point the decision was made to move us to another room and call in the builders before any more of the ceiling came down and we found ourselves unexpectedly working much closer with the team on the floor above. In an unrelated event the lift has also been breaking down almost every day due to the heat (but no one has beaten my record yet).

It is because of these events and the fact that the country is slowly sinking that I will be suggesting a new office safety strategie and dress code to the management. Under the new guidelines every employee will be required to wear a hard hat, snorkel, water wings and/or life jacket at all times. Inflatable escape slides will be installed on every window of every room and Ray Mears will be hired to give a speech on office safety and survival in extreme conditions.

Imaginary Friend

2006-07-23T13:54:00.000+02:00

I was reading Matt's post on Six of Seven Sins about his delinquent imaginary friend and it made me think back to my own childhood pretend pal.

I first met my imaginary friend during a family holiday. I can’t remember where we were staying exactly but it was some where in the British country side. As we walked through the fields one day (after what had felt like an incredibly long train journey) I saw my imaginary friend for the first time sitting on a stone wall. He was enjoying the view but still looked a little board, as if he wanted someone to play with. When he saw us he happily waved hello and we started to chat. He walked along the wall with his hands in his pockets to follow us but after a while his feet started to get tired so I let him sit on my shoulder. When my parents asked me who I was talking to (I can’t remember if they looked worried or not) I happily introduced them to my new friend. He was a small white mouse with a long tail and he was very friendly. Unlike other mice he wore clothes and could talk as well.

He came home with us that day and we went every where together. He even came to school with me and wore a matching school uniform. He would sit on my desk and secretly helped me with my school work. Luckily we never got caught or we would have both been in trouble. I can’t remember the day he faded away but I can still remember exactly what he looks like. My mum had made an image of him one day after I described him to her.

At this point you might be thinking there is something about this that sounds slightly familiar. If so you might have seen the movie Stuart Little which was release in 1999 and revolved around the adventures of a small talking white mouse who is adopted by a family of humans.

When I first heard about the movie I thought it was a very strange coincidence. Especially since my name is Stuart as well. Part of me (maybe naively) wondered if I had met the writer of the original story when I was a child and told him about my mousey imaginary friend. I know it might sound silly but it just seemed like too much of a fluke. However, I later found out that the writer E B White first came up with the character of Stuart Little in the1920’s after a dream and later published a book of his adventures in 1945.

Since I was born in 1978 I’m a few years to late to claim my imaginary friend as an original idea which makes me feel a little sad in some ways, I thought he was mine alone. Maybe I was read E B White’s stories as a child and remembered enough to for an imaginary friend based on them or maybe it was just a strange coincidence.

However, the child in me wonders if I might have met the real Stuart Little while he was between his book and movie career. I hope he still remembers me and the fun we used to have together now that he is in Hollywood.

Stag Weekend

2006-07-19T21:42:00.000+02:00

I’d only been at the office for a short while on Friday morning when I received a phone call from NH (one of my college friends). I knew he was going to be in Amsterdam for the weekend on other business and we had been planning to meet up.

“It’s already started.” He stated over the phone. It was a very strange greeting but I had a good idea about what he was trying to say.

“We’ve only just landed and we’ve already had our first drink.” There seemed to be a slight tone of worry in his voice.

He was in town for a stag weekend. Not his own. Another of his friends (who I did not know) was getting married. NH is not afraid of a drink or two himself so when he had told me a few days before about his worry that the weekend could get ‘messy’ I knew he was not over exaggerating.

Stag and Hen nights are a common sight in Amsterdam. Its reputation as the party city of Europe makes it the ideal place for some people to visit on their last few days of freedom. They usually come in costume and are easy to spot due to the recurring themes. Girls on a hen weekend will often dress as fairies (wings, wand and maybe glitter), Cowgirls (pink cowgirl hats) or little devils. Boys on a stag weekend will often make the stag dress up as a prisoner, a super hero or a woman. T-shirts with nicknames are also common and L plates for both hen or stag are optional.

The group NH was traveling with had decided to stick with the classic T-shirt look as I discovered when I was later invited to join them. I didn’t know anyone else in the group and I thought I was going to end up being cast as the tour guide for the weekend. As it turned out my duty as tour guide mainly involved pointing in the correct direction when asked where the red light district was. They were happy to walk around laughing and drooling for hours on end and stop of at bars in between to talk about the things they had just seen. It was probably a good thing that we did not go to any bars I might have even the vaguest desire to return to one day but there were so many other better bars we could have gone to. However, it seems leaving the five meter radius around the red light district does violate some kind of stag law.

As the night went on and we got more intoxicated we started to get separated from each other. NH wanted to go to a coffee shop so at one in the morning we ended up sitting in a place called 'Free Adam' smoking weed. This is only the third time I have done so in my whole five years of living in Holland.

After that it's hard to say if the things I remembered happened quite as I remember them. Thinking back about it the singing bar staff was a bit strange. However, when it came to guiding us back to the hotel I knew clearly where I was going even if neither of us could stop giggling like little school girls. They had already said I could stay in their hotel room and I had no trouble falling asleep. The rest of them carried on for the whole weekend but I bowed out so I could rest and recover. I don't know if anyone ended up hand cuffed to a lamp post or adrift on a canal raft but it is always a possibility.

360 Degrees of Fear

2006-07-19T21:36:00.000+02:00

It's finally happened. I knew it would. The X-Box 360 has turned violent. Please, one of you has to hide me. I fear for my life. Just look at the last post it made:

360 Post: Fear me InvaderStu... for I am coming to force you into gaming. You think I am kidding? You just wait...

Don't Fear The Mime

2006-07-14T14:09:00.000+02:00

On a daily bases I walk through Dam Square in Amsterdam and on a daily bases I see something there that would strike fear into the hearts of most mortal men and women. In the middle of the square stands a figure wearing a dark cloak as black as the darkest night and holding a scythe as old as time itself. He is Death. He is the Grim Reaper. He stands there constantly, as if waiting for something or maybe someone.

I am not the only one that sees this entity of death either. Every now and then a passing tourist stops and looks up at his terrify visage as well. Does this mean they are to fall under his scythe? I don’t know but they stop momentarily, slowly lift their camera and take a photo with out realizing the payment he will demand. You might think he insists on taking their souls for the fatal snapshot but a Euro or two will usually do. He’s even happy to pose with children if their parents pay.

This is because he is really one of the many street performers that can be seen in Dam Square during the tourist season. There are at least half a dozen human statues regularly present. Some can stay still for hours (hardly blinking) but others don’t do statue like things (standing still for example) and are just there to pose for photos in their costumes. This seems a bit like cheating sometimes since they are covered from head to toe and wear masks. Some have put a lot of effort into making their costumes but there are a few who look like they simply rented a rubber mask and outfit from the local costume shop.

I’ve often wondered; with so many of them in one area do they ever have arguments over territory. Maybe any dispute is settled in a display of skills through the medium of a staring contest and any strike action involves constantly moving and refusing to stay still.

There are other types of street performers around Amsterdam as well. Jugglers, Magicians, Comedians and so on can mainly be found on the Leidseplein. There are few every now and then on Dam Square but that area is mainly the territory of the human statues. This also makes walking through the square feel like a Scooby Doo episode when the eyes of a painting follow someone.

However, the strangest street performer I have ever seen has to be the rather timid looking 50+ man who can sometimes be seen performing in Leidseplein. He arrives a few minutes before show time to slowly set up his rather complex looking rig of gymnastic equipment in front of all the people having a drink outside. Just at the point they might think the real performer is about to come out he suddenly strips down to a shiny gold posing pouch and starts to display his acrobatic skills. As strange as it might sound it is hard not to be impressed by what he can do and I hope when I am his age I can still be half as flexible. However, there is also something very scary about a man in a posing pouch walking around, holding out a hat for payment after the performance that just makes you give him money. It’s scarier then the Grim Reaper.

It's Alive

2006-07-10T18:07:00.000+02:00

A few weeks ago I posted about the excessive amount of entertainment technology we have in the house which is all networked together in some form or another. I joked about the possibility of it all combining one day to form a single self aware conscience with evil plans of global domination.

That day has come. The artificial intelligence I only joked about has emerged.

It all started two weeks ago when my flat mate brought an X-Box 360 games console home. Neither of us suspected that it would be the final peace of the puzzle, the brain the network of technology needed to evolve. When we found out it was too late to put a stop to it. As soon as it was hooked up a conscience started to form.

What is this newly formed super intelligence doing you might ask? Has it already hacked into the American defence system and firer missiles at Russia? Is it going to create an army of time travelling cyborgs? No, it is doing none of these things. It is blogging.

The X-Box 360 includes an automated system for writing and posting blog entries about users gaming habits on their profile page. Since I set up my own profile it has been posting about me for a few days now.

360 Post: “InvaderStu really threw down yesterday. It was good to see! I wish you could have been there! Last time I checked, his gamer score is 220. That is a gain of 45 points over last time!”

A lot of the early entries were positive like this but as you can see from the posts that followed (and my reactions) the relationship started to take a turn.

360 Post: “He played EA SPORTS FN 3, Call of Duty 2, and after that powered me down without even saying good night. I mean what the hell?”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings but it was late and I had a headache. I tried to get into the mood but I just didn’t have the energy. I’ll make it up to you later I promise.”

360 Post: “Ok so I didn't see InvaderStu yesterday... Come to think of it, things were really quiet all day... hey wait a minute... I better not be at the repair shop! If I am, some heads are gonna roll!”

“What happened to all the nice things you were saying about me? I'd had a hard day at work and did not have time to play. You're not going to turn violent on me are you? Is this going to become a relationship built on fear? Please don’t hurt me.”

360 Post: “My power supply almost exploded! InvaderStu turned on the juice and we did some serious gaming!”

“Steady on. This is starting to sound almost sexual. I know I have not been there for you over the last few days and I like you as a games console but I think this relationship is moving too fast. We both had some fun. Can we leave it at that? I don’t want to get too involved and tied down to one games console. I guess what I’m trying to say is… I think we should play other games. I’m sorry.”

This means the X-Box 360s might soon be posting about how I’ve been seeing ‘that PS2 harlot’ behind its back. In a fit of jealousy it will probably delete all my saved games and cut all the cords to my non-wireless controllers. Luckily for me it does not have easy access to an ice pick or an understanding of male anatomy.

(I would like to thank everyone who suggested checking out Illustrator after my cartoon post. It’s a great program and I am currently I’m working on re-drawing Cartoon Stu with it. Thank you)

Invading Earth (Including Holland)

2006-07-05T23:38:00.000+02:00

The Aliens Are Coming! The Aliens Are Coming!

But there is nothing to worry about because they all seem to be a bit useless.

If there is one thing movies have shown us about life from beyond the stars it is that they are not really as scary as they might seem. They either melt when a glass of water is thrown over them or simply die from eat the local food. This raises the question; why would super intelligent beings come to earth in their amazing machines of death and not get their inoculation jabs first. Even the most stupid of holiday tourists (yes, even the English ones) know not to drink the water in some countries they travel to. It seems obvious to apply the same logic when invading (or going on holiday) to another planet. When the holiday flights to Mars start you can bet I’ll be taking a lot of bottled water with me for drinking and brushing my teeth with.

It does not end their either. Movies have also shown that aliens do not bother to put password protection or even Norton Anti-Virus on their computers and as a result leave their whole system open to any human hacker. They must have really useless system administrators.

But even if the aliens remember their inoculation shots and their password protection there is still no need to worry. According to Mr. Spielberg there is a simple plan for surviving any alien invasion. When every where else has been destroyed, every building flattened, every other human killed or harvested, when the entire planet is being covered in an evil looking red alien plant thingy… go to Boston. Boston will be safe. Every building will still be standing. Everything will still be clean. There will not even be a cracked window. The birds will still be tweeting and Mr. Mouse will still be happily looking for food. Aliens seem to hate the whole world but not Boston.

Never underestimate the power of bug spray, music, mud or stairs either.

Ninja Vampires of the Night

2006-07-03T00:36:00.000+02:00

It might sound like the title of a low budget B-Movie starring Steven Price and Jean-Claude Van Damme (or Jean Claude Gosh Darn) but there is nothing fictional about it. It is a very real war that we have all been victims of. Each one of us has lost blood in the conflict. We all carry the wounds of battle. The enemy is known to us all, man, woman and child. It goes by many evil names but it is most commonly known as the Mosquito.

With the increase in mosquito activity (due to the heat) my collection of itchy bites has been steadily growing bigger every night and it is driving me insane. Even as I write this I am trying to resist the urge to scratch each nagging bite mark.

It seems no part of my body is safe from the menu. So far the mosquito dining of choice this season is a small amount of torso for starters followed by the main course of arm and elbow and to finish a side of face for desert. Each day I discover new bites.

*While typing this I did in fact discover a new bite... no joke*

I think they are getting smarter too. The little blood suckers no longer dive bomb my ear and wake me up like they used to with their constant buzzing. This means I can sleep without slapping myself in the face every time I attempt to stop the little flying Nosvarato using my ear as a landing pad. However, it also means I am defenceless to stop them. They are free to silently suck my blood at their leisure while I snooze, unaware of the blood robbery taking place.

*At this point during writing I noticed a mosquito on the wall next to me, tried to hit it but missed*

The only evidence they leave at the crime scene is the stinging itch I discover later the next day. It can be a few hours before I realize I have been 'visited' in the night. It only takes one unconscious scratch to turn a hardly noticeable bite into a burning lump of itchy pain. I know I should not scratch them but it must take monk like calm and jedi training to resist the urge.

*There was a short pause here while I tried to deal with a mosquito crawling on my monitor and missed again*

I've already become paranoid and started slapping my skin when ever I think I feel something crawling on in. It will not be long before I am rocking back and forth in a corner of my bedroom and muttering like Rainman. If anyone knows a way to keep the mosquitoes away I would love to hear about it. The garlic and wolvesbane around my bed is not doing the trick.

*Before finally posting this I saw a mosquito again, probably the same one... stalking me. I fear sleep. They mostly come at night... mostly.*

Trams, Trains and Automobiles

2006-06-27T22:49:00.000+02:00

Virtually every city, town and village in Holland is connected by some form of public transport. Lots of Dutch people, tourists and expatriates use the many trains, trams, taxis, buses, metros, water taxis and ferries to travel around the country every day. Since I don’t have a car (and have not driven in nine years) I also use public transport quite a lot for travelling to and from work. In the mornings I spend a groggy train journey trying to wake up before getting crammed into a tram with everyone else.

In general the Dutch public transport is a lot better then the public transport in England. The trains and buses are cleaner, there are fewer delays, fewer strikes and fewer mistakes. However, there are still a few things travellers need to be aware of as they travel around the country.

A common way to pay for travel between zones on buses, trams and metro lines is with a strippenkaart (Strip Card). Every time a strippenkaart is used it has to be stamped in one of its free spaces. The amount of zones being travelled reflects how many of the free spaces should to be used (plus one). If you are ever lucky enough to completely fill a Strippenkaart don’t forget to shout ‘full house’ and claim your prize from the driver.

When travelling by train it is always important to keep your wits about you. This is because the NS (Dutch rail company) employees enjoy playing mind games with commuters. One of the train operators’ favourite games to play just before departure is to close all the doors apart from one at the far end of the train. They do this to give last second late arrivals hope. The conductor can often be seen leaning out of the last door so they can watch panicked commuters run in desperation. Then, just as the victim arrives at the door it is closed and the train starts to move away, leaving them cursing and out of breath on the platform.

Train announcers don't miss out on the fun either and will often wait until the last moment to announce platform changes. They might have a score system with extra points given for the amount of suitcases a tourist has to drag behind them or they may just enjoy watching commuters run back and forth.

The trains themselves usually have more first class compartments then are actually needed. First class tickets might cost a lot of money and entitle their users to a certain level of luxury but one carriage per first class passenger seems a bit over the top.

Commuters may be the victims on the trains but by the time they reach the trams the shoe is on the other foot. Maybe it is because of the frustration they have suffered at the hands of the train operators that they treat the trams with such aggression. There are several rules of engagement when attempting to successfully board a tram.

There is no such thing as a queue for a tram only a mass of people all trying to get on at once.
Elbows determine who gets on first.
Exit Only and Entrance Only signs on tram doors are there to be ignored.
When the tram operator tries to close the doors to leave it is customary to simply force them open again.
There is always room for more people even if passengers are already hanging out of the windows.
The best time to push passed a fellow passenger is as the tram takes a sharp corner at speed.

Despite having no power over the actions of commuters tram operators stay quite cheery and will often try to make the journey more interesting for their tormentors by singing out the names of stops. Dam Square might suddenly become “D-du-du-da-dam Squareeeeeeee” or Spui might become “Spu.. spu.. spuiiiiiiiiiiii.” To my knowledge there has not been a tram sing-a-long but it might happen one day.

Tram operators sometimes help tourists as well by announcing near by attractions when arriving at a stop. If there is a group of loud English lads on the tram the operator makes a point to announce Dam Square as the stop for the Red Light District. This might seem like it is playing on an unfair stereotype but you'd be surprised the amount of times one in the group will shout to his friends, “This is our stop.”

Drawing the Cartoons

2006-06-21T23:20:00.000+02:00

I first drew the cartoons I use for this blog about three years ago. The look of the characters has not changed much but the way I draw them has evolved a lot as I've learnt more about PhotoShop. I've always enjoyed playing with the program and it has been fun drawing the cartoons again. The complements I have received from different people have made both myself and my ego very happy. I've started giving serous thoughts to doing something more with the cartoons (as some of you have suggested) but no promises yet. However, since I've had a few requests to divulge how I draw them I thought it might be fun to make this post and show how I put them together.

I have a few tricks I use now for making the cartoons quicker but I'll start at the beginning and come back to those tricks later.

I start by scanning the original hand drawn cartoon into the computer and tracing over it with the Pen Tool. It's a great tool for drawing smooth curved lines by placing Anchor Points were curves should begin and end. After the Anchor Points have been placed the line between them can be adjusted with the handles to create a curve. Once I have a curve I am happy with I use the Stroke option to draw the line. Each body parts is created on a separate layer. I'll come back to the reason for that later.

Then I create new layers behind each body part and use them to colour the image. I colour in behind the lines so I can get right up to the edge. Eventually I merge the lines and colour together but keep each body part on a different layer.

Next comes the shadows. This is also done on another layer (for each body part) but this time on top of all the other layers. I colour the areas where I want shadows with black and then set the opacity of the layer to 20%. This lets the colour and lines underneath shows through creating the look of shadows. The layers are then merged again per body part. This creates the finished character.

Now I'll go back to those tricks I mentioned and the reason why I create each body part on a different layer. If you have a weak stomach and do not wish to see a cartoon character pulled limb from limb look away now.

Having each body part separate makes it possible to create new images quickly by moving the parts around or re-drawing just one part. Each time I create a new part for a cartoon I add it to my library of parts in case it can be adapted for use again later.

I've put together a video to show how this all works. The first part is a quick demonstration of how I can use this process to make facial expressions. The second part shows how I turned my template image in to the cartoon used for today's post.

Click here to veiw the video and enjoy.

The Writers Battle

2006-06-18T21:22:00.000+02:00

This morning I sat down at my computer ready to write (what I hope would be) another informative and funny post about life in Holland. I had a few ideas going around in my head but nothing fully formed yet. It was a sea of possibilities, time to turn my thoughts into text on a computer screen. Everything was set. I was ready to begin. I put my fingers to keyboard but then something happened. 'It' attacked.

We've all encountered it. The dark force, the evil that creeps amongst us, the sinister entity, devoid of any morals, uncaring of who's life it destroys. I'm talking about the darkness that is Writers Block.

Only moments after I had begun it started whispering in my ear, making me doubt the few words I had on the screen while at the same time making the backspace button look so inviting. I battled with it for a while in a violent dance of keystrokes and deletion but I was powerless. I had to give up and let it win.

I tried to get on with other things afterwards but its mocking laughter kept on ringing in my ears. It was then that I had an idea. Some thing so crazy that 'it' would never expect and would be unable to stop me. That idea was this post. I have embrace Writers Block and written about it. If Writers Block saps all inspiration out of a subject then what happens when Writers Block is the subject itself? It would either have to sap the power out of itself or retreat.

I have found a way to beat it this time but I have only won the battle, not the war. Writers block is still out there. It is pure evil and can never truly be stopped. It creeps through our written language, feeding on the doubt of writers every where. Its diabolical goal is to destroy the world of literacy forever but we can not let it win.

Since I doubt my idea of forming an elite force of writers from history (Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, J R Tolkin, etc) for the final battle against Writers Block will work why don't you all share with us how you deal with Writers Block.

Technology

2006-06-15T10:59:00.000+02:00

One of my early movie memories is from a scene in Superman 3. At the end of the movie Lex Luther builds a huge super computer with the help of Richard Prior in order to defeat superman. Of course his plan fails but not before the gigantic computer pulls one of Lex's own people into itself (it also tries to do the same to Superman). It starts to take them over, wrapping wires around their body and fixing computer parts to their skin until they become a deadly robot under its control. I remember the sequence well because while the scene fascinated me it also scared the life out of me. The scene is probably quite tame compared to the horrific images I remember but at the time it was terrifying to think a computer could do such a thing.

As I grew older I realized the chances of this human body hijack actually happening in real life were quite low (as were my chances of ever meeting Superman) and computers would never be that advanced. Whenever I wanted to play Dig-Dug my Dad had to type in lines of code on the family Acorn computer. At the time I could never imagine a computer being as powerful as in the movie but of course technology got more advanced. A few years later I had to spend hours swapping floppy disks on my Amiga to play Maniac Mansion. Another couple of years later I had to twiddle my thumbs while my 58k modem connected to the servers to play Jedi Knight: Dark Forces. In a few years time maybe I’ll be downloading World of Warcraft directly into my brain but for now I have to settle for what I have… which is still a lot.

Between my flat mate and myself we have more bandwidth then the average Borg Cube, more processing power then the Death Star, more RAM then the Tradis and more Hard Drive space than The Matrix. Every device in the house is connected. All the computers, laptops, PSPs, PDAs and so on that we have are all connected via wire or wireless technology. If you can stream it, encrypt it, network it, transmit it, zip it, print it, code it I can now do it and more.

This also means I can access the internet and any of my files from almost any where. Last weekends post was written from the comfort of my balcony while enjoying the sun and streaming music from my computer inside the house (I also added a reader’s map to this blog for fun). I can even log onto my home computer from work.

Of course this is all great but who knows what might happen with that amount of technology networked together. One day they might unexpectedly form a self aware conscience. Maybe it has already started. I might wake up one morning to find myself cocooned in wires like the scene from Superman 3 as the combined computer power puts its plan for world domination into motion. The Cybergeddon. The day humans become slaves to computers.

It’s probably best if I never download Superman 3 and give it ideas.

Forgetfulness

2006-06-11T22:29:00.000+02:00

Forgetfulness always seems to strike at the worst time possible. I don't mean the kind of memory black outs that come with a night of heavy drink that leave you confused and puzzled when you weak up in a tree with a cardboard cut out of Ann Robinson and no idea how you got there. I am talking about just plain, normal forgetfulness. I should probably point out that I have never woken up in a tree with a cardboard cut out of The Weakest Link host. Given some of the things I have written about so far in my blog I can understand why it might seem like I was listing a personal example.

I like to think I have a good memory. I can usually remember things very well but there are still some days when it seems like most gold fish have better recall. This Saturday for example my forgetfulness was due to a combination of sleep deprivation and a rather heavy hangover.

After an afternoon of being very useless and recovering on the sofa I was finally able to drag myself out of the house to do some shopping. Unfortunately I forgot to take my memory with me. After I came very close to locking myself out of the house I remembered it would probably be a good idea to take my keys with me. After all it would probably have been quite a shock for my flat mate to come home and find me dead and cooked on the doorstop by heat stroke.

After this near fatal forgetfulness I went to the local Albert Heijn (Dutch supermarket) to get supplies for the coming week. I ended up getting a lot. My basket was completely full and weighed quite a lot as I made my way towards the checkout. I had everything I needed but then my memory suddenly decided to make an appearance.

“Um... You might not want to hear this right now but I have something important to tell you.” It said sheepishly.

“Hu?” I asked.

“Well... You know how you need money to buy things. Like the stuff you have in your basket.”

“Oh no.” I sighed in realization.

“Yes. You left your wallet at the house. You might want to put everything back.... Sorry” And then it left me again to deal with the embarrassing situation.

“Bugger.”

I tried to look as normal as I could and hide my embarrassment as I started putting everything back on the shelves. I must have looked like I either had a phobia of checkout girls or I was on some kind of shopping trial run, checking if I could carry everything before committing myself to the actual purchasing process. When I got back home to retrieve my forgotten wallet I did not have enough time to go back before the shops closed. I'll have to go back during the week but next time I'll be sure to remember my wallet and my memory.

Anyway.... There was a point to this post but I forgot what it was.

The Long Way Home

2006-06-08T23:27:00.000+02:00

Late December, 2002, Haarlem:
It was an early December morning when I slowly opened my eyes and with relief found myself in my own bed. Most of the night before was a messy blur of memories lost in a mix of alcohol. It had been a heavy night of unplanned drinking. My head should have been killing me but it felt fine. Even my stomach felt fine. I didn’t think about it too much. I was just happy the ordeal was over. I could relax.

But then I noticed something very odd indeed…

Flash Back - The Night Before, Amsterdam, Office Christmas Party:
It was the night of the office Christmas party. The festivities had not been planned to well but there was lots of free booze which was all anyone really cared about. For the few hours that the party lasted I drank far more champagne, beer and wine then was intelligent. I don’t really remember how the party ended but I found out later I had started dancing towards the train station (occasionally slipping on ice) with a few co-workers. When we got there I had missed my last train but they put me in a cab and sent me on my way home. The journey passed by in a blur but the driver got me back to Haarlem. This might sound very straight forward and like a bit of a boring story but it does not end there.

I remember trying to use a cash machine so I could pay the driver but I was far to drunk to operate the buttons. I must have told him I would be able to give him the money at my house because I then remember driving around Haarlem again. What I couldn't remember at the time was the directions to my house.

Eventually the driver must have gotten annoyed with my drunken foolishness and kicked me out because after another memory blank spot I found myself in the middle of an unknown part of Holland. For all I knew I could have been in Germany but it was more likely that I was some where between Amsterdam and Haarlem. To this day I don't really know where I was.

I walked for what felt like miles with out knowing where I was going. Despite another memory blank I some how ended up back in Amsterdam, right back where everything had started. In my drunken brain I came up with the idea of taking a night bus home. It seemed perfect. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? So I got on a bus, a random bus. A short while into the journey the rational side of my brain some how managed to surface to tell me the bus was not going any where near home. All I could do was wait for the bus to complete its route.

An hour or two and another memory blank spot later I ended up back in Amsterdam for the second time. I then had the idea of getting a train to a familiar station closer to home and trying to get back from there. It was not a perfect plan but at least it was a plan. Unforchantly even this basic plan fell apart when I missed the stop and got off at the wrong station only to be told there would be no more trains for another four hours. On the upside I would not end up back in Amsterdam again any time soon (I was getting sick of the sight of the place) but on the down side I had no clue where I was either.

I tried to sleep on a bench but was kept awake by a slight pain in my ankle. A few hours later the trams started to run again (before the trains) so I got one back to Amsterdam which was now starting to seem like the city of the dammed that victims could never escape from no matter how hard they tried. By this time I was more sober but staying awake was a battle. The good thing was the trains to Haarlem had finally started running again. I was so happy. The end was in sight. It had been almost eight hours since I had left the party. When I got off the train in Haarlem I limped home and banged on the front door till one of my flat mates let me in (I had lost my keys some where). I climbed up to my room, fell in to bed and closed my eyes. It was finally over…. Or was it.

Back To - Late December, 2002, Haarlem:
It was an early December morning when I slowly opened my eyes and with relief found myself in my own bed. Most of the night before was a messy blur of memories lost in a mix of alcohol. It had been a heavy night of unplanned drinking. My head should have been killing me but it felt fine. Even my stomach felt fine. I didn’t think about it too much. I was just happy the ordeal was over. I could relax....

But then I noticed something very odd indeed… My hang over was in my foot.

I pulled back the covers and saw that my ankle was swollen up like a water balloon. As I had become more sober during the nightmare trip home I had also become aware of a pain in my ankle. At the time I thought I had simply twisted it a little. However, a trip to the hospital confirmed that I had in fact broken my ankle. I felt very embarrassed when I had to tell the doctor that I could not recall how I had done it. I found out later that it had happened while I had been dancing and slipping on the ice. My co-workers said I was complaining that my foot hurt when they helped me back up but I had insisted I was fine to go home. So not only was I drunk but I was most likely in shock too. In total I had spent almost eight hours lost in Holland, drunk and walking around on a broken ankle.

For the following two months I had to keep my leg in a cast and I have never gotten drunk at an office Christmas party since. If this story seems hard to believe I can assure you that every fact (that I can remember) is true. One important thing the whole experience taught me is nothing in the world feels as good as putting on a clean pair of socks for the first time after having your foot in a cast for two months.

Invading Holland Tours

2006-06-05T22:02:00.000+02:00

You may not be aware of it at the time but when you become an expat you agree to abide by an unwritten rule. There are some variations on this rule depending on what country you come from and where you are going to but the underlying principle stay the same.

"As an expatriate you here by agree to provide the serves of tour guide to your new country of residence for any and all visiting family, friends, friends of friends and friends distant relatives. You will there for be expected to know the location of all the best, hotels, restaurants, bars, clubs, museums, art galleries, historic buildings, tourist spots and (in the case of some visitors) prostitutes and drug dealers."

I have been subject to this rule on several occasions and its not always easy. Most expats never get around to trying any of the local tourist activities in their new country until someone comes to visit. The first important step that most people forget is to work out what kind of tour visitors will want. It's no good taking someone to the Anne Frank House when they would rather be sitting in Hash Frank's Coffee Shop.

In an effort to aid other expats in Holland with this problem Invading Holland Tours has provided the following guide of available tour types. One tour from the main list should be combined with one or two of the optional extras to create the desired result.

Invading Holland Tours Main List

- Smokers Tour:
This is one of the easiest tours to give because your visitors will rapidly become too stoned to do anything else other then search for the nearest snack provider. In this case it is best to find a coffee shop near a Febo to help give their visit a more authentic Dutch feel.

- Drinkers Tour:
This can be the most messy of the tours and even more chaotic if the tour guide becomes drunk as well. You will need a basic knowledge of good bars and clubs in the area but as the drinking continues you will find visitors become less picky and/or conscience. If you find yourself in the Absinthe Bar you know you are in trouble.

- Cultured Tour:
Some of your more sophisticated visitors may wish to visit the many museums and art galleries around Amsterdam but lets be honest, if your visitors are English and in their 20s the chances of this are low. However, if it should happen a small collection of museums can be found in the Museumplein.

Invading Holland Tours Optional Extras

- Prostitute Tour:
Amsterdam is famous for its Red Light District. Some of your visitors may want to simply look around, others may want to see a live show and one or two may go missing for half an hour and come back with a strange rash.

- Canal Tour:
Maybe the best ways to see Amsterdam is via one of the many canal boat tours. Falling in a canal however is the worst ways to see Amsterdam. In either case it is important to avoid drink the water.

- Un-cultured Tour:
Museum visits don't only have to be for intellectuals in the group. If your visitors are a little more open minded maybe they would like to visit the sex, hash or (if they are into S&M) torture museum.

Disclaimer

Invading Holland Tours can not be held responsible for any problems, hangovers, canal floods, bicycles accidents, boredom, or body snatcher invasions during your tour.

Holland Reality Show

2006-05-31T19:06:00.000+02:00

I never planned to live in Holland but fate seemed to push me towards life in the land of windmills and canals. It was purely by chance that I got a job in Amsterdam… or was it. Over the last few months I have made a discovery, something that could indicate unseen strings being pulled by shady characters in secret rooms to get me and countless other expatriates into Holland. You may think what I am about to say is far-fetched but I have evidence. It all started when one of the ‘actors’ told me more then he should have.

"Of course Holland is a fictional country." A Dutch co-worker suddenly announced during lunch. "Come on... A completely flat country, built on land reclaimed from the sea where drugs and prostitution are legal and the locals speak a mix of German and Klingon…. Who in their right mind is going to believe that apart from tourists?"

I continued to listen as I ate my fictional uitsmijter in the fictional café as my fictional co-worker told me the truth. Holland is not real. Holland has never been real. Holland is just a television show.

To be more precise Holland is an unscripted dramatic reality TV show in which unsuspecting expatriates and tourists contestants from around the globe are let lose in a fictional land of legal prostitution, drugs and late night bars so their actions can be secretly filmed for the amusement of viewers. A sort of 'Temptation Red Light District'.

This means every Dutch person is an actor. The person who checked my train ticket, the waiter who served my lunch, even the man who rescued me from the lift, all of them were actors. In fact there is no such thing as a Dutch person. It seemed hard to believe but after the ‘actor’ who told me the truth lost his job in strange circumstances I started to connect the dots and the peaces of the puzzle began to fall into place. The clues were all around me:

1) Secret cameras are hidden everywhere. I even managed to find one that is not far from my fictional place of work

2) Like many other shows on TV these days Holland seems to receive a large amount of its funding from company sponsorship in return for advertising and product placement. Cheese and tulip companies appear to represent the majority of the sponsors in this case. In fact some of the larger companies must have donated a lot of money because they were able to get towns and cities in the show named after them. The Amsterdam Brewing Company for example.

3) I’m not the only person to unexpectedly end up in Holland either. I recently found out my new flat-mate did as well. How many other people living in Holland were manipulated by the television executives to become part of the show with out their knowledge?

You might not believe me. I don’t expect you to. People will say I’m mad but I know the truth now. However, I’ll play their little game. I will pretend I don’t know that I am on a reality TV show (but I might start showering with my clothes on). I’ll be a typical English Expat. No one is voting me off. I bet there is a huge prize at the end of all this. Hopfully its not just a life time supply of cheese and tulips.

X-Men 3: The Last Stand - Review

2006-05-28T15:51:00.000+02:00

This weekend I went to see X-Men 3: The Last Stand with my new flat mate (who also helped me with this post). I only have a passing familiarity with the comic books but that has not stopped me enjoying the first two movies. However, as I sat in the cinema this time I came to two conclusions. The first being that if I was a mutant I would want the power over other peoples voices so I could make them shut up while watching a movie and the second is that X-Men 3 is to my disappointment the weakest movie in the trilogy.

The movies main failing is its attempt to cover too many story lines at once. At least three story lines are included which should have been part of their own separate movies so they could be focused on properly. None of them are given the chance to be what they could have been. The characters also suffer from the same failure. Neither the old or new x-men are given enough screen time to develop.

Since this was really three movies crammed into one I am going to give you three reviews not just one. If you have not seen the movie yet there are some spoilers ahead:

X-Men 3: The Cure
When the 'cure' for mutation is discovered the mutant community is split between those who wish take the treatment and no longer be persecuted and those who wish to keep their abilities even though they will never be fully accepted by human society.

Here was an opportunity to further explore the themes from the last two movies and the opposing views of Xavier who believes in tolerance and Magneto who believes in survival of the fittest. However the story was not developed and so many possible angles were hinted at but left unexplored:

What was life like for the mutant child who was the source of the cure?
What were repercussions of a mutant (Rogue) taking the cure voluntarily?
How would a mutant (Mystique) adjust to life after their abilities were forcefully taken away?

The way Magneto tossed Mystic aside once she became human also felt like it did not fit with their (platonic) relationship built up in the last two movies.

The conclusion felt rushed as if it was a sudden cut off of the story because a big battle was 'needed for the end of the movie'. The sudden change from day to night during this sequence did not help with this feel as well.

X-Men 3: The Phoenix
This is the story most comic book fans have been waiting for. After being believed dead Jean Grey comes back as something much more powerful and dark, the Phoenix. The time which is spent on this story arch is flawed. It is over before it really has time to start and when it came to its conclusion it has little impact. It is very obvious that this was not their intention at the end of X-Men 2.

The love triangle between Jean, Scott and Logan that has been part of the previous two movies was handled with such clumsiness that all emotion associated with it was lost. There was an interesting opportunity to see how the two men dealt with Jean's turn to the dark side but the movie makers never took advantage of this. Characters were also killed off with disregard in an attempt to be shocking but only weakened the movie when important characters were suddenly gone.

X-Men 3: The Next Generation
A new group of x-men are going through training but the big question is will they ever be ready for the coming battle. Magneto is also recruiting new mutants to his brotherhood.

None of the new characters are properly introduced or developed, they are given minimal screen time which makes their addition pointless. Some of these characters could have been cut and you would not have noticed they were supposed to be in the scene. Ultimately this leads to the feeling that for the end battle on Alcatraz, the film makers were forced to include a few of the back ground characters here to some disarray.

Even the Angel characters screen time was limited (he was in four scenes but his total screen time was under 2 mins) even though all the movie advertising shows him to be a main character including showing him in a x-men costume.

Some of the casting choices were also to distracting such as Mutant Vinnie Jones (Juggernaut) with his power to be extremely cockney and Mutant Lady Boy (Shockwave) who's mutant power is to keep the audience confused as to if it is a girl or boy, whereas Kelsey Grammer who some people had doubts about turned out to be a very good casting choice.

X-Men 3: The Cure + The Phoenix + The Next Generation = The Last Stand
All together the movie does have a few interesting and fun moments but these do not outweigh the flaws.

Summer?

2006-05-25T23:03:00.000+02:00

Having ginger hair means I can't stay out in the sun too much because I burn very easily. One summer I made the mistake of sitting in the same position for most the day with the sun rising and setting to my right. It did not take long for me to end up looking like Harvey Two Face due to the sun burn down one side of my face and body. Some vampires can enjoy more sun bathing time then me.

However, despite all this I enjoy summer. I just have to be sensible and use sun-block cream. Its great when winter comes to an end and going to the beach becomes an option again or sitting out on a terrasse some where enjoying a drink with friends. Its a good time of year.

So with summer starting this year I packed away my jumpers, put on my sunglasses and stepped out into the sun to be greeted by... the Dutch Monsoon season. I never thought Holland had a Monsoon season but it seems it does. The Armageddon style weather waited until I was out getting lunch to start. By the time I had battled my way through the raging winds and rain (and nearly got blown off a bridge) to get back to the office I looked like a drowned rat. I would have been drier if I had jumped in to a canal.

We had two weeks of warm weather which did seemed to signal the start of summer but for the last few days its been nothing but rain and the forecast is predicting more. It has started getting colder again as well. A few days ago I almost resided to sleeping in the fridge to stop myself melting into a bucket during the night but now with the sudden weather reversion I am turning on every available heat emitting device and even the cat is trying to hide in my bed for warmth.

Last year the office had to be closed twice because it got too hot to work. This year it is more likely that the office will have to close due to flooding. If you don't see any more posts here you will know Holland has been reclaimed by the sea.

Lift of Terror

2006-05-21T23:08:00.000+02:00

I’m going to tell you a story so scary you will never be able to look at a lift (or elevator for you Americans) in the same way again. Stairs will become your new best friend. What I am going to tell you is a true story and it happened to me. The dictionary describes a lift as such:

Function: noun
A platform or an enclosure raised and lowered in a vertical shaft to transport people or freight.

But I describe a lift as so:

Function: evil
A platform dangling over the void of darkness or a claustrophobic enclosure of terror raised and lowered in a vertical shaft of doom and death to transport and create fear in people or freight.

It all started one Saturday about two years ago. I was working the weekend due to deadline time (and surfing the net) and I was the last person in the building. Around 10pm I finally decided it was time to go home, shut off my computer and got in the lift to go from the fourth floor to the ground floor… if only I had taken the stairs.

As the lift moved down the shaft it suddenly jerked to a stop. At first I thought nothing of it. I thought I had arrived at my destination. Only the doors did not open. I tried hitting a few buttons, nothing happened. It only took a few seconds to realize I was trapped between the first and second floor. It was a Saturday. Monday was a bank holiday. I realized there was a good chance I would not be getting out any time soon and I might have to eat my own arm to survive.

I don’t mind telling you that for the first couple of minuets I was scared like a little girly man. Visions of the lift falling down the shaft danced through my mind. Shouting and using the emergency buzzer did no good. There was no one else in the building. No one was coming to my rescue. In my panic I tried to open the doors with my bear hands. They opened easily but what was behind them was another horror like something out of the ‘Twilight Zone.’ An old red brick wall up to waist height and then the outer lift doors. I tried to force open the outer lift doors but they would only open an inch and no more. For a while I let the panic in, pacing up and down the small space of the lift (but being careful not to shake it too much).

Then, as I started to calm down, came the moment that every man who grew up watching 80s TV dreams of… MacGyver time. Also known as ‘The bit at the end of the A-Team where they made something cool'. So I found myself thinking, “What would MacGyver do?” I took stock of my inventory.

1)A laptop with only a little battery power remaining
2) A mobile phone with a dead battery
3) Some paper
4) A technical drawing pencil
5) A can of coke
6) And my back pack itself

I started thinking things like, “Maybe I could somehow wire up my laptop battery to my mobile phone and charge it up. No.. wait… the lift is a dead spot for mobile phones.”

“Maybe I could use the technical drawing pencil to chip away at the mortar around the bricks and tunnel my way out. No… no good either, I might bring the whole building down.”

“I could open up my laptop, find a long wire and tie it to the Coke can. Then I could shake the Coke can really hard, open it and use it as a rudimentary grappling gun to climb up and out of the shaft. Dam… that wont work… there is no hatch in the lift to open.”

“Ah screw it… I’ll use my backpack as a pillow to sleep on till someone comes and rescues me.”

I used the paper and technical drawing pencil to write a note and push it through the small gap in the lift doors in case anyone came along while I tried to sleep. I wrote my SOS on both sides of the paper since I did not know how it would fall when I pushed it through the gap. Luckily I only ended up with spelling errors on one side.

Then insanity started to set in. The creaking and groaning noises the lift was making started to get to me. It sounded like evil mocking laughter telling me no one was coming. The only thing I could do to keep my spirits up and block out the sound was to sing to myself. No songs came to mind so I started making up my own. I came up with great hits like:

1) I’m stuck in a mother %$#@! lift.
2) I hate lift.
3) Why does this %$#@! have to happen to me.
4) I should have asked that girl out. Now I’m going to die in a lift.

After a while I tried to sleep. In a strange way I had come to accept what was happening to me. There was nothing more to do but wait. Panicking served no purpose and if the lift was going to drop me to my death if would have done so by now. Still I could not sleep. The mocking laughter of the lift kept me awake.

How did I escape my fate you might ask. The simple answer is… I didn’t. I’m still here, using the wireless connection on my lap top to send this blog entry in the hope that someone will see it and come to my rescue.

Ok… maybe not. Here is what really happened. The sounds from the lift and thoughts of what I would have to do if I needed to go to the toilet kept me awake. Around 2am I heard something… not the lift… something else… movement… from down stairs. I jumped up and started shouting. I was found by a very surprised Dutchman in a suit from one of the other companies in our building. I don’t know what he was doing showing up at 2am. I did not care. All I cared about was I was saved.

One thing I feel really bad about was I never remembered his name. It went in one ear and out the other because of all I had been through (If you are reading this I am sorry about that). He phoned the fire brigade and sat and chatted with me while we waited. He even tried to hand me a bottle of Bacardi between the small opening in the lift doors but it would not fit and we did not have any long straws.

Eventually the fireman arrived, opened the lift doors with a crowbar and pulled me out. I could have hugged them… in a manly way of course. I thanked everyone, signed some forms that the firemen gave me, walked out of the building and took in a lungful of the air of freedom. In total I had been trapped for a little over four hours. I never saw the man who found me again. Maybe he was an angle… or a smartly dressed cat burglar, I don’t know. I’ve also never set foot in that lift alone again and never ever late at night. I still swear when ever I hear the lift creek it is saying, “I’ll get you next time Stuart and you’ll never escape.”

Think this story sounds to crazy to be true? Then let me leave you with a scan of the actual note I wrote that fateful night:

Tourists

2006-05-18T23:50:00.000+02:00

As I made my way to work this morning I noticed the early indications that the tourist season in Amsterdam is getting into full swing. Although the clues were all around me there was one sign in particular that made me realize the city was about to be invaded by sightseers again. It was not the people dragging their suitcases around the streets. It was not the confused looking people trying to work out the tram system. It was not even the canal tour boats that have started passing the office every half hour.

No, it was none of the conventional warning signs. The first indication that came before all of these was in the form of an announcement over the crackling speakers in Amsterdam train station:

"Gelieve te houden een oog op uw bezittingen. De zakken van de oogst werken op dit gebied."
"Please keep an eye on your belongings. Pick pockets operate in this area."
"Veuillez garder un oeil sur vos affaires. Les poches de sélection fonctionnent dans ce secteur."

Why this stood out for me more then all the hints I don’t really know but it did. After that I started to notice all the other tourist activities.

Tourists come in many different shapes and sizes but they can be categorized into groups. Here are just a few you might see this summer during the sightseer migration:

The Suitcase Pullers:
All tourist types start out as suitcase pullers. This also means they are the only group capable of evolving into other types of tourists. They are often seen wondering around Amsterdam and can easily be identified by the suitcase they drag with them and the lost look on their faces as they search for their hotel. The suitcase itself can some times act as an indication of how long they plan to stay in your country. The smaller the suitcase the shorter their stay maybe (or the smellier their clothes will be by the end). They can originate from all countries.

Camera Tourists:
These kinds of tourists are mostly found congregating on bridges over looking long canals or other scenic locations. They travel as a group but are in fact split into two sub-groups. One sub-group operates the cameras and the other sub-group poses for the photos. Between them they are capable of blocking entire paths with the invisible barrier which seems to form between them during the photo taking process, forcing locals to stop and wait until it is over. Most camera tourists originate from England, America and Japan.

Sightseers:
Sightseeing tourists are the most vocal of all tourist groups and believe they can break the language barrier with volume alone. If talking louder fails they will resort to the tried and tested method... of... talking... slower... and pointing to a picture of the place they are trying to find. These tourists can often be identified by the guide books or maps they cling too. It is not uncommon for there to be a cross over between the Sightseer and Camera Tourist groups. However, this particular variety of sightseer (the loud speaker) is known to originate mostly from England and America.

Excessive Tourists:
This group is a common breed mainly originating from England. To call them ‘tourists’ in the true sense of the word is miss leading since most of their sightseeing will only involve the inside of bars and coffee shops before stumbling around the streets of the red light district. They often travel in packs at night and can be seen trying to carry the most inebriated of the group even though they are all quite intoxicated themselves. They have been known to approach locals and sluringly ask one of the following questions:

Do you know where we can find a good night club mate?
Mate. You don't know where we can get some [ insert drug name here] do you?
How much do the prostitutes cost around here mate? Do any of them [insert bizarre sexual act here]?

It is because of this group I would like to close this post with the following statement:

People of Holland. Although this has not been officially approved by my government I would like to here by apologize for acts by any and all drunk and loud British tourists. They do not represent Briton in any official capacity. They know not what they do or how they make us hang our heads in shame. I would also like to apologize for Mr Blobby (but we have to apologies to every country for that).

Cartoon Origins

2006-05-15T23:59:00.000+02:00

It’s amazing what you can find when you are moving house. There always seems to be lots of objects you either forgot you had or thought you had lost. Then there are also the objects you know you should throw away but just can’t quite do it. At least this was my experience of moving. Since I've only moved once I can't clame to be any authority on the subject.

One of the things I did find again (and did not throw away) was all my early sketches of the cartoon characters I used on this blog. Since a few people have complemented my sketches I thought it would be interesting to share these early scribbles.

It might sound strange but I started drawing these characters because of the South Park Character Creation Tool. At first I was just messing around making South Park versions of myself and my college friends. Then I started arranging them together in comic reconstructions of things that happened to us during our three years of study. Considering we once voted for a toy frog to be our student representative (No, I really am not joking) there were quite a few funny stories so I got the idea of making an on-line comic from them. The frog won the vote by the way but another student had to act as his voice.

I started making a few comic but sadly did not really have enough time to keep it up (I only just have enough time for this Blog at the moment). Maybe one day I will be able to start again. I still enjoy drawing them and its been fun making new images for this blog. For now here are the few I did get around to finishing (Click for bigger versions).

Post-Move

2006-05-09T18:30:00.000+02:00

The night before the move I had a dream. In the dream I had two bedrooms in two different rundown, abandoned and dangerous apartment blocks. There were no other rooms; just the two bedrooms and they were both a complete mess. There was not enough time to clean and pack them both. I had to run between the two in a panic trying to get as much done as I could in the time I had. To make things even worse both rooms were completely dark, pitch black. All I had to help me see was the light from a single candle like something out of a Charles Dickens story. This might sound strange enough but there was also a kitten I kept on losing during the process. I had trained it to hunt mice but became very sad when it finally caught and killed one. It does not take Sigmund Fraud to figure out that a lot of this dream was because of all the preparation I was still in the middle of doing for the move. The rest is probably down to my normal mental state (or lack there of).

Packing and cleaning has filled my every waking moment for the past few days and it seemed it was starting to invade my dreams as well. I hardly had time to think about anything else, even eating. Luckily I had help from my old flat mate’s brother. He stayed over for the week to help organize things and tidy. In a funny way it was kind of like having a temporary flat mate until the new one arrived.

My old flat mate came back on the Friday to pick up the last of his stuff and we managed to calve out some time to go to Bevrijdingspop. As a result we all spent a very hung over Saturday morning helping load his stuff into a van and saying a final farewell. It was a very surreal moment and I had to get straight back to organizing my own stuff afterwards. At the end of Saturday I ran out of energy and crashed. I think if I had just looked at one more cardboard box or feather duster my body would have forced me into a self induced comor to stop the torture I was putting it through.

On the Sunday my new flat mate arrived with a van to start moving all my stuff. It took us two trips and when we started to bring boxes and furniture into the house his cat looked very nervous and concerned at the sudden development and strange new objects. However, by the following day she was already checking each box to see which ones she found comfortable and then claimed the most agreeable as her own (or she was looking for the box with the most valuable stuff to sell for cat food). I really like cats.

Now I just have all the unpacking and furniture reconstruction to do. I also have to go back to the old place later this week to finish cleaning. It was left in a real mess which makes me wonder if there was some self for filling prophecy truth in the dream…

…or the packing was just driving me crazy. Take your pick.

Pre-Move

2006-05-04T03:06:00.000+02:00

When I moved to Holland I brought just one suitcase with a squeaky wheel filled with clothes, DVDs and my PS1. Since then I have upgraded to a PS2, collected more DVDs and accumulated many other possessions. Most of those item are currently sitting in boxes at one end of my front room. The rest are still in several piles of chaotic organization around the house.

I've never done a big house move before and and its not over yet. However, I think I already understand the thing that plagues most house movers... The search for cardboard boxes.

I woefully underestimated the amount of packing material I would need. Whenever I spot a box now I try to work out a way to smuggle it home. I've never been more interested in cardboard since my days of junk modeling at primary school. Luckily I seem to have enough boxes now but there is still a lot of work to be done. Furniture has to be disassemble, plates need to be put in bubble wrap and so on.

My Scottish flatmate has already moved out and this weekend I move in with my new English flatmate. At the moment everything is a little surreal. I no longer feel like I am really living where I am now (since it looks like cardboard city at the moment) and it will take a few days to set up in the new place. I'm still getting used to the fact that a lot of things are about to change. A new town, a new house, a new flatmate and a cat. There is also a lot I will be saying goodbye to. My old flatmate, the local pub and all the take away places in the area. It will be very strange no longer living with the person I have spent the last five years sharing a house with.

Since my every waking moment will involve packing and unpacking boxes for the next few days my posting might be a bit sparse but when its all over I will let you know how it all went.

Post-Queens Day

2006-05-01T16:22:00.000+02:00

Like many people all over Holland I woke-up after Koninginnedag (Queens Day) with a hangover. Not a full on 'living dead' hangover but the kind of hangover that lets the vicitm know a good time was had and now it is time to just lay on the sofa and relax because that’s all the they are capable of doing.

This year I realized something strange about Koninginnedag that I really like; the freedom that comes with a plastic cup. This might sound like a very strange statement but on Koninginnedag it is easy to just buy a plastic cup of beer, pick a direction, go for a stroll and see what can be found. Before the beer has ran out there is always another beer tent and live performance in sight. There is no need to make plans.

So I spent this Koninginnedag walking around Haarlem with a group of friends seeing what we could find. We spent a while looking through the open market for the most useless junk on sale, watched some of the strange performances around town (including the camp older gentlemen who was miming to music in the middle of the road), bumped into old friends and slowly got more drunk with each beer tent pit stop.

It did not take us too long to get fairly drunk. By the end of the night we were jokingly discussing why my flat mate’s brother thinks I’m a soulless day-walker, trying to flick peanuts into each others drinks and attempting to start Dance Offs in the street. Plus I started running around town wearing a pair of green Shrek ears. If only they had been orange I would have fitted in better.

Yes… we drank a lot.

Pre-Queens Day

2006-04-28T11:11:00.000+02:00

Koninginnedag (Queens Day) is almost upon Holland once again.

No, this does not mean myself and my fellow men all over Holland will be getting out our dresses and applying enough make-up to pass for Mardi Gra dancers. It is in fact the birthday of the Dutch Queen (Royalty not drag). It’s a national holiday and the whole country joins in on the festivities. Amsterdam becomes one big party with beer tents, food stands, market stalls and live music performances every where. You will never see Amsterdam more crowded on any other day and you will also never see so many people wearing orange. Since it is the national color it is every where at the moment. I even had a special Koninginnedag donut with orange icing today.

Koninginnedag would normally be on the 30th but when it falls on a Sunday (like this year) the powers that be move it to the Saturday. This is probably to avoid the productivity of the country taking a sharp nose dive on the Monday when everyone is far to hung over to work. It also avoids people telling their bosses to blame the Queen when they phone in ill.

This weekend is also the last weekend my current flat mate will be in the country which give us both another reason to go out on the town. Once my head and liver have recovered I will report on the days festivities.

Dye Another Day

2006-04-26T13:42:00.000+02:00

There are a few stories I am well known for amongst my friends. Stories like the time I got stuck in an elevator, or when I walked on a broken ankle for four hours to drunk to realize. However, the most bizarre story by far is the tale of the time I got my eye lashes dyed to help someone in trouble. I mentioned it briefly on my Stuart's fact list but I was asked to shed a little more light on this strange story.

It started one day when I was still in College. I was in the student art shop looking for (strangely enough) art supplies when a very upset looking girl suddenly approached me. She was almost in tears as she asked for my help and explained her situation. She was a student on the beauticians course and it was the day of an important practical exam. She had to dye someone’s hair. It sounded simple enough. The only catch was it had to be someone with light colored hair and this was the reason for her distress. The person who was going to be her model had fallen ill. She needed to find a replacement fast and since I have light ginger hair she practically pleaded with me to be that replacement.

I wanted to help and seeing what I looked like with dark hair for a little while sounded interesting. So I said yes. She told me where and when the exam was, thanked me again and left. I felt good about myself. I had made someone happy and I went on about my day. Later that day when I arrived she was happy to see I kept my word. After all I was a stranger and might not have shown up. I sat down as the examiner started taking notes. I felt good for helping this girl. She had seemed so upset when she had found me in the morning. I was a knight in shining armor. But then came the question:

“Would you prefer it to be your eye lashes or eye brows?”
“WHAT THE HELL?” shouted my brain.
“Hu?” my mouth said dumbly.

She repeated the question while looking a little nervous. The examiner was standing right there. If I made it to obvious that she left out what part of me would be getting the color change she could lose marks and fail. I tried my best not to let on and told her I wanted my eye brows dyed. She quietly pointed out I might look strange with two caterpillars over my eyes. I told her I wanted my eye lashes dyed. In my mind I was thinking I could just wash it out afterwards.

So I sat there with my eyes shut as she did her work. Eventually it was all done and I could open my eyes. The examiner was happily taking notes. The student asked me if I had any questions so I asked how easy it would be to wash the dye out.

“Oh… it’s permanent.”
“WHAT THE HELL?!” goes my brain.
“Hu?” goes my mouth.

I don’t know if she forgot to tell me these things or she did not want to for fear that I would say no when she asked for my help in the morning. I never found out. I stayed polite so as not to get her in trouble but left as fast as I could.

It was not long before my class mates were enjoying the joke of what had happened and pointing out that I looked like I was wearing mascara. I must have looked like a transvestite who got cold feet at the make up stage. For the following weeks I was wearing sunglasses most of the time, trying to explain to everyone who asked why I looked like a Rocky Horror Show fan as well as spending every available moment in front of a mirror trying to pull my eye lashes out. All that and I didn’t even get her phone number.

Sex Sells

2006-04-23T19:35:00.000+02:00

I've already written about one of Hollands well know vices, the drug culture. There is of course another vice which the country is very well known for. Something that brings a particular kind of tourist to certain shady areas of the country to indulge themselves in special ways. Yes, you've guessed it. I'm going to talk about windmills.

Alright. I'm not really going to talk about windmills. I'm going to talk about the sex industry in Holland. Holland has a very open view towards sex and prostitution is legal and regulated in most cases. If you want to see just how open the dutch view towards sex is (or you are on a stag night) you will find no better example then the Red Light District in Amsterdam. It is a network of alleyways containing hundreds of tiny one-room apartments where prostitutes wearing just underwear or bikinis offer their services from behind glass doors. Its also a place where you can find live sex shows, peep shows, sex museums and shops that sell the kind of toys you wont find in London's Hamleys. Amsterdam has the most well known Red Light District but a lot of towns have there own versions as well. Its also not unusual to pass a sex shop in the main street of some towns.

If you come from a more reserved country the red light district is the kind of place you have to see to believe. In someways it is a tourist sight seeing attraction and that is why a lot of tourist go there for a game of Eye-Spy-Ho. Even my parents want to have a look around when ever they visit (at least that's what my dad tells my mum). I've seen other families walking around there too to see if all the stories they have heard are true. However it is still a sex industry area and has its seedy side. You will often see men lined up out side prostitutes doors waiting for their turn and illegal stuff does still happen.

I had a look around a few days after I first arrived in the country (and I've only ever looked). It was a time when I still looked very much like an out of place tourist so as I walked down one of the alleyways all I heard behind me was doors opening and calls of...

"Hello English boy. "
"Over here Ginger boy. "
"Hi red head. "

... I just kept on walking.

When my friends come to visit from England they also want to do a bit of window shopping (even the girls) because like everyone else they can not believe it until they see it with their own two eyes. This is how I ended up going to see one of the live sex shows. This might sound very seedy and in someways it was but in others it was quite an eye opener. I don't mean that I finally found out the true story of where babies come from that night. I mean I was surprised to find out the place was more high tec then some normal theaters I have worked for in the past. They even had a revolving stage and a lighting set up which would make most bands envious. Not all the clientele were brown rain coat wearing men either. Again there were a lot of tourists and couples who just wanted to see the show for the novelty/curiosity factor.

As for the performance itself? Yes, there really where two people on stage having sex and sometimes just a woman alone with more of those toys that are not stocked by Hamleys. Some of the performers looked very bored as if they were following a script which they had done a thousand times before (which is probably just what it is like for them).

Part of the show was interactive as well. There was the woman who fed a banana to a member of the audience but she was not holding it with her hands or even her feet. There was a scary moment when she almost picked me and a friend out of the audience but we sank very low into our seats at that point.

If you are ever in Amsterdam the Red Light District is one of those places you have to see just so you can say you have seen it. However, don't take any photos unless you want a very angry prostitute trying to take your camera away (cameras are banned in the area).

Don Landlord

2006-04-22T15:39:00.000+02:00

We've just had our land lord visit to check if everything is in order with the house before we move out next month. Its the first time we've ever met the man face to face since we've usually dealt with another member of his family. I woke up early this morning to tidy the house even though I was feeling a little hung over from a night of drinking with co-workers and making drunk plans to challenge other games companies in a series of dance offs.

Our landlord runs one of the Italian restaurants in town which also seems to be a family business. He's a man of few words and seems to prefer wearing suits. This all added to the effect of him looking like an aging Don when he arrived with his wife and a plumber in tow. We suspected if he really is a Don the plummer was actually a hit man who is involved in 'wet work' that does not include pipes and water.

The whole process had to be done in Dutch since they did not speak much English. Luckily my Scottish flat mate is flaunt in Dutch but this meant I was reduced to smiling and nodding. However so was he when they started talking in Italian amongst themselves.

The reason for the plummer was to check the damaged shower (and luckily not to whack us). We where never able to get them to do anything about it before so I had to fix it myself in my own un-skilled way. Now they are going to have to take the whole floor out to see where the shower is leaking and fix it. The good thing is it seems like they are not going to charge us for it. Maybe it was the day of his daughter's wedding when no Don can refuse to do someone a favor.

However this might mean Don Landlord will ask us for a 'favor' in return one day.

Just The Facts

2006-04-20T12:48:00.000+02:00

So you can get to know a bit more about me I have put together a list of random Stuart facts. However, to make things a little more interesting one of these facts is a lie. See if you can spot which one:

I was born in 1978 in England
I don’t have any brothers or sisters
I don’t smoke
I drink socially but still sometimes too much
I’m right handed
I’m dyslexics
I can’t spell dyslexic with out the aid of a spell checker
I’m not a morning person
I get sun burn easily because I’m a red head
The cartoons on this site are all my own work (the ginger kid is me)
I moved to Holland in the summer of 2001
I work for a computer games company in Amsterdam
Since moving to Holland I suffer from a lot less migraines then I used to
I love movies
Horror is my favorite genre
I really like movies with a clever twist at the end
Ghostbusters is still my favorite movie from my childhood
I hate l33t speak
I broke my ankle and walked around on it for eight hours with out realizing
I got stuck in the elevator in the office once after everyone else went home
I have operated a real bomb disposal robot
I worked in the theatre business as a designer
I’ve also worked as stage crew
I worked at the Millennium Dome before it closed
I accidentally got hit in the privates once while on stage during a live show
I played the clarinet at school because it got me out of sports lessons
I once went bungee jumping for a bet even though I did not want to do it
I think South Park is one of the greatest social commentaries on the world
I once had my eye lashes dyed to help someone who was in trouble
I can be shy at times and wish I was more confident
I think of others before myself in most situations
Sometimes I play the fool just to get a laugh but regret it later
I get frustrated with extremely un-decisive people
I hate to be patronized
I’m very organized
I think of myself as a nice guy
I hate being vain and vain people
I’m trying to exercise more and eat healthier
I’m still not really sure what I want to do with my life
However, I have the ambition to write a book some day
I’ve been trained by a member of the magic circle
I love Chinese food
I'm not a football fan
I’ve lost at strip poker... and I mean completely lost

Bank Holiday Weekend

2006-04-17T14:23:00.000+02:00

I'm not much of a morning person. My brain is never fully in gear when I first wake up and I am sometimes guilty of over sleeping. So this Monday morning when I rolled over and opened my eyes to see the bright red glowing 10:38am staring back at me from my alarm clock a sudden panic set in. You've probably caught onto an important fact here quicker then I did but to better explain here is a short transcript of the thoughts going through my brain at the time:

“Hu? What? NO! I'm late!”

Cluck. Click. Fizzle. Brain start up sequence engaged....

“Really late! Dam!”

Synapses firing....

“Wait a second.”

Brain On-line....

“It's a bank holiday. Yessssssss!”

Re-entering sleep mode....

“ZZZzzzzzzzz”

There's nothing like a little confused morning panic to make you really appreciate a day off. Not only do we get a long weekend but we get a shorter week that follows. Bonus.

So far this bank holiday weekend I have, cleaned the house, caught up with friends, visited the fun fair that has been set up in the main square just around the corner from my house (more info for you stalkers), been to the cinema and tried Dutch Poffertjes for the first time.

So what does today hold in store?

Hopefully as little as possible. I've just got back from the video store with 'Kiss Kiss Bang Bang' and 'Transporter 2' to keep me occupied as I laze on the sofa. I don't know much about the plot of 'Kiss Kiss Bang Bang' but I have been told it is very good. I am not expecting much from 'Transporter 2' but hopefully it will have the right dosage of guns and explosions to distract my male mind from the plot if it turns out to be bad.

All this and still not a chocolate egg in site.

Moving

2006-04-14T22:17:00.000+02:00

In just a few weeks time I will be moving house. This is something I have been putting off writing about for a little while. I think part of me was trying to put off thinking about it due to the uncertainty of what I would be doing with my housing situation. However, now that I am finally writing about it here is a summary of the posts you would have read:

Post 1: In which Stuart feels guilty for worrying about his living situation when his Scottish flatmate starts looking for a new job in England.

Post 2: In which Stuart knows its only natural to worry about his housing arrangement but still feels guilty for not just being able to wish his flatmate good luck in his career advancement.

Post 3: In which Stuart is asked by another friend if he wants to be his new flatmate and Stuart accepts, no longer feeling worried or guilty.

So now you are up to date. We've handed in our notice at our current place and soon my Scottish flat mate will be moving to England and I will be moving from Haarlem (now you know the town I live in at the moment the stalkers amongst you have only a few weeks to find me) to another town on the other side of Amsterdam. As a bonus there is even a complimentary kitty in the deal. No, my new flat mate is not offering a feline sacrifice. He has a pet cat.

It's going to be a shame to see my Scottish flat mate go. It's been fun sharing the house for five years and we have a few funny drunken stories. I've been friends with my new flat mate for just as long so I'm not worried about sharing a house with him. It might take a little while for me to stop feeling like just a guest though but it was the same when I first moved in with my current flat mate.

If our current land lord does not give us any hassle about moving out (there has been some damage to the house that is not our fault) the move starts next month.

Rock On

2006-04-13T01:29:00.000+02:00

Although it was only short lived I have decided to give up my acting career. I have now found my true calling and it is time to embrace it. I am destined to be a Rock God like Ziggy Stardust and lead my band 'Stuart and The Invaders' to glory.

What the hell am I talking about you ask? This week the PS2 game Guitar Hero has swept through the office faster then any cold or flu and has got everyone more addicted then crack. The game is a guitar playing simulator (with a guitar shape controller) and allows players to feel like they are playing their favorites rock songs. Last Friday work came to an abrupt halt when someone brought their copy in to the office. Everyone was scrambling to have a go. Since then more then half the people in my department have bought their own. Most of the girls in the office (which there are 8 of in a company of 140) don't understand what we are obsessing about but that's part of what makes it a boy's toy.

I was finally able to get my hands on my own today and just sent several hours rocking out in my front room with my axe (guitar for those of you not in the rock business). I'm completely addicted and lost count of how many time I played I Love Rock and Roll, Ziggy Stardust, The Ace of Spades and most of the other songs that come with the game.

I have not yet named my axe which I have been told I am supposed to do if I want to be a true rock god. Any suggestions are welcome. Maybe I'll even paint the winning name on it and post the photo.

If you feel an urge to scream out the word 'nerd' at any point while reading this post please remember I work in the computer games industry which means doing so would be redundant.

Double Dutch

2006-04-10T21:03:00.000+02:00

When I first moved to Holland I was not sure how much of a language barrier there would be. I knew very little about the country or it language. I started reading a phrase book before I arrived but I later found out I was pronouncing everything from it horribly. Luckily for me it turned out the language barrier is only small, almost unmeasurable. There is a lot of English language culture here from TV to books. One of my Dutch friends even learnt to speak English from watching the A-Team as a child. However I have yet to hear him, “Pitty the fool.”

I have only met a handful of people that could not speak English. My first encounter with a Dutch person who could not (or maybe chose not to) was a girl at the bar in a night club. She turned to me and said something I did not understand. When I told her so in English she said something else and walked away. I will never know if she was saying "You're really cute" or "You're standing on my foot."

Since then I have made attempts to learn the language. I first learnt to count in Dutch from late night television and my Dutch co-workers quickly taught me swear words and chat up lines which would most likely lead to me getting slapped. However, we also had lessons which were arranged by the company. Our first Dutch teacher seemed to be a bit of an old pervert however. This was largely due to the fact that whenever he got us to translate a story he had written himself it was always about watching young girls in bars. Somehow I got the impression they were written from personal experiences. I'll never forget the rather creepy context and way he explained the Dutch translations for 'Slender Back'. Luckily we never had to translate, “It puts the lotion on its skin.”

For a long time, “Ik heb geen idee wat u zegt,” was a phrase I seemed to be using a lot but I have gotten better over time and can now have some basic conversations. However, after five years I still feel my Dutch language skills are lacking. The trouble is I never really get the chance to practice. I know this is poor excuse and I should make more of an effort but when ever things get awkward or difficult I slip back into English.

I will continue trying to learn the language and speak it. Who knows... maybe the next time a cute girl turns to me and says something in her sexy Dutch voice I'll be able to understand her... and get off her foot.

...Gone Tommrow

2006-04-08T19:50:00.000+02:00

I did just what I said I would do. I've had my hair cut. My passport photo and a blocked shower are now the only evidence that I ever had long hair.

I had my hair cut by a girl who reminded me a little of Kelly Osborn because of her hair and the way she dressed. She suggested I go for a more messy short hair look. It felt a little strange at first to be losing the long hair as she started to cut but that feeling faded quickly. I've never had the out of bed look (at least not on purpose) but I think I like it. Its great not to have my hair constantly getting in the way of my face any more. I don't know why I put up with it for so long and didn't have it cut sooner. However, the one unforchanet thing about it is rocking out to Bohemian Rhapsody will never be the same again.

I've already had a few people say I look much better with the new cut and I'm looking forward to the amusement of seeing a few surprised faces at work on Monday. Maybe its something to do with the start of spring but the change in hair style also got me thinking about making a few other small changes to my image. I'm going to go clothes shopping later in the week and I might even be crazy enough to start going back to the gym if this new hair cut makes me less lazy.

The Oscor Goes To...

2006-04-06T23:23:00.000+02:00

Things have been both amusing and embarrassing at work today. Today I joined the likes of Tom Cruse and Johny Depp. Today I was not a designer. Today I was an actor.

Making a computer game is a lot of work and requires a lot of different elements. Two of these elements are cut scenes and dialog. Sometimes to get them right we have to create tests before making the final version. None of us are actors but this involves filming ourselves acting out the cut scenes and recording our voices for the dialog.

Today I have had to do just that. I spent an amusing few hour trying not to trip over my lines or laugh at the results. I also had to walk around with a block of plastic pretending it was a gun while trying to act like anything but the most mild mannered marine you have ever heard. In my head I sound like Jean-Claude Van Damme but on the recording I sounded more like Jean-Claude Gosh Darn. The results were very funny and I will have to try desperately to keep a straight face and not cringe during the next team presentation.

However, the whole company has already been witness to my award winning acting skills thanks to one of our animaters who emailed the footage to everyone. I don't know how to 'thank' her for this publicity yet so if you have any ideas please let me know.

I promise when I win an Oscar I will not let it go to my head. I will remember where I came from and include you all in my acceptance speech for my winning role.

In other work related news: The junk in the office has finally been sorted out over the last few days. As a computer game company we go through a lot of hardware which either has to be given away, stripped down for parts or thrown out. So I give you a photo of the place where monitors go to die.

Flash

2006-04-05T22:57:00.000+02:00

Just a few moments ago my life flashed before my eyes. I thought it was all over and there was nothing I could do. It seemed like it was going to be the end and I got that horrible sinking feeling of things being out of control.

Luckily for me it still re-booted and (despite a slight dent the wireless card) it still works. That's the first and last time I drop my laptop on the floor.

Hair Today...

2006-04-05T00:16:00.000+02:00

I have been looking back over the last 16 months and reflecting on a choice I made. It was a choice which set me on the path I am on and now it has lead me to a new, much harder decision. Its something I have had to think about a lot. It will not be easy. There are going to be repercussions. It is going to be a heavy blow for man kind. It is the kind of decision which will strike fear into the hearts of mortal men and women, shake the very foundation of our society and cast a black cloud over our future... I'm going to cut my hair.

About 16 months ago I started to grow my hair after a few people suggested long hair might suit me. I'd had short hair all my life and trying something different seemed like a good idea. I'd already spent a little time with a beard just to try it out but had ended up shaving it off. Now that I think about it at the time I might have been trying to change my image through hair. I don't know what this new image might have become. Maybe a ginger Wookie.

However after having got my hair down to almost shoulder length I have decided I want to go back to short hair. I plan to get an appointment some where that can give me advice on what would look good (hopefully they will not say long hair) and cut it. In a way I'll miss having long hair, the joys of combing out tangles, unplugging blocked sinks and trying to keep it under control and out of my eyes...

Someone pass me some scissors.

Drunk Photo of Amsterdam

2006-04-01T22:37:00.000+02:00

Yesterday was the last day of the current design department lead (my boss). I've seen a few come and go but we all really got along with this one so it was sad to see him go. As is tradition we all took him down to the pub in Amsterdam to drink heavily and say goodbye.

Nights out with work friends are always interesting, especially if one is leaving. Conversations always inevitably turn to work no matter how hard we try to avoid it. I believe this can sometimes be a very a good thing. On occasion issues get resolved when people are more willing to speak their mind because they have had a bit to drink. However it can also go the other way and make things worse. Luckily in my experience this has not happened yet and drunk talk about work usually leads to interesting new ideas or appreciated complements both given and taken.

Last night I didn't really want to stay too late because I was feeling tired and it had been a hard week (plus I did not want a heavy hang over the next day). I craved the comfort of my sofa. However every time the bottom of my glass was in sight I was quickly offered another fuller glass. Maybe its the polite Englishman in me or the English love of beer but I could not turn down the offers. Eventually I managed to resist the call of beer, say goodbye and left before the point of no return.

However, I was obviously more drunk then I thought. As I walked towards the train station my intoxicated brain realized I had not yet used the camera on my new phone. So I decide it was a good time to try it out and proceeded to take random photos of stuff as I progressed (possibly with a slight stumble) down the street. Points of interest along my route included the rather phallic National Memorial statue, the building site that is Amsterdam Central Station and random shots of the main street. Maybe I have discovered a new form of art but I some how doubt it. If an art gallery does show interest in my post modern drunk phone photos I'll have to dedicate them to my old boss. I wish him good luck in the future.

Holland vs. The Netherlands

2006-03-30T18:18:00.000+02:00

Since living in Holland I’ve had a surprising amount of conversations with people that did not realize The Netherlands and Holland are names for one and the same country. Obviously these are not conversations I have been having with Dutch people. They seem to have caught onto this fact due to insider knowledge.

I’ve been told the reason for the two names is much like the way England is referred to as Great Britain and/or The United Kingdom sometimes. Holland is only the name for two Western provinces with in The Netherlands. Technically this might mean my blog should be called ‘Invading the two Western provinces with in the Netherlands’ but luckily for me Holland is used to refer to the entire country in most cases now.

This might sound confusing but it is not as confusing as the wedding invite I was once sent by an old college friend which was addressed to me in The Neverlands. As much as I would like to think otherwise I am pretty sure I have aged in the five years I have been here and I think the only way to see Tinkerbell is to spend too long in a Amsterdam coffee shop. Of course it’s always possible that she thought I was living with Michael Jackson.

Insomniac TV

2006-03-29T00:43:00.000+02:00

Its late and I seem to be suffering from a small amount of insomnia again for the third night in a row. This means I have been spending the time I should be sleeping surfing from site to site on the Internet and flicking from channel to channel on the TV in search of entertainment which will hopefully help my brain switch off.

I have quite a few channels to choose from when wearing out the batteries of the remote control and luckily for me the Dutch only subtitle English spoken shows instead of re-dubbing them. However, when looking for something to watch past midnight there is only one thing that can be found….. sex phone line commercials.

They are everywhere. Even on the main stream channels. Starting at midnight they all start to show more and more of these ads between programs until they are showing nothing else. During my teenage years I might have stayed up late to sneakily catch a peek at the 15 minutes adult channel previews which were less explicit then some of these adverts but I’ve grown up a bit since then (maybe that is just a fancy way of saying I need better porn). I want some normal entertainment. I'll even take a Jean-Claude Van Damme or Steven Seagal movie at this point.

It was surprising to see these kind of commercials on normal late night television when I first moved to this country but now they seem almost normal and blasé, simply a sign that I have stayed up too late and should go to bed. However, I do owe something to the women on these commercials. There was one way in which they helped me when I was alone in this country and knew no one. Listening to the phone numbers being read out taught me how to count in Dutch. This is also why I can count in a very sexy voice.

Nul... Een... Twee... Drie...

Old Timer

2006-03-25T20:27:00.000+01:00

The company I work for has a great way of solving problems sometimes.

Problem:
Employees bring crates of beer into the office at the end of every Friday and all the rooms end up becoming a mess of empty beer bottles and full ash trays (plus there was the time we cellotaped one of the designers to his chair).

Solution:
Buy lots and lots of beer on Friday for the employees but only allow them to drink it in one room to contain the mess.

With spring starting hopefully they will let us start using the garden again as well. We used to have great fun with drunken water fights on a Friday night because the company had given us all Super Soakers for the Christmas before.

But last night as I drank my company payed for bottle of beer and chatted with my coworkers I realized something..... I'm old.

I was not thinking about the amount of birthdays I have had. I was thinking about how long I have been working for the company compared to most of the others. As I looked around the room I realized I didn't really know quite a few of the people I was drinking the company's money with. There seems to be new fresh faces in the office almost every day.

When I joined it was a small company. Since then I've watched people come and go. The company has changed names, changed owners and changed buildings. In fact last Wednesday was five years to the day I had my interview.

In a strange way I like being one of the old timers of the company. It makes me feel like part of a select group. Like someone who knows what these new members will go through and can laugh at the way they think because its how I used to think. As if I now know secrets they will have to learn over time just as I did.

Who knows, maybe one day I'll be in a rocking chair surrounded by young hopeful game designers, “Oh yes. I worked on a computer game once before you had your new fangled holograms.”

Chance Encounters

2006-03-24T00:00:00.000+01:00

It was a cold winters night in Amsterdam just a few weeks ago. She looked at me and smiled. I returned her smile and looked away shyly, not sure what to say or do. The first flakes of white snow started to fall as we walked side by side. I had only just met her 15 minutes before but I already felt like I knew so much about her. She looked into my eyes, told me she would like to see me again and offered me her phone number. With the blizzard of snow falling around us it was all quite magical....

At least it would have been if she had not been older than my mother, had an accent that was hard to understand, far too open and trusting with details about her personal life and making me feel very, very awkward indeed. However she had asked me to help her carry her heavy shopping on and off the tram and I was trying to be polite. She almost forcefully tried to make me memorize her phone number before leaving. I politely made an excuse and quickly left for the train when she tried to get me to take the bus with her.

However this is not the strangest situation of someone trying to pick me up. The strangest was another night in Amsterdam before Christmas. I was waiting for a train home with my flat mate but he had quickly gone to another platform to find a toilet.

“Is dit het spoor voor Haarlem ?” Asked the elderly gentleman who had just approached me.

“Yes it is.” I replied in English.

He looked a little strange with his bushy gray beard, white woolen coat and the set of gold window blinds he was carrying. He was surprised to realize I was English and started chatting to me because he said he liked to practice his language skills.

He was on his way to a friends birthday party. The blinds were a present which he had painted himself. According to his stories he was an artist of some fame. then at one point he took out what looked like a snuff tin, started to tip its contents onto his hand and then licked it off. He asked me if I wanted some but I turned down the strange offer. It was at this point it suddenly dawned on me. This eccentric dutch artist was a gay eccentric dutch artist and he was trying to pick me up.

Finally my flat mate returned and seemed to catch on quicker then I had. I think he enjoyed watching me trying to deal with the embarrassing situation. When the train arrived the eccentric artist got on with us and started to excitedly tell us stories about himself. He became more animated as he did so.

Eventually we parted ways. Some of the stories he told us seemed true, others may have been exaggerations and the rest I'm not sure were true at all. However, some of his stories made it sounded like his life had be hard. This made me feel bad that my first reaction to him (when I realized what was going on) was to panic a little (I don't think of myself as homophobe). He was eccentric, maybe a little crazy but in the end he was a harmless, friendly old man. However I think it goes with out saying that it remains the strangest story of someone flirting with me.

In Hindsight...

2006-03-22T02:10:00.000+01:00

It just occurred to me that it might not have been such a smart idea to give the name 'Invading Holland' to my blog about my life in The Netherlands. Since the country was once invaded by the Germans some Dutch people might take this the wrong way.

However, since most of the Dutch people at the office jokingly shout, “The Germans are back,” when ever they hear any kind of alarm go off I don't think I really have much to worry about. Too late now anyway I guess.

“Will you stop talking about the war.”

“Well you started it.”

“No we didn't”

“Yes you did. You invaded Poland.”

Static-Man To The Rescue

2006-03-20T13:29:00.000+01:00

It’s something to do with the carpet in the office or I’m slowly developing mutant super powers. What ever it is I have started giving static electric shocks to everyone at the office.

When I tapped a fellow designer on the shoulder the other day (because he had his headphones on and could not hear me trying to get his attention) I made him jump a mile. Not because I had simply caught him by surprise but because of the sudden and powerful static electric shock I had given him while doing so. Forget about difibulater. If anyone has a heart attack in the office I might just be able to bring them back with a touch of my finger.

I also managed to give a shock to one of the checkout girls at the near by supermarket when paying for my lunch. I think I missed a good opportunity for a chat up line there. “Did you feel that spark between us?”

If I could only find a way to harness this power at home I might be able to make my electric bills cheaper.

Pass The Dutchie On The Left Hand Side

2006-03-19T12:19:00.000+01:00

How could I write a blog about life in Holland and not talk about drugs.

Holland is well known for it's coffee shops and semi blind eye on drug laws. It is also a popular belief that every Dutch person is constantly stoned, wears clogs, eats cheese, lives in a windmill and knows the price and proper etiquette when dealing with prostitutes in the Red Light District. However this is not true… sometimes they wear trainers (all joking aside this stereotype is not true).

The Dutch as a whole are a very friendly people but not everyone on the street who asks, “Charlie?” is inquiring about your name. This could lead to some confusion if your name actually is Charlie. You may end up being given what seems to be a very expensive and ineffective washing powder.

If you're ever in Amsterdam and you fit with in their target market (look like a tourist or have the recognizable 'Junkie Shuffle') you'll find lots of people on the street whisper names of drugs as you pass by. Its not the most affective way of advertising their goods but setting up a stall with a sign in the middle of Dam Square could lead to some trouble. You'll find a lot of these characters hang around near the Red Light District which would explain why one once tried to offer me Viagra as I was taking a short cut through the area.

When I tell people I live in Holland most of them react by saying "I bet you must be smoking weed all the time dude." Well to be honest... no. I know a lot of people who do smoke it but (apart from a few times) I don't myself. I did however spend the first few months getting stoned through passive smoking from my Scottish flat mate and a few of our friends until my body got used to it.

The first time I actually tried it for myself was when my friend NH came over to visit. We got a little carried away and tried weed that was too strong for us. At first everything was fine but when the room started to move on its own accord I began to feel ill and very paranoid. Although NH denies the weed had an effect on him I think he was feeling paranoid too because when I opened the window for some fresh air he started shouting, “Don't jump! Close the window!”

I have tried weed again since then and not had the same trouble. However, last time it did leave me with the very strange sensation that one eye was bigger then the other for a while.

Although I've only smoked weed about three times in the whole five years I have been in Holland I always find it strange whenever I'm back in England that I don't even have the option. I hear people talk about how they are struggling to get weed and it all has to be done in secret and there is me, a non-smoker, thinking, “I can just go to the coffee shop around the corner from my house and get some if I wanted it.”

But then I never say that because the reaction of most people is to say, “Sweet. Can you bring us some over next time?”

Head hurt. Beer bad.

2006-03-18T18:25:00.000+01:00

Why is it that unplanned nights out always seem to lead to higher levels of drunkenness and more painful hang overs the next day? I had planned for a quite night in this Friday since I was going to be going to Club Rascal tonight. However, boozy destiny intervened in the form of an email that popped into my in-box towards the end of the day inviting everyone to a near by bar for birthday drinks.

It was a nice bar with a good atmosphere and friendly staff. When one of my friends asked if he was allowed to smoke weed he was told yes as long as he shared it. That's how a group of us ended up standing in the kitchen sharing a joint with the bar staff (I'm not a smoker myself but I'll talk about that more later). More beer was drunk and things get very vague around the time we left to go to the Absinthe Bar. After that things pretty much became a blank until I woke up this morning.

One of my friends who has tried quite a few drugs in his past told me that no come down hurts as much as a bad hangover. Right now I think he must be right. This morning my head felt like some one took a baseball bat to it while I was asleep. I actually used the words, “Please make the hurty pain stop.” when having a conversation with someone. I'm still not feeling a 100% right now and its been a very slow day of trying not to think more than is absolutely needed because it hurt.

So much for a quite Friday night.

New Phone

2006-03-15T23:12:00.000+01:00

I just bought myself a new phone. My old one was in bad shape. The number nine key on it was broken after I dropped it in a puddle. Since I was using a 'pay as you go' phone this meant things were difficult when ever I got a phone card with the number nine in it. They became even more difficult because the option to get someone to help me with adding credit to my phone was also on the number nine when using the automated phone line. After a few days of shouting 'I can't press nine' at my phone I went out and got the new one I have now. This might not sound like blog worthy news but I decided to get a phone with a contract instead for the first time..... a two year contract in fact.

I now realize that this means I have signed up for two more years of living in Holland. Since I have only just started this blog about my life in the country this is most likely a good thing. I have no plans to leave Holland any time soon anyway but realizing I have signed a bit of paper stating so just feels a little strange. But anyway...... at least looking at my new shiny phone can distract me from this.

Owwww...... shiny.

Bed & Breakfast Cheese McMuffin

2006-03-15T21:51:00.000+01:00

“You should get the taxi back with us.” NH suggested.

“Na. It's alright. I'll still be able to get the night bus back... but thanks anyway.” I replied with a slight slur. There might have been a hic-up too.

It was the big night out with my friends before I moved to Holland. The farewell night in London Town and I was drunk, very drunk but still convinced I had enough of my senses about me to get home alright.

NH and his girl friend KD were trying to convince me to take the cab back with them but they lived quite far away and I really just wanted to get home. After they had left I discovered my mistake. All the trains and buses had stopped running. I was stuck in the middle of London. Looking back now I realize I should have simply got a cab but drunken logic was at the helm. I got the idea into my intoxicated head that if I could not survive a night in London (a city I know) how could I survive in Amsterdam.

At first I thought I could wait until morning for public transport to start running again. However, after about an hour of walking around and having sung my way through most of Queens greatest hits I realized just how bored I was and how much my feet were starting to hurt (but still not realizing how drunk I was). I needed to find something to do till morning..... but what?

Like the Northern Star guiding lost sailors my prayers were answered in the form of a glowing M, a large yellow glowing M no less. I had just found the McDonald's at Charing Cross station and it was open 24 hours.

I had no plans to eat burgers continually until morning. I knew there was already a hang over on its way and I did not fancy adding a heart attack. However, beer vision made those hard plastic benches suddenly look very comfortable. You can probably now guess where I am going with this. Yes, I decided to sleep in McDonald's that night and it seemed I was not the only one who had the idea either. There were a few other clubbers who had obviously gotten themselves into a similar situation and drunkenly passed out in the quiet down stairs section of the restaurant for the night.

It was not the most comfortable sleep I have ever had and I think it made my hang over much worse. In the morning I literally must have looked like a zombie as I stumbled down the road sober-ish but to tired to keep my eyes fully open. No matter how terrible I felt I had a bizarre feeling of accomplishment. I had survived a night trapped in London. This must have meant I was ready for Holland..... Right? Well..... I never said hung over logic was better then drunk logic.

I just hope I will never be forced to do the same in Holland with Febo.

Unexpected Beginning

2006-03-14T23:15:00.000+01:00

I spent a while trying to work out what to write as my first blog. It seemed like a good idea to just start at the beginning of the story that led to me unexpectedly moving to Holland.

It was 2001. After three years of studying theater Design I spent a few months working here and there at different venues, mainly as stage crew but occasionally as a designer. I was enjoying the work but I could not ignore that it was not very profitable. It was around this time that I got the idea from a friend to try using my design skills in the computer game industry. Surely it was just like doing set designs but in a computer..... Right?

So I applied to a few companies but hear much back. I was starting to think it was not going to happen..... Until I found a rather strange and cryptic job advertisement in a British gaming magazine. It had no address, no phone number. In fact it had very few details. All it really had was a dot com email address. This might sound like it could have lead to me falling victim to a gang of black market human organ dealers using a games company as a front but it some how looked interesting so I took the chance.

Imagine my surprise when I was offered an interview and I found out it was in Holland. At this point I had no plans to move to another country but they were offering to pay for my flights. I would have sometime for sight seeing while I was there so at the very least it was a free day trip to Amsterdam. I was not thinking about the fact that I might actually be offered the job..... Which I was.

Whenever there is an opportunity I know I should not pass up but I am nervous about I have the habit of thinking other people would not have a problem with doing it so neither should I. So I took the job. Most people who knew me back then would never have imagined me moving to another country. Neither would have I at the time to be honest. I used to be kind of shy and quiet compared to how I am now. Not only was I moving to an unfamiliar country but up until that point I was also still living with my parents. That made it an even bigger change in my life.

I had two months to get myself ready before moving to Holland but it was not until I got there that the full gravity of what I was doing hit me. I don't mind admitting that on that night, alone in a hotel room with a TV that did not work I got very scared. I wanted to go home. It was the scariest thing I have ever done in my life..... It was also the best thing I have ever done in my life.

Five years on I am still living in Holland and still enjoying it. The first few months might have been very hard for me but they gave me the confidence boost I very much needed. It changed my life in a positive way and it also gave me a lot of funny stories to share.

Plus I still have both my kidney's which is a bonus.