The Great Procrastinator

It seems I'm finding lots to do except start the drawings for my study models. Reading reviews of new books on game culture, New York magazine's Design Revolutionaries feature, figuring out why ichat isn't working, nor why the lefthand usb port on my computer won't recognize my ipod.

So now I'm here just checking in. Of course.
Yesterday was a great non-work-day, and the kind of day that inspires pinching, and confirmation of reality over dream.
Began with coffee at Renshaw HQ -- the apartment in Amsterdam where I stayed last week, whose owner, Nick, is not only a stand-up guy and Host with the Most, but he's also a sculptor working in ceramics, whose been here to the EKWC several times before -- and the second half of Hot Fuzz. A highly recommended way to start any morning.
Back in den Bosch, the market was in full swing -- not only fresh produce, but flowers, plants, textiles, housewares: a crazytrain of tents in the main square -- and the sun was truly sparkling. After several days of low gray skies and rain, it was a magical shift of Hollywood proportions.
So instead of sitting down to work immediately, I hopped into the jogging shoes and hit the streets.

Decided to run the perimeter of the old city -- which is easily demarcated by canals on every side. Found that on the west side there's a big nature preserve like place where there's just big furry fields for walking, that the traffic into the city center is highly regulated and so much of the driving here occurs around the edges, and finally, after having completed the ring around the city, found a lake with a path around it and lots of older folks (men with bikes mostly) and teenagers hanging out on the benches along the path. Didn't take fluent Dutch to understand one pair of gentlemen who asked if my legs were cold (in shorts) and gave me what was clearly mad props for my efforts.
Between the sunshine, blue skies, old men, all leaves, birds (SO many birds), and so much glimmering water around, I was in heaven, if not a little out of shape.

Could be a good place to start making some playground interventions.

But first I should start making drawings. And plunge my hands into some clay.

Oh, but lastly, on the way home from the run, everything was ground to a halt because a drawbridge had to do it's job and let some large boats into the canal. It was quite a sight -- and one surely that happens weekly if not daily here -- to see all the cars queued, bikes queued, pedestrians leaning over the edge to see the vessels coming through. And then, 5 mintes later, bridge down, traffic back. What if there were drawbridges just to slow people down? And instead of raising to let boats pass, they raised to show 5 minutes of art or play 5 minutes of music?

Blog 3; den Bosch 1

It's 5:12 am and I'm here but my enabling technology isn't. computer is running out of juice as I left charger and converter in Amsterdam yesterday morning. Of course. I decided to view the situation as a challenge to see if I could in fact live without the computer for 2 days: ie, with books and paper instead. Needless to say, yesterday was quite painful. No itunes, no internet, no WIRE. But that's another thought for another time. Instead I read two of 5 books on Droog design and had tead and cup of soup in my tiny shoe of a dorm room. Pictures forthcoming.

I hear this place is all about clay, so that might figure in at some part this afternoon. It's pretty incredible. And I'm totally clay-shy. Staff and facilities all unbelieveable. There's a ratio of 1:1 it seems, but not all staff are ceramicists. There's a plaster room and a CNC milling machine in addition to the family of kilns, the clay room -- which has it's own deliciously humid micro climate-- and glazing rooms. Needless to say: loads to learn and lots of folk ready to teach. So I'm on my way.

Now, if I could just draw out everything I have in my head.

Coffee's on. Computer should shut off.

Thinking of you.

Amsterdam 3; Blog 2

I've been thinking about yesterday and how there were equal moments of stillness and motion. Well, sort of. I was told there was a swimming pool just across the street from where I’m staying. Had no idea what to expect, other than at best, it would be a nicer version of any YMCA I’d ever been to in New York. Far from it.

For 3 Euro 40: a watery dreamland.

But first, some comical cultural confusion. I should have known when the doors marked ‘Dames’ and 'Heren' were next to one another along a transparent wall. The Dames door lead me into what was a large and co-ed locker room. Unexpected, yes, but pretty smart. Families can walk in together and change in larger changing stalls together. But you could imagine the surprise as I walked into a bunch of men in their trunks and goggles in what I thought was the women’s changing room.

Anyhow. I digress. The lap pool was very pleasant – a much more orderly and aesthetic version of the McBurney Y on 14th St. Everyone in the pool was swimming in cooperative patterns without lane-lines and in the two marked lanes, it seemed to me that one lane was marked for breast-stroke and the other for freestyle. An interesting organizational tactic: stroke over speed. So I swam freestyle with one other guy (whose bald head couldn’t really hold his cap on so well) in fits and starts. Not having swam since July made my arms a little rubbery. During my 1200 meter toodle, I kept noticing people coming down a set of stairs. I couldn’t imagine what else there could be if I was in the swimming pool already.

So I took a trip up the stairs. And holy cow. Paradise Bay -- the real name of the floor in the complex. Water wings as far as the eye could see across the watery dreamland – and all in a public pool. What I saw before me was a large circular pool divided up by concrete islands with trees planted in them, water only a couple feet deep at it’s deepest. Families abound. Then out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a fellow walking up MORE stairs. To where? Up past the roofline. For what?
AN INDOOR WATERSLIDE. There was also a whirlpool with a current so strong I found myself hanging onto the railing for life – but that was just icing on the icing on the cake. Because once a buzzer sounded and I assumed that it was 10-minute break for the kiddos to rest, can you imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw

That the wave machine had been turned on.

And all of a sudden, the pool had been transformed into a tropical shoreline and the sea of families and waterwings were now undulating with glee.

They say the Dutch know water, and now I truly understand what that means.


After a trip back to the apartment for a shower and lunch (which continued my diet of bread, gouda, and mache) it was time to head into the city. For what I wasn’t sure, but I just knew I needed to get out and walk.

So I walked north along Rijn Straat to VanWout Straat towards centre city. I’m staying in what could be considered the Harlem of Amsterdam, but south rather than north. It’s an old Jewish neighborhood – Anne Frank’s house before they went into hiding is somewhere around the corner – full of apartments and schools and parks. Absolutely pleasant. Park Slope-ish but flat. Anyhow – it’s about a 20 minute walk to the center. As one gets closer, the streets narrow and the crowds increase exponentially. The difference of the start of the walk to the end was staggering. My walk had slowed to a crawl and I could barely see where I was going over the heads of the crowd.

Without trying, I found my way back to my favorite café from past visits: De Jaren – but kept going because I realized I was just a few blocks from the Droog shop. Last trip in April 2006, it hadn’t quite opened which was a heartbreaker as I’d spent a couple of hours trying to navigate to Neiuw Dolenstraat (just around the corner from where we stayed, Mom and Dad) specifically for it. Amsterdam’s a little like Venice in that way – trying to navigate to something in particular can be a maddening maze-like venture; and oftentimes, just wandering will bring you where you want to go much more easily.

Amsterdam’s also got an incredible culture of shop windows. I read somewhere that the Dutch keep their curtains open because of the cultural (Calvinist?) belief that open curtains = an honest, upright household; whereas closed curtains mean that something is being hidden. So I wonder if that belief, when mixed with the capitalist heritage, is what makes for such extraordinary displays. Look at me: amature anthropologist. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.

Anyhow. The Droog store: like visiting old friends. The chair made from old clothes, the milk-bottle chandelier, the dresser made of drawers. There were a couple of new pieces too. Being amidst this type of thinking and these types of objects is why I wanted to come to the Netherlands to live for a spell. It’s a particular strain of wryly obvious problem-solving that seems to me to be uniquely dutch. I may revise that statement over the next couple of months. Just being there – and I know this is going to sound super high-school field trip – was completely inspiring. In fact, when I walked out, I had a flash of how to proceed with the project at the EKWC.

So I scooted over to De Jaren for a tea and to work in the sketch book. Results tk.

The walk home was also kind of stupendous. More shop windows – I found myself along Neiuw Speiglestraat which is apparently art and antique row (one of many, I’m sure) – my favorite might have been the enormous clipper ship where next door there was a man building wooden kayaks in a workshop. But what was great about the wander home is all of a sudden, I found the road leading me directly towards the Rijksmuseum – it’s closed for renovations, but it’s still a wonderfully imposing structure. I didn’t realize that from the right angle of approach, it sits because the sky was still a grayish white, but there was sunlight and warmth hitting edges and corners as it hadn’t yet since I arrived. Hopeful.

Enjoyed the crowds and congestion falling away on the walk south to Riverbuurt, where I am staying, as well as some errands and a Turkish snack of lambjun rolled up with salad and garlic sauce. Aye aye aye. Arrived back at Nick’s with a bottle of whiskey for him, a glass of wine for me, and plunked down to watch another episode of the Wire, Season 2. Thanks Jess and Greg.

Not a bad day at all.
Sure these posts will get shorter and shorter – I hear I’m in for some intense months of work.
But glad to share the minutae of at least one day abroad with you.

Holy Cow, Lucy, I have a blog.

If it weren't for Lucy Begg, I would not be here right now, chilled by the Zuid Amsterdam October night sneaking in through the picture window from where I sit, diving into the blogosphere. I never thought I'd be the blogging type -- in fact, quite the opposite, because all truth be told, I rarely read blogs (exceptions: Eatdrinkonewomannyc.com, cheesebyhand.com, gamersmob.blogspot.com) and it seems inequitable to write a blog for others to read if I myself am not much of a blog-reader. So there's my disclaimer.

But one evening not too long ago, Lucy -- and if you don't know her already, you want to: her brain, heart and sense of humor are all so big you wonder how they might all exist in the same person -- over drinks at the San Jose Hotel in Austin (and if you haven't been there you should: pitch perfect texas-gone-elegant, though others will disagree I would recommend _against_ the Michelada) -- convinced me that blogs are great for projects and traveling and keeping in touch with one's private public: all the friends, family, collaborators to whom we want to stay connected, and the new ones we meet along the way. "It'll save you time in talking with friends over the phone and emails," she explained, "and if everyone can keep up with you on a blog and know what you've been up to, then you can immediately get to the good stuff." Not a bad sell.

So here we are Lucy -- and everyone else -- the up-to-date, ordinary and sometimes extra-ordinary from the Netherlands and beyond. I hope that

1. as with all my paper journals, I don't fall irreversibly behind
and
2. it's at all interesting to anyone who's not me.

Thanks for tuning in.