My contribution to the Dutch national poetry day. Or should I say my brother's contribution? This is what he wrote for me, March 31, 1968:
For starters
I find it difficult
To find something
and that is detestable
You know that everything is difficult
Even bike riding sometimes went wrong
that is why you will understand
that you have to persevere to get something done
that isn't easy
that is why dear girl
don't ever get mad
and don't ever get angry
because something doesn't work
Willy
Otger has a new haircut not at all unlike John Lennon's in this video. A little more anime, if you get what I mean. Piffin took him to the House of Lords on Yonge. She was afraid they wouldn't give him a cool enough haircut if I went there with him. Stupid kids, I am the one who was already around when Beatle hair was invented. My brother wore John Lennon's glasses. Secretly. (Odd, John is not even wearing glasses in this video.) One Summer as me and my parents came home from camping, my brother was out on the street. I noticed he was wearing a new pair of glasses, and said so. He immediately covered his face with his hands, ran into the house, and came back out wearing his old ones.
Otger chose the high school he is going to for a reason. They have a wonderful advanced math and science program, with robotics and everything else boys like. But low and behold, he didn't get through the entrance test. A major disappointment, and the regular academic program just isn't it. Otger's grade eight teachers had already feared as much, and had told us to then at least get him into gifted. And so we started the identification process right away in September, and we had the final meeting today, we hear that is real quick. Today was the IPRC hearing. A principal from another school, a psychologist from again another school, and a special education person from again another school had to decide on Otger's exceptionality. The special ed lady from our school presented the teacher's recommendations and the testing results to the committee, and we could also say whatever we had to say. And now he's signed, sealed and delivered. Otger still hasn't given up hope to get into MaST at some point, but as for now, we can only hope some measures will be taken to serve him better.
* I have edited this entry on February 5th, because it turns out I was a little too triumphant at first.
I can hardly bore myself with this, let alone you. Strange new regulations regarding child care. Care givers can get payed by the Dutch government, but there are fierce requirements, even when the care givers are grandparents. Of course you can always have grandparents work for free, so I don't think it's much more than a hypothetical problem. Who is going to apply for government grants to pay oma to babysit? Is there any human activity at all left that is not getting professionalized? Talking about human, I had my teeth cleaned today. The dentist removed so much tartar with his nasty sharp little hook tool that the rest of the day I felt like I had been beaten up. But I can't complain, at least I still have teeth to clean. I remember my orthodontist saying to me at fourteen that I was going to have to be grateful would I still have my teeth at twenty-four. By now I can almost double the gratitude, so no, I won't complain.
So nice of Piffin to keep us posted on the current state of affairs in art schools. FYI, this is a gigantic projection in a lecture hall. Funny, I heard someone doomsday on Dutch radio just yesterday, about what might happen when art schools become universities. Well, here you go.
Whenever nothing really happened, I can always tell you what I made for dinner. Sausages and gravy, and mashed potatoes. And pudding with tutti frutti. Soaked overnight in wine and juice, simmered with ginger and cinnamon, yum. But to say nothing happened is very cruel, it was a near perfect day, really. Michiel went to work early, I meant to sleep in, the kids didn't have to be at school until late. But then I decided against sleeping in, and made breakfast, feeling sorry for myself for having to eat breakfast alone. And then both kids showed up, and we had breakfast together. And then when I came back from walking Orbit, I found them both in the living room, totally caught up in their work. Otger was studying for this afternoon's math exam, Piffin helped him. Give me another equation! And another! And another! They were laughing, is this still grade nine math? And then they needed my help. Neither of them knew how much nickles and dimes are. Hello?
We bought a whole bunch of lovely Welsh earthenware, and if we would throw it on E-bay we would make a nice profit. But we won't, they are going to be a Piffin art project. I'll show you in two weeks, that's when it's due. She still needs a nice old little table, with curly feet, to present her stuff on. Any of you wouldn't have one for her, would you? Something like this would do.
No, it isn't Jeff in the picture, but it's a picture that tells everything I was going to say. My neighbour Jeff held a captivating lecture at the local library tonight, his little nine-year-old in the front row taking pictures of him with a gigantic SLR, cute. Jeff was the original producer of Manufactured Landscapes, followed Ed Burtynsky around the globe. The film won Best Canadian Film at the Toronto film festival. Tonight Jeff showed footage that didn't make it into the film, I have to make him do a longer private viewing one of these days. The ship wreck recycling in BanglaDesh, and the Three Gorges Dam in China, if that doesn't make you realize how privileged we are, nothing will. Of course it's not Ed Burtynsky in the picture above, nor is it Jeff. But it is the kind of camera Burtynsky schlepped through BanglaDesh and China. Which is also why I am not blogging any of his pictures, they don't work at 400 pixels. And of course it is Nicole Kidman in the picture, who was in front of Jeff's camera one fine day. Our whole street is proud of Jeff because of that.
Quick, quick, for the children need the computer! My fair Otger hath studied a Midsummer Night's dream, morrow exam. He much preferth this merry BBC version to the Michelle Pfeiffer film, the boy has taste!
Ms. Aron has declared 20% of us highly sensitive, I would say, enough said. What a fantastic commercial talent, 20% is hardly a niche market! I always secretly think Aron took her ideas from Kazimierz Dabrowski , who developed a theory for understanding the emotional development of the gifted and talented. And since gifted and talented is never 20%, she invented something for all middle aged women to relate to. But I am such a cynic. And I may well be wrong as usual, because I haven't read this anywhere, I cooked it all up in my own head.
And we close off the week in style, by going to the theatre with the whole family. Our neighbour Susanna plays King Lear, all by herself, a one single woman show. She plays Lear, Cordelia, Goneril, Regan, everybody. Whole armies. Susanna used to be a clown and a Vaudeville artist, so it's even extremely funny. And at the same time still very much Shakespeare. If you're in Toronto, go see her in the Winchester Street Theatre, take your kids (and some blankets, I'm afraid they simply can't afford to heat the place). I heard Otger laugh out loud the whole time, pity it wasn't a Midsummer Night's Dream, his English exam next week is about a Midsummer Night's Dream. And Susanna is so so amazing. She is so good, she could easily be a star. But she walks her kids to and from school every day and seems to appreciate real life, and I imagine that hard to combine with stardom. There must be a hidden art world out there, filled with super talented mothers, doing great things in the margins.
The strangest thing. Yesterday a man was found in a canal in Holland, and it's my old math teacher.
ATTENTION! I was completely wrong, sorry. My teacher's name was Remy, not Henri. My old classmate Dorien has a better memory than me, she mailed me I was wrong. I added Remy's picture, it's quite clear now. I hope he's well and alive.
I can't believe it, he disappeared in December, they found his car near the canal. And now they found his body near a lock-chamber. How he ended up in the water is a mystery. He was both-handed, do they call it that? He used to start (and probably still does, phew) writing on the blackboard left handed, and half way he would throw the chalk into his right hand and keep writing. Really nice guy too. Shame (Relief).
And now! Piffin just looked out of her window and saw police all over the street just North of us. Goddamn murder! We didn't hear a thing!
See, I went easy on the colour and the gloss. I like it, when my readership gives me how-to-draw-instructions in the comments. And I tried to be highly sensitive doing this one, had to. And don't worry, the article is skeptical enough, what a subject... Two psychiatrists, equally clear about the bullshitiness of the phenomenon take interesting opposite points. One finds it the specializing of the normal, while the other one finds it the despecializing of the abnormal. I guess they are both right, but then again I am so highly sensitive in my understanding of different viewpoints.
I could have done more, but I am tired and cold, it'll be for tomorrow. And then for Saturday's newspaper. And then maybe the editor in chief will again write about how bad folds are in drawings. She did that, there was a fold through Dr. Phill. And she wrote about it. I felt honoured. I'd link the article, but I am tired and cold. Goodnight.
Young people nowadays can't wish or wait for anything anymore. They buy and buy themselves in debt. The absoluteness of this tone certainly isn't mine, it's the parental advice column again. And hip hip hurray I don't agree. What do my kids buy? Computer games, sure. To play on a second hand game computer. To my left, three books from the school library. Piffin buys stuff for her art work, but a lot of it is from Value Village, and so are her clothes. And honestly, I don't even know kids like the column describes. We must live in some obscure universe.
And all this because I want to tell you about my chapped feet. Apparently kids used to earn prizes by going door to door selling cream for chapped feet, guns no less. Since 1890, Cloverine® Salve has been the answer to skin care problems. A jack-of-all-trades, it soothes chapped, chafed and cracked lips - it is particularly useful for wind and sunburn. It's also great for chapped hands and faces, dry skin, minor cuts and burns, rashes and other skin irritations. I need it. Especially since I can't stop plucking all those funny hard chaps. It's starting to resemble nail biting. And then I pluck too much, and then, yes of course, I've got my left heel inflamed. It kills me when I put weight on it, so I walk real funny. Does this count as self mutilation?
I had to pick him up from work yesterday, we had an appointment at the bank. I waited in the very hip lobby for Michiel to come down the very hip stairs. And when he finally did, I saw that he was wearing these god awful jeans again. Roomy in all the wrong places, tight in all the wrong places, just absofuckinglutely impossible. Especially in that very hip office building. But I hate to be the eternal nagging wife. So in the middle of the night, when he was snoring like an ox, I replaced this horrid pair with a different one. Because I was sure he was planning on wearing it again today. I put it in the exact same spot, put the belt in, and even his dirty underpants. And socks halfway the legs. We woke up late, hurried through breakfast, and then at long last he said something. He was sure he had a TTC ticket in his back pocket, and it was gone. Is that really all you noticed? Well, no, I thought that I wore different pants yesterday, but these had the belt in them, and were there where I left them, so that can't be, I did start to doubt myself. So I made sure that from now on he is really only going to use them as work pants, even when they accidentally end up at the top of the pile.
I am posting this on Thursday morning, but I meant to do this last night. Michiel went out with Orbit, and promised to bring back a picture for the blog. He was going to peek in the windows. So I was looking forward to compromising family scenes, but no. And while downloading his photos from the camera, the hard disk was suddenly full, desastro. Fortunately he had a spare one, and he spent half the night copying files. And promptly forgot to set the alarm clock. Otger always gets so upset when we oversleep. Anyway, that is why I didn't post last night. And it is the reason for the strange picture. I don't know what game it is those Chinese men always play in their fluorescent bars at night. Is it Chinese chess? The boards look different, I wish Michiel had shot the board too. Maybe it's Chinese checkers, who knows. Oh and great recipe, we had this last night, I advise you to try it. Not much work, but do take two hours!
I am eating a banana and drinking cognac. Everything becomes significant while playing scrabulous with a psychiatrist. Not that playing scrabble wouldn't be equally hopeless with a random native speaker. And not that playing with a psychiatrist is something worth bragging about, doctors aren't what they never used to be either. My family doctor today: What do you do for work? I tell him. Oh, are you getting paid in Dutch dollars? Euro's. Oh, they have euro's there too, do they? Not that I am so much smarter. I wanted to book Otger's flight to Amsterdam this morning. But March Break is still winter season, no cheap charters yet, ouch. Then we find out we have enough air miles to fly there and back twice. We just never bothered to give the bank our Aeroplan number, so now it's going to take a month before we can redeem those points. And just hope and pray we can still book an air miles seat by then. Would save us a fortune though, shit. And oh yeah, it would be even more stupid not to ask my dear readership for help. My letters are: G P T I N W A. Now tell me what to do. Waiting maybe, upper right hand corner, where the I is available. But that's not very many points. And it's not my turn.
Great photo. This morning I listened to a radio interview with Douglas Coupland, in which he spoke about the viral marketing for his new book on YouTube. The book is set in a Staples store, and some of the YouTube clips are stop motion animations done in all staples. Totally random. (I have to keep my language up to date, sorry.) Linking too much work right now, just type "gum thief" in YouTube. And while you're at it, also type "Virginia Woolf Taylor". Coupland spoke about having seen the film as a child, and using it for his book, without first seeing it again, never mind, not important. But the film is awesome. The sound is way off in the YouTube clips, but that doesn't even matter much. Maybe even adds to it. Go look. Femke Halsema is becoming Elizabeth Taylor, don't you think? And then tonight I had another radio appearance myself. Went quite well, I had fun at least, doing it. Radio is such fun. You know what I think? It's like the actor friends we have. They're as if they live professionally. Where we ordinary mortals just walk and talk and eat and drink as we please, they are actually good and educated in doing those things, which makes them so nice to have around. They are good at being around. Same with those radio show hosts, they can really hold up a conversation. Maybe it's like dancing, and being led. But I don't dance, so I can't really say.
Michiel thinks it looks a bit forced, Piffin thinks it's not very consistent. Whatever, I think it's exactly what the client wants, and it's the best I can do, suffering from this damn flu. And yes, if I would start over, I would do some things different, but that is always the case. It is time to collapse now.
And I kept waiting and waiting for the art director to approve my sketch. Mailed her again, turned out I hadn't received the reply she sent. So I could have started this yesterday, and I should have. Because I am coming down with that same nasty flu that everybody in our streets seems to have. Fortunately it's not that much more work, I should be able to do it with a few degrees above normal body temperature. And the lost e-mail came in at 4pm, how do these things work? What do those data do for three days? Where are they?
Piffin inside Starbucks, doing some paparazzi on her friend. And now they want the computer to upload some CD's they bought on their shopping spree.
The parental advice column, everything in the new year carries on like nothing will ever stop it. An illusion of course. Or maybe not. Who would have thought that in 2008 it would still be necessary to preach about differences. I never would have thought about using Miss Piggy and Kermit the Frog for that purpose, but I think it's quite the brainwave. Surely in every day real life in the Netherlands, it can't be as bad as it seems in the papers, not everybody Dutch is out of their mind. But today the whole front page and more of a major newspaper was filled with the names of people who signed a petition against the xenophobic madness in Holland. At the last Dutch borrel night here in Toronto, I met a fresh Dutch immigrant. An Iranian refugee, who is coming to Canada to live with his girlfriend. A registered nurse. He was genuinely surprised to find that in Toronto he is treated like just anybody. Now I hate to sound dramatic, but that made me feel very ashamed of my country.
I never planned to take a blog break, it just happened. Nothing much went on here, we enjoyed a real family holiday. We lounged. We hung on the couch. We watched TV series. We played around with the new digital camera we gave ourselves for Christmas. We ate, we drank, with friends, and by ourselves. And Michiel got sick, so we didn't even bake oliebollen. And we skipped a new year's eve party we were invited to. Much to Piffin's dismay. But Otger didn't want to go, and I thought it too sad to leave him home alone with his feverish father. But now today, the new year has started, and I have to get back to work, so I have to blog. It's a sketch about headaches. A pretty rough sketch, I have to learn to do rough sketches, I am not good at that. But this art director always has to make her mark, as we illustrators say in Dutch. "Een plasje doen" on the drawing. Some art directors want changes no matter what. This one is like that, I could draw her the Sistene Chapel and she would still want changes. So I'd better show a rough sketch. Happy new year.
And one gem for Louter's list. Sometimes we try to do some child rearing, and get a cinematographic masterpiece. Offspring usually walks away in disgust. Kids these days, no taste.
