three little nudnicks and how they grew

Remember Baby Charlie? He is still freaking cute.


And these two are my new favorite Angelinos: Ella and Zohar. I know we're related by blood and all, so I might be biased, especially when I'm the favorite cousin, but seriously, look at those darling mugs. Could they do anything wrong?!

I heart vacation

Today was such a summery day. I sat by Phillis' pool in my bathing suit, covered from head to toe in thick, SPF 50 sunscreen, while reading Harry Potter and taking occasional dips in the pool. For four, glorious hours.

my civic duty, fulfilled

So, jury duty is over, now I can tell you all about it.

First of all, it was a criminal case, which means the defendant did not have to do squat and it was all up to the prosecution to present good evidence. Second of all, the prosecution attorney was damn cute (and Jewish to boot) and I can't honestly say that I didn't want him to win because of it. Third of all, I am a very good juror and don't think that I let his looks get in the way of my just thinking. Last of all, I was an alternate and didn't take part in the deliberation anyways. Which took a lot of pressure off.

This was the case: two men got in a minor car accident and one of them failed to provide his driver's license, proof of insurance, address, what have you. He was found guilty.

This is what I wore:

1. Day One: Long black pin-striped pants, very high black platform heels, gray camisole.
2. Day Two: Long black pants (fierce!), very high wedge red-and-white polka dot heels, white camisole.
3. Day Three: Jeans, white sandals, white camisole (I got tired of dressing up).

This is who I wanted to be my best friend: Juror number four, who was a middle school principal and who was reading Harry Potter in the hallway before deliberation. I wanted my second best friend to be the young lawyer, but I don't think he is allowed to fraternize with the jurors.

cinescopes

My friend Nez once asked me to write down my top ten movies on a piece a paper, then proceeded to tell me what I was like. It wasn't the fairest fortune, since we were already friends, but still. A few weeks later I received three of those movies as DVDs for my birthday. I was like, you crock of shit, you just did that to see what kind of present you should get me. Actually, no. He's now in charge of a fun, movie-fortune website, and a book is forthcoming. Check it out: www.cinescopes.com.

Also, because I know this is what you really come here for, here are my faves, in no particular order:

1. Dirty Dancing
2. Zoolander
3. Garden State
4. Dangerous Liasons
5. Legally Blonde
6. Usual Suspects
7. Romeo and Juliet (Baz Luhrmann)
8. Babe
9. Wet Hot American Summer
10. Saved!

Cinescopes reports that I am a "Respected Champion." While perusing the profiles of other Respected Champions, I found my new favorite movie quote: "Boon, I think I'm in love with a retard." Fifty points to whoever knows where that's from.

Also, I might have strep throat again.

my civic duty

Hey peeps, guess what? I'm on a jury!

I'll tell you all about it on Wednesday, (which is when we are expected to be done,) like what my jury duty outfit was and all the snacks I ate during breaks and which juror I would most like to be related to.

crocs

Shitballs. This chick totally stole my idea. (The shoes, not the ears.)

Kids: I have been very busy interneting and talking on the phone and apartment searching and thus haven't had so much time to finish the trip posts. DON'T DESPAIR! I've added a little (the sixth day) and changed some of the dates so they are more accurate (and back in June) and I aim to finish up this beast of a trip-log before long. So that I can once again entertain you with my fascinating and exciting life.


ps: I just got my car washed after five filthy months, and an older gentleman (Larry, a doctor) chatted me up. When I told him I was a teacher, he gasped and said that he thought I was in high school. Why does that make me so giddy? Should I be excited that I look much younger than my years, or grossed out that this grandpa tried to talk to a teenager?

happy 231, america

I spent the nation's birthday shopping at H&M in the rain and reading about an eighteenth century shipwrecked Dutch girl. Then I ate a lot of candy.

Happy Fourth of July!

Stayok Rotterdam

Rotterdam is kind of an ugly city. It was all bombed during WWII, on account of their huge port, so there aren't any Renaissancey or Gothicy buildings. The streets are paved with asphalt and there are many boxy, unadorned high-rises. It's like Los Angeles.

But Los Angeles doesn't have a Stayok hostel, which is a fab place to be if you are in Rotterdam for the evening. This Stayok is related to our castle Stayok, although there is no moat and no coat of arms. We manage.

FIRST, we claim beds and lie staring at the ceiling for several minutes, catching our respective breaths and enjoying the uniquely comfortable Stayok mattresses. NEXT, we take bets on whether or not our roommates are Asian. (They are.) THEN, we separate and my mom drinks tea in the "kitchen" while I stuff my face with Belgium chocolate in the TV lounge. TV!!! I believe I intended on reading my book about the Dutch girl on a pirate ship but was sucked into Wimbledon on the boob tube. I have never been interested in tennis, but I AM interested in Serena William's fashion decisions, and thus watched several games (or matches? or sets?) between her and some skinny blondish chick. And then the men's game got rained out. Boo hoo. At some point, my mom came in and we planned our next day. LAST, we fell asleep to the gentle pitter-pat of the Dutch rain on the window.

Antwerp

For some reason, I have this notion that Antwerp is a big, Europeanish city with famous things and a rich history, somewhat on the same level as Athens or London or Moscow. For reals, it is the center of the diamond industry, has a huge black hat Chasidic community, was home to Peter Paul Rubens, and boasts the second largest port in Europe. (Rotterdam in the Nederlands is the first.) HOWEVER, no one sets their wall clock to "Antwerp" time. But I just can't shake the feeling that I am in Paris. (I have never been to Paris.)

We walked around the center of Antwerp, past a lot of diamond stores, past two more Black Hats, past the Vlaamse Fritas stand Jabba Dabba Doo that no longer exists. (Sad Day.) We lunch (Parisians "lunch" as a verb) at a fantastic health food restaurant. I get a delicious, creamy pumpkin soup and my mom gets a "delicious" leek soup.

We don't actually do much in Antwerp, because it is Monday and that is the day all of the museums are closed. All of the famous art and architecture museums I was so looking forward to seeing. Instead we see another Rubens-filled cathedral, the central market square which is lined with medieval and Gothic guild houses, and lots of tourists.

The train station is lovely, a beautiful Art Deco / Classical colorful facade. Also, our train conductor has a very serious mullet, that is pretty fucking awesome. On our way to Rotterdam, we woefully outnumber the seats on the train. I sit on the floor and gaze at the American guy sitting on his suitcase right next to me. For pretty much the whole time.

omigod, I am exhausted.

Ghent

We took a very early train to Ghent and first things first, locked up our stuff in the train station lockers. This will become our M.O.

Ack, I’m already getting tired just writing about this day. Let me tell you, we were both exhausted from the get-go and probably planned too much in too short a time. There was very little conversation. I think we were both saving our energy for moving our feet and blinking.

Ghent is another little Belgium city with cobblestone streets and pretty cathedrals. From the train station, we took a tram into the center of town. Ghent boasts not one, not two, but THREE large and beautiful churches. We saw two of them but only one was memorable because the ceiling was entirely laid with brick. Red brick. It seems a little wrong to me. Like, isn’t the brick is too heavy and small and won’t it just fall out of its mortar and onto the head of an innocent Catholic? Also, isn’t red brick too ordinary for an ornate, Gothic church?

While I pondered these thoughts and chewed European strawberry Mentos, we climbed to the top of a bell tower. By “climbed, “I mean “took the elevator.” There was no way either of us were going to expend energy or muscles on an experience we did yesterday. This bell tower was altogether quite similar to the one in Brugge, only shorter and less full of tourists. Also, it started raining hard while we were up there, so the view was very gray and foreboding. Perfect for our next stop at a medieval castle.

Oh, but first we stopped and got pastries, because what is traveling without eating chocolate-stuffed pastries for breakfast/lunch/dinner/snack?

Gravensteen Castle was pretty much in the middle of town, right in between some pretty old guildes’ gables and a lace store. It was made of stone, as castles are, featured a moat and some turrets, and apparently was used as a torturing chamber for many generations. I kid you not, in every single room there was an explanation for a different kind of cruel punishment. Here they did water torture, here they did stretching, here they did public burnings, here they did private burnings, here they did secret burnings, and here are the toilets. (Not as thrilling as our castle hostel, to be quite honest.)

Brugge

Before we got to Belgium, we ate a delicious Best Western breakfast of chocolate sprinkles on bread. Of course, it was raining. And the train station did not have lockers. So we walked with all of our shit to the center of Middleburg, where there is an enormous brick Abbey, or Abdij. It is quite empty and silent, save for the pitter patter of rain and our footsteps. No one here goes to church on Sunday morning?

And...back on the train. No passport stamp, which is tragic. A minor train mix-up in Antwerp, but no big deal. Three black hat sightings. And then hauling our junk to Hotel Lybeer (which is really a hostel), located on a narrow, cobblestone street. As they all are, we soon learn. Brugge is a medieval city with a lot of old buildings and cobblestone squares. Kind of like all of the Netherlands, but even older. And it is FILLED with tourists. The kind of tourists who carry Fodor's Guides, which are very different from those of us who use Lonely Planet or Let's Go. Fodor's people stay in nice hostels and wear ironed slacks and carry purses. They eat at sit-down restaurants. Lonely Planet tourists stay in hostels, wear jeans and running shoes, and eat paninis from street cart vendors. We carry backpacks.

We carry our backpacks through a church that houses Michaelangelo's Madonna and Child statue, the only one outside of Italy. In it is playing the most beautiful choir music ever, it is called Veni Sancte Spiritus and composed by J. Berthier and M. Franck, listed under the title "Taize." I must find it somewhere are buy it. Then we carry our backpacks to a locker so we can enjoy yet another medieval art museum. And we climb up a bell tower. It is 315 or 336 steps high, depending on who you believe. I might choose to believe the building itself, because 336 steps sounds more impressive, despite the fact that I counted as I climbed. There are carillon bells inside and a fantastic view of the city.

We reward ourselves with some genuine Vlaamse Fritas, or Flemish Fries, which are made from Binji potatoes and cooked and then fried. The Dutch (and Flemish) eat them in little paper cones with mini pokey forks and mayonnaise. We request tomato ketchup. Then we take a canal cruise around the city. It is not so impressive, except for the building we pass that could possibly be the international clog house of pancakes and some swans on the grass.

After unsuccessfully using the hotel's computer (did you know there is a non-QWERTY European keyboard? Me neither.), we find an internet-snooker-bar
and did some internetting. Across the street was a fantastic sandwich / smoothie / crepes / waffle place. WE were very lucky to find such an amazing place like that, and the fact that it was still open at ten pm was double lucky. I got a goat cheese panini and carrot-apple juice. DELISH.

Back in the hostel, we meet Shane the Canadian who has just celebrated Canada Day at Vemy Ridge memorial in France. He enlightens us about how the rest of his country hates Torontonians because they not-so-secretly think/wish they were part of the USA. He is a voice talent and represents some Canadian company that I have never heard of. This last bit he doesn't tell us, but I hear it anyways, because the girl sleeping in my top bunk doesn't notice that both I and my mother are sleeping in bed and maybe she should keep her voice down. By "down," I mean not speaking as if she were on the other side of the room, when in fact, she is just three feet from Shane. He finally tells her that we are asleep and planning on waking up early and that they can talk shop in the morning. God bless Shane, although it really shouldn't have taken him twenty minutes to speak up. It was past midnight, after all. As soon as the lifhts are turned off, I fall asleep.

Oh! I almost forget the best part! My top sheet has a hole in it! Big enough for me to fit my hand through! This cracks me up to no end. My mother's also has this defect. It's like an Orthodox sex sheet, only with much more starch.