Okay, back to the matter at hand: this blog. Wait (and the distractions continue...). First, let me take the time to thank you, dear reader, for keeping this blog alive. As alive as an inanimate page of HTML coding can be. As the old saying goes, electronically posted writing is only effective if someone, you know, reads it. At least I think that's the phrase. Anyway, I wish so badly that I could be in your kitchen right now, taking a sheet of cookies out of the oven. Because, you know, I'd offer you one-- all warm and gooey with chocolate chips-- as a sign of my eternal gratitude.
Now. Dare I resume where the title left off? Ready? Set? Go. After six weeks, I've learned that certain trends don't wane with geographic distance. For example: laziness.
Case A: I haven't posted in a few days.
Case B: I haven't purchased legit batteries nor have I taken the time to figure out how to fix my camera, so no pictures as of yet (except for the ones I ninjaed from Kristen's online Kodak album... that was an intensely aggrivating chore in and of itself... don't ask).
SO! Who's ready for a "quick" recap? Ready? Set? Go. On Friday I met with my art class in the ticket hall of Centraal Station (not a typo, I promise). What a bustling hive. That morning I watched a homeless man get shoved by a cafe employee into a billboard which went *SMASH* onto the tile floor. I picked up snibits of the employee's shouts. I think he was urinating in her store. Something may have gotten lost in translation, but there you have it.
Anyway, we met up and took the train to Amsterdam. That's right, boys and girls, the magical land of legalized marijuana. And, you know, things like the Van Gogh museum and crap like that.
Just kidding! The Van Gogh museum was AMAZING. It was positively incredible to see his paintings and more specifically, his rudimentary sketches (genius). I kept hearing my mum's words in my head: "This is HISTORY!" For sure... I was looking at antique drawings by a brilliant man. It felt so unreal. Unbelievable exhibit. I highly recommend. I don't feel too badly about my busted camera because no photographs were permitted in the museum. So if you want to see the real deal, buy a ticket to Amsterdam or crack open my brain! (I opt for the former... less painful.)
But sadly, overall, I was unimpressed with the city of Amsterdam. Perhaps it's because my experience was hindered by a pseudo-academic atmosphere-- that is to say, I was never able to fully immerse myself in the culture due to a tight itinerary. Likewise, in general, I never felt safe there. Don't know why. I was so surprised to hear myself think, "Thank goodness!" when I arrived back in Brussels on Sunday night.
Enough of that. Onto the pictorial goodness. As promised, here are the fruits of my ninja skills. Blast from the past! (Err... last week...)
My beautiful sister and myself, enjoying a beer at the high-class Pizza Hut in Bruges.
This picture not only captures our familial ties, it encompasses our ultimate dork factor.
Members of my fantastic family, having our bums' palmed by a giant hand in Antwerp. Because, I mean, why not?
It was stale from the cold weather but it was goooooooooooood candy. Look out for the giant gummie rats! And... to the right... look out... hard-boiled eggs? Yeah. Belgians have a strange take on aesthetically appealing gummies.
The day Kosovo gained independence! Party outside of De Beurs! I don't know much about the political controversies surrounding this event, but when I saw these folks honking car horns and wearing flags and dancing in traditional costumes, I swelled with happiness and wept. So naturally, I made Kristen take a photo of the scene.
Okay, so this chocolate shop in Bruges sold beautiful happy chocolate bunnies and chocolate lambs and chocolate chicks. And chocolate male reproductive organs and chocolate female mammary glands. This is as close to a PG-rated blog as I can get; therefore, no such photographic evidence will be posted here. (If you're 18 or older, check out my Facebook. Bwahahhaha.)
Also, of course, I made sister take a photo of the sick graffiti we encountered. I wish this was my train. Hohum.
And last but not least, the second most glorious moment in the world: right before you bite into a Belgian waffle. (The first most glorious moment, of course, is when you actually taste its sugary splendor.)
Well, sweet reader, I hope all is well with you and yours. I'm sorry to report that I won't be posting very frequently over the next few weeks- next Monday marks the beginning of midterms, then I have a very special visitor coming, then Spring break (Paris, Barcelona, and Prague). Exhausted yet? Jeez.
I hope you know you're simply the bee's knees.
Fondly,
Lauren
PS- Haha. "Quick recap." I crack myself up.
2 comments:
Knees of my bee's is a song by Alanis Morrisette!
we share a culture same vernacular
love of physical humor and time spent alone
you with your penchant for spontaneous events
for sticky and raspy, unearthed and then gone
you are a gift promised sent with a wink
with tendencies for conversations that raise bars
you are a sage who is fueled by compassion
comes to nooks and crannies, is bound for all stars
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you are a spirit that knows of no limit
that knows of no ceiling who baulks at dead-ends
you are a wordsmith who cares for his brothers
not seduced by illusions of fair-weather friends
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you are a vision who lives by the signals of
stomach and intuition as your guide
you are a sliver of god on a platter
who walks what he talks and who cops when he’s lied
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
I wanted to read more of this blog but I really should stop procrastinating, so I'll do it another time. BUT I just had to say that seeing all those celebrating Albanians warms the frigid cockles of my heart. I would have cried hysterically.
(P.S. It's Albulena. I don't have a blogspot account yet.)
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