Life reminds me of Fight Club the way it beats you up. Sometimes you just have to take it, you have no other option. When it became inevitable for me to attend training sessions for the old guys’ rowing team I accepted my fate, packed my athletic bag with a towel and extra tee shirt and went to the session. No, wait, first I had my cello lesson, where my instructor told me not to be so impatient with myself and not to get so mad at myself so fast.
I gave him a little present for Christmas, a Japanese calendar Alpha brought back from her last business trip. I noticed that I had forgotten the jacket part of my suit, and was wearing just the pants part and a winter coat, which was not a big problem as long as police didn’t stop me, because my drivers license was in the jacket.
Then I went to the rowing thing. No, wait, first I had to go pick up Beta, who was eating pizza with her harp teacher. No, wait, first I had to go home, change into exercise duds and get my wallet, then go pick her up. I showed up in the pizzeria at the time I was supposed to be at the practice, and discussed with Beta how we would do it – I could rush her home, or take her to practice with me, or what. She had to finish her pizza. I stood there in sweats and Doc Martens, which looked dorky because the sweats were going inside the boots, etc. So I sat down.
There were just three of them left there, teacher and two star pupils. The rest – the kids from the Irish ensemble – had all left already. Three beautiful, dark haired witches left, discussing whether it’s best to become a psychotherapist, study literature, become a prosecuting attorney, or what. Beta offered me a slice of pizza. Pizza is served whole here, and you eat it with a fork and knife. Beta, however, slices it up American-style and eats it slice-wise, because she is American you see.
So I had a slice. Her harp teacher is about my age, in her forties, and reads tarot (Crowley) and does horoscopes for them and generally contributes a lot to their personalities. I looked at the three of them, ate some pizza and went to practice.
No, I signalled the waitress for a glass of wine. Except she didn’t see me, because she was ignoring our table because they’d already paid their bill. She managed to not see our signals and waving etc. Or maybe I was just underdressed. Anyway. The three of them chatted, I helped Beta with her pizza and drove her home. At home it was warm, outside was cold. I’d already missed part of practice, so I had a bottle of Festbock instead.
Festbock is winter holiday-time beer that’s twice as strong as normal beer. They practice four times a week, what the hell, I thought.
pizza is that way too here, the individual plate-sized pizzas, which is good in a way because it means you don’t have to argue with anyone over toppings.
unless you go to dominos, that is. at dominos you get american-style pizza goodness.
what about singing?
Yes, life beats you up and leaves you sitting at home, drinking festbock and not rowing.
Exactly. I don’t know what I’d do if it weren’t for festbock.
Winter is great that way. You can procrastinate and it’s ok: it’s too cold/wet/windy to do that thing you were gonna do, anyway. Mmm, Festbock.
Miguel, row the boat ashore,
Hallelujah.
Miguel, row the boat ashore,
Hallelujah.
Sister, help him to his beer,
Hallelujah.
Sister, help him to his beer,
Hallelujah.
Festbock’s mighty and it’s good,
Hallelujah.
Brings joy to the neighborhood,
Hallelujah.
Damn, my pizaa’s chilly and cold,
Hallelujah.
If i’d not sliced it, it ‘d be whole
Hallelujah.
Do you have festbock in Belgium, Joeri?
:-)
Not that I know of. In Holland they have several varieties (see here for example), but we have our own Christmas beers (List here).
singing is not like that, no. I wish it was though, I loveeeeeee singing.
oh, I’ve been wanting to ask you though. In The Sound of Music, there’s the part where Christopher Plummer (I think that’s his name) and Julie Andrews do some sort of famous, traditional Austrian folk dance. I wanted to know if it’s a real, traditional dance, or if some SoM choreographer pulled it out of his ass. heh
that dance where you slap each other in the face? that’s called the “watschentanz”, seriously. but i couldn’t find any explanations of it via google. it is, however, a variation of “schuhplatteln” where they slap the soles of their shoes and their thighs and arses, which is explained here, among other places.
Oh, and there’s a movie of it here.
All about the Ländler
“The “Landler” is a form of dancing which is done e.g. in Austrian folk dancing. There are many regions, sometimes villages, which have their own traditional Landler, seen as a set of figures which is typical for the Landler of this special region. As far as I know, the Landler is mostly very smooth and done in slow Waltz time. It is mainly based on arm figures which sometimes can be rather complicated.”
lander, that’s the one! and then they end up being very close to each other and looking each other in the eyes, and julie andrews panics and says she forgot the rest.
god I love that movie.
I asked Alpha about the Landler this morning, she said she thought it was like a slow waltz where you jump around more. We don’t do that dance ourselves. There are groups here who do. There seems to be some sort of connection or overlap with the folkie scene.
I’m about ten messages behind, but I thought I’d add that Brazilians put mustard on their pizza.
And sometimes mayonnaise.
Blech.
And, they cut it up into tiny little squares. Which they call “French style.” I dinnae know if the French do it that way.
The squares I could deal with, but mayonnaise?
Pat, everyone knows mayonaise only goes with fries ;)