Bear facts

Yes, I sometimes carry (a) stuffed animal(s) around with me. And yes I've bought a tailor made suit for my ex's favourite bear, Billy.

Is it crazy? No, it's cute.

The animals represent alter egos, and come in handy for can pose on my behalf in front of memorable scenes and landmarks. They make wonderful travelling companions, and attract attention and compliments from strangers because of their good nature and the eternal smile on their faces. I'm not ashamed of my furry friends. They make me feel warm inside and keep me warm at night when I sleep alone.

Whatever the status and feud (if there is one...) between my ex and I, nothing should come in between my relationship with his favourite bear. My ex gave him to me on several occasions, once even telling me it's a symbol of his "undying care and love".
And I treat Billy well, by giving him the best samplings of local cuisine wherever I go (though being British, he can be a tad picky and sometimes have a smug sense of bear superiority...), and he has been with me to mountains and oceans, accompanied me to glaciers, on luxurious train journeys and even sat with me in Business Class on the plane on several occasions.

The other day I came up with a new idea for his wardrobe. Last time I got him a suit and trousers and a briefcase with his name and "Esq." marked on, to celebrate my ex passing his bar exams. I smiled at the cleverness of the idea that popped into my head. And just now I delivered the bear to "Bear Garden", a shop specialising in making clothes and accessories for bearkind. Yes, decadence...

I should be able to pick Billy up in a few days, and I hope he'll have a wonderful time bonding with friends (I just hope he doesn't get into fights or shun bears because of their colour...)

It'll be a different kind of surprise and treat., for Billy, and in a way, for my ex.

It'll be the talk of town, and... super duper adorable!

Diapers

Last night, mum called me and I got up, but not in time. When I reached her, she could not hold it in any more, and she excreted in her pants.

Mum was very embarrassed, and I felt so bad. It was really within a matter of half a minute, which was really not enough to get mum out of bed and into the washroom... I drew the curtain and gave mum some wet wipes to clean herself up while I quickly went to get a clean hospital gown.

Mum has been pooing for three days now, which is a good sign that her bowels are connected and things are passing through. But as she has not resumed eating, most of what comes out is fluid stomach liquid. And sometimes, I guess like in the case of bad diarrhoea you cannot really predict, let alone control, the... flow.

So the carer suggested to get some diapers, at least for the night time when she (or I!) cannot get to the washroom quick enough.

I tried it on, and it felt so strange. It's not that mum's become incontinent, but still, it's strange to know that she'll be wearing diapers, something I associate with patients who have really lost their mobility and senses.

I fiddled with the diaper around my legs. I know it's ridiculous and silly "Back to being a baby again? You miss those days?" mum joked. At least I got the effect I wanted, and that was to make mum laugh.

Dream

Mum's been in and out of sleep since the surgery, lost in that twilight of being half awake and semi-conscious. Most of the time, I just sit next to her and watch her, listen to her snore, and the silence is broken by the mechanical sound of the IV drip releasing periodic doses of drugs.

Suddenly, she spoke: "I dream of this..."

"What do you dream of...?" I asked, anxious. Does she have nightmares, like I do when I sleep? Does she dream of terrible things, of death, of terrible suffering and pain?

"Red carrot..." she said weakly.

I burst out laughing. "You want carrots? I'll get you some now!!"

"No..."

And she began snoring again.

Wannabe

In moments of despair, you still need to laugh and joke. And somehow I still have it in me to play the naughty, foolish child.

"Get off the bed! It's for "sick person"", my aunt told me. "Sick person" 病人 is Taiwanese for "patient". There's some social taboo lying in a hospital bed, especially if you're healthy. "If your grandma were here she'd scold you silly!"

It doesn't really bother me, and I seized the rare opportunity mum got out of bed to lie in it. I said I wanted to see the world from the perspective of mum... She her view from the hospital bed, see what angel she sees the world (or the room), from what angel she can see the tv screen, see from her bed what she can see of the world outside the window. It's good to put on someone else's perspective for a change, for I believe it allows you even more ability to sympathise and have compassion.

I played ill (without going overboard...) and that made my mum and my relatives laugh. "Everyone will come to this one day. I'm just preparing for it!" it's true, is it not? We will all get ill at some point, and one day we will die. For some people one follows the other, even though it may be a very unpleasant chronology, for being ill you really have very little appetite and energy to really live life, and then you die. What a sad state of affairs... A state of affairs mum seems to have landed in...

So for a good half an hour or so, I lay in mum's bed as she sat next to me, a reversal of roles. They handed me fruits, and I just lay there covered under mum's blanket, trying to see how it feels like being the "sick person". But of course I know however much I pretend, I cannot conjure up the same feelings of pain, sores and fears as mum feels...

I closed my eyes and lay under mum's blanket. Momentarily, I "blessed" the bed and blanket, silently praying that they will give mum comfort and a sense of security, silently wishing that my prayers of peace and happiness will flow from my mind and stay in the blanket and bed, and protect mum who now spends so much of her day lying here.

A lady came into quietly, and handed me a brochure advertising private health insurance. "I wish you will recover your health soon" she said to me.

"Thank you," I said as I received the brochure.

After she was gone, I chuckled out loud. There are times when you need to poke fun at reality and at life. And lying in the hospital bed is one of them.

One down, three more to go

I did my exam in eight hours, not twenty four. After that amount of time, I just put a stop to it, and packed away all my books. Enough was enough.

There's only so much you can take of reading about airplane crashes, horrible accidents and emotional traumas from near-death experiences of falling out of an airplane. Even if they are fictional. I broke out in laughter more than once at the bizarre fact-case we were given to write about.... at least my professor has a sense of humour, which made the exam somewhat light-
hearted, and dare I say, easy (or at least, easier). I guess I'll find out when the grades are out.

So I got a response from the photo competition I entered a few days about, and I won! Not sure if it were the quality of the pictures, or maybe the lack of competition (ironically, in a competition), but the school office liked my pictures and will soon post them on the website. They called me to go sign a waiver form, basically giving them rights to use the pictures I'd taken.

I walked into the office, and there was a secretary at the door. She looked at me, a puzzled look on her face. I greeted her, and said my name, and who I was there to see. She looked into some kind of day planner on her computer, and tried to find my name, frowning when she couldn't. "What time was your appointment?"

"Well, I was told to come around ten, so there was no real appointment", I answered. The answer seemed to frustrate her. It was as if my answer was a stumbling block in the bureaucratic machinery that caused an unpredicted and unwelcome obstacle, delay, or worse, which prevented things from taking place according to rules, regulations, formalities and conventions. "No real appointment" seemed to be looked down upon. She picked up the phone, dialling.

A phone rang, the sound coming from behind her. No more than metre away, obscured by a small cupboard. After a ring, or two, I heard the other phone being picked up. I heard the other person speak, as the secretary spoke. They were so close, and I wondered whether they heard one another's echoes in the phone. They were so close, yet communicating over the phone. All it would have taken was to get up from the chair, take two steps, peak around the cupboard to talk to her colleague. But no, it seemed everything had to be so official, so formal, so proper.

The secretary hung up the phone, and I heard the other phone hang up too. Then I heard footsteps, not more than two, at most four. A lady with a friendly smile appear from behind the cupboard. The one I was meant to meet, even though we had "no real appointment".

I smiled, greeted her and shook her hand politely. But inside I thought about the queer episode that had just taken place before me. And I laughed. On the inside of course.

The letter L

Like any other boy who believes he deserves a little treat in life, I put a piece of cucumber and a few red and white seedless grapes into my dirty little trainer. I laid it to rest for the night, where it would sleep next to the fireplace in the office building along with many other shoes.

But unlike other shoes, mine had a little note on it for Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet.

"I have been very well-behaved this year! Heartfelt thanks! " I signed with a big "D", the first letter of my name, and put a smiley next to that.


I left the office, on a night of rain and wind.

The next morning, what ho, behold! My shoe was filled with a little package, with beautiful, colourful wrapping paper. And there was a scroll too, with a sweet poem. The kind-hearted and wise Saint Nicolas and his black slaves servants were here last night.

Carefully and excitedly, I tore open the wrapping, to see the expected chocolate letter. But when I saw what letter it was, it was as if someone took a pin and pricked through my excitement.

It wasn't letter I was expecting, and I even asked myself where in my name the letter "L" appears. I wrote my name in my mind, in full: David Kuan-Wei Chen... last time I checked, there was no L. I smiled at the irony, smiled at the fact that perhaps it was a joke. Or perhaps Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet were so busy they mixed up my letter with another. But still, I wondered what I should do with a letter "L".

Not that I'm not grateful for receiving a little surprise at work, even if simply as a simple token of appreciation.

But such carelessness shows just how much they... care.

Operation Enduring High

Name: Operation Enduring High

Objective: Smuggle contraband across the international sovereign state boundaries between the Kingdom of the Netherlands and the (divided) Kingdom of Belgium.

Object: Light narcotic substance commonly identified as 'Cremers Premium'. Dried leaves of the plant in the family of 'cannabis sativa'.

Quantity: 2.75grams, with a street value of €20

Logistics: Contraband to be transported from The Hague to Antwerp on the international train commonly known as 'Benelux train'.

Time: 17 November, 16.00hrs to 17.30hrs.
Possible operational hazards: Risk of customs controls and/or sniff dogs. However, intelligence gathered from operatives in the field report the risk is negligible.

Precautionary measures: Contraband was wrapped carefull in two plastic bags which previously contained 'smelly food'. Rubbish and a bottle of juice was thrown into bags to give impression that it is merely garbage, and to dampen the smell of contraband.

Status: Mission Accomplished.

Despite a guilty conscience, and thumping heart whenever the doors of the train carriage opened, the 'goods' were safely delivered as a favour to a friend.

Remarks: Don't try this at home. Or anywhere else.

Splat!

There was mist close to the ground, hovering just above the grass. It was humid, and the ground was wet from the thunderstorm during the day. But this evening the sky had cleared, giving way to a humid and warm feeling in the forest.

I walked around a bit, getting my daily need of fresh air, and opportunity to get out of the house. Because the ground was damp still, there were slugs and snails almost everywhere on the paths. I tread very carefully not to kill them, and reminded myself of what happened last time I accidentally killed one.

Walking, walking, after a while I really had to... 'go'. I looked around, and there really was nobody, so I walked behind a big, big tree, and silently excused myself to the tree for what I had to do. It was dark in the forest, and the tree bark was dark too from the rainwater. There was a brown thing that was stuck on the bark, and I thought it was just a leaf. Feeling playful I aimed at that thing, thinking the leaf would 'wash away'. But it didn't.

Instead, the leaf curled up and started to crawl, very, very, very slowly. "Oh, oh..." I thought to myself, as I quickly turned to aim somewhere else. "What have I done now...?"

Walking home, I was still feeling sorry for what I had just pee-ed on. And I was even more careful not to step on any snails, thinking I'd hurt one too many today.

Suddenly a splat! And a few centimetres from my foot was a wet pile of white poo, freshly landed on the pavement.

There was a relief that I didn't get hit. But then again, I realised that it was a warning too.

A close one.

UN jeep

(picture from http://www.pbs.org/frontlineworld/blog/blogimages/un-jeep.jpg)

They're remarkably easily recognisable... an open-top jeep painted pure white, with a bold black 'U' and an 'N' imprinted on its doors. And inside, brave soldiers peace-keepers with funny blue up-side down nests on their heads. You've seen them in buzzing busily to and fro in conflict zones, refugee camps and wherever or whenever the UN has gotten its act togther to act...

So I thought I was imagining things as I was strolling down my street this evening. At first I heard the rumbling of loud engines, and there it was... an UN jeep cruising lazily down my street. A vision in white, with two bright blue dots inside the vehicle, catching the eye. The soldiers

Surreal... bizzare... a precious photo moment, if only I had my camera with me at the time. Right here, in the middle of a peaceful neighbourhood where the only on-going conflict is between warring factions of cats, and where the only current humanitarian crisis seems to be water puddles here and there from the flood of rain, an UN jeep.

In my mind I could only think, if those blue-helmets were heading for Darfur, they still have a long, long way to go.

Porn

*Disclaimer: By reading I confirm that I am 18 years of age or over, or have reached the legal age of majority in the country or territory I am currently located.


Friday night, flicking through the TV for something good to watch.
Suddenly, naked people engaged in 'fast moving physical action' caught my attention. The quality of the film was poor, something probably shot in the eighties, but it's porn nonetheless.

"Porn? At 10pm? Why... they're showing it earlier and earlier nowadays!" I thought to myself. Only then did I realise it was the Comedy Channel. More surprising... can porn be funny?

And it was. I sat there laughing for the whole half an hour. Porn has a reputation for being badly dubbed (so I heard), for some of the dialogue can be so utterly corny and tasteless, and it seems like everything said or done is gearing up for the next shag.

It was a show called "Badly Dubbed Porn", which

"takes excerpts from some of the adult industry's more ropey films and redubs the dialogue to liven things up a bit".

So I was had the privilege of watching selected scenes from "The World's Biggest Asshole"... about this guy who had a problem with his arse, which for some reason seemed to get bigger and bigger. But that didn't stop him getting laid wherever he went... either to the doctors at the hospital, or to court, or to the trailer park (for some reason). The dubbing was hilariously witty, poking fun at the actors and the cheesy plot, and the whole ridiculousness of typical low-budget porn-flicks that have no story and are so poorly acted, even down to the fake screaming and organisms (...again, or so I heard). Ah, too much...


A must-see for people who stay home on Friday nights...
(Fridays at 22.25 and 00.45 on Comedy Central, in Dutch!)

Something weird

I went to work this morning, having had not such a good night's sleep. Woke up a abit moody, and not at all looking forward to the day. Not even after a shower.

When I got to the office, it got a bit better, and I did a few good hours of more website building, until after 1pm or so, and decided it was time for lunch and a walk. So took a break and went outside for fresh air, thinking I'd get back into the office and start to finally work on my thesis.

So I sat down, and started to read this book I had borrowed already for three weeks but never had the "chance" (read: mood) to read. After around twenty pages or so, I started feeling drowsy, and really sleepy. The sun was shining and it was boiling hot, since my office is on the top floor.

"Time for a nap" my mind thought to myself. "What?! Here at work? Impossible! Ridiculous!"

But it was tempting. My office is pretty big, and very roomy, and there's just me there during the summer period. And it's at the back of the building, on the top floor, so not many (if any!) people ever go there. "Nobody has to know..." my mind kept saying to me.

It was very quiet, as if the whole building was deserted. If anyone were to come to the office, they'd first have to come through a door, and walk up a flight of stairs. "You'd be awake before anyone makes it up the stairs!" my mind consoled me, and tempted me further into napping.

So... I set the alarm for around 15 minutes, grabbed my thin summer coat, and just plopped myself down in one corner of the room, where it was cool and a bit darker. Closed my eyes, and just napped.

At first, I was still a bit uneasy, worried that I might fall asleep too soundly and wake up to see people standing over me and watching me. But I was paranoid, and reminded myself there was noone around, and that I'd hear people if they were really to come up the stairs. So I closed mys eyes, and just napped.

The alarm rang... but I pressed the snooze button, not once, but three times. When I finally decided to wake up, it was already 3pm. Feeling refreshed and somewhat 'proud' that I managed to pull this funny trick at work, I went back to working on my thesis. But then it was soon time to go home.

Another productive day... Well, at least that's the one crazy thing I promised myself I must do everyday.

At the post office

"What are you getting your dad for Father's Day?"

I typed in my bank-code to pay, and was not expecting the question at all. I thought it was a sales strategy, an attempt to get me to buy more things. I knew the Dutch TNT was cutting down on staff to save costs... but didn't realise they had become so desparate that they were promoting all sorts of gifts and goodies whenever you go to the post office to mail something. I hesistated and thought a little.

"A book. He likes to read." A little lie. I didn't know what I wanted to get for him... not yet.

"Hm, that's nice", the lady said, looking into the distance, looking puzzled, "I don't know what I'm going to get my dad." She turned to me, looking for contact.

"What does he like then?"

She thought a little. "Rabbits. He likes rabbits."

"Does he already have rabbits?" I went on, still a little curious where the conversation was going.

"Like around 30!" she answered, smiling. "Maybe some rabbit food. Carrots... or maybe hay?"
The receipt was printing slowly, and making a hushed rustling sound.

I was surprised by the number of rabbits he already had, and thought to myself maybe another rabbit wouldn't hurt. But instead I said, lightheartedly, remembering pictures of the little mascot I had just seen at the local supermarket: "What about a hamster?"

She laughed, and handed me the receipt. "Hm, that's a good idea. A hamster..." She looked on, puzzled, and and lost in thought.

"Bye-bye. Have a nice weekend." I turned to go, but then a part of me inside made me turn back to her again, "And good luck finding a gift!"

PIL Day Out

(PIL: Public International Law)

Cheeks chapped and red from the early Spring sun, and winds that never seemed to be with us, but always against us. Bones sore, and muscles aching from the overdose of exercise.

What was a sudden ‘Schnapsidee’ to get together for Easter in the end it turned into some forty kilometres and almost eight hours of non-stop cycling and hiking. More torturous for the others (especially the hunter-gatherer guys amongst us), since the rented lady bikes had no handbrakes and only one gear. Trying to keep up with my tendency of racing whenever I hop on a bike was perhaps hard enough, but the wind and the countless ‘mountains’ we had to conquer along the way made the leisurely ‘PIL Day Out’ a real ordeal. But divided we are weak, and today we proved to ourselves that advanced and regular together we can ‘Climb every mountain, ford every stream, search high and low".

Every journey begins with a big brunch, and we stuffed on the tones of eggs, chocolates, all sorts of warm bread and cold juices. Calories and any excess body weight gained attributable to me could be burnt later, I reassured. Soon enough we were on our bikes and hogging the inner lanes of the cross-country bicycle highways with our turtle speeds. The legendary PIL Tour had begun.

Being devout loyalists of the monarchy and so grateful for the fact that some great-, great-, great-, great-, ancestor of the Queen had decided to lay the foundations of what is to be The Hague as his hunting ground, we of course had to pay her a visit. We stood before the gates of ‘Huis ten Bosch’, only to be disappointed that the Queen was not in and had apparently forgotten our afternoon tea appointment. No matter, as we counseled ourselves with the fact that we were mere metres to the very building (though perhaps then not yet inviolable) where the Hague Peace Conferences took place.

Onwards we went, in search of our future residences in the luxurious and wooded neighbourhoods of Wassenaar. Translated literally, it would mean ‘to wash-strange’. Perhaps that’s why so many ‘stinking rich’ people love to live in what is the most exclusive area of the Netherlands. Enormous free-standing mansions with tennis courts and swimming pools rolled by, some big, lavish-looking cottages to house the gatekeeper at the beginning of what was more a tree-line avenue than an ordinary drive-way. Shame, the mansion opposite the residence of the Canadian ambassador I had my eyes was just been sold. “One day…”

We amused ourselves watching family dramas unfold from the top of what may have been the second highest hill in the country. We could see the scenic electric pylons in the distance, watch the occasional yellow trains fly past, and admire a certain talented football-players-to-be tackle at everyone and everything except the ball. Then it was through the dunes we went, braving the steep gradients and treacherous uneven cycle-paths that led us closer and closer to where the salted-sea breeze blew and lured. Finally, after expending all that energy and effort which made the rush to finish a paper the night before the deadline seem like a stroll in the park, the wide-open sea lay there waiting lazily before us. As did the ice-cream and ‘poffertjes’ (wo)man.

We sat down to coffee, tea and mediocre service. Though the weather was fine, and the water ‘lovely’, we enthralled ourselves with deep and revolutionary debates about the virtues and evils of nature vs. nurture, feminism, bio-power, identity, and why (to be politically correct, some) girls always seem to go the bathroom together.

On we rode on our metal horses, encountering magpies, a lone pheasant, and plumb pigeons, swarms of “killer, blood-sucking” mosquitoes, and realised the true meaning behind “doing it like rabbits”. We stopped once or twice to climb up to lookout points to take in the skyline and argued amongst ourselves which spire belongs to our beloved and revered Peace Palace. Posing like the inquisitive PIL-students we are, we looked on with philosophical glimmers in our eyes, in search of the horizon.

After numerous “Another fifteen minutes…” from me, we finally got to the fish restaurant at Scheveningen. We were all starving, and drained, our knees weak, faces sober like we just walked out of an exam we failed. The wonderful Dutch hospitality and service never ceased to amaze, but the food was pretty decent overall. All save for the tortured look of three twisted fish heads and hollowed corpses at the end.

Being diligent and proud PIL-students, we could not but pay homage to our place of worship. We cycled through the night, braving the black forests of Schevenigen which are rumoured to have countless sex-addicts lurking around after dark (sorry I didn’t tell you this then!), and with held breaths arrived at the Peace Palace. Easter Sunday, the sun had long set, it was close to ten at night, but we stood almost banging at the gates of the holy sanctuary of international law. In the end we satisfied ourselves with numerous shots of the another moment to remember in the years to come. We may be on lady’s bikes, and some of us may not even have backlights, but made a solemn vow to ourselves that we will one day return in all the glamour and glitz we could possibly muster. Next week, dus, for Telders.

What a day... what a great PIL Day Out!

Umbrella anyone?

There are mornings you wake up thinking: "Oh... another day at work!" But it wasn't just another day.

I skipped last week because I was ill, so there really was no excuse not to go in. I got showered and dressed, put on my jeans and a sweater, and off I cycled to work.

I was actually the first one there, since my colleagues were all... fashionably late. And I mean 'fashionably', because they were either in a suit or a formal dress, while I sat there in my jeans and sweater.

I had completely forgotten today was the official opening of the new building, and that there was a whole programme lined up the whole afternoon. It didn't matter that we had been working at the new building for over two months, because some VIP has to 'officially' open the building with speeches and carpets, champaigns and little hors d'oeuvres, or else the building is not 'officially open'.

So during lunch break I cycled home and got changed. With suit, shirt and tie, veryday David soon became young city professional David. And I was ready to face the crowd, let alone fit in.

It just had to be. The 'new' building I work in is situated on what has been called the "most beautiful avenue in Europe", right next door to the Swiss and Spanish embassies, a few steps from the parliament buildings, and a only a few houses down from the chique hotel where many prominent foreign dignatories have stayed on state visits to the Netherlands. And as the mayor of The Hague joked in the opening speech, the neighbourhood will get even more exclusive as soon as the Dutch version of Guantanamo Bay a stone's throw away (the American embassy) moves away.

The ‘official’ ceremony started in the old building, and then eventually the crowd made their way toward the new building. As all 'official' events, the heavy-weight VIPs gave speeches, praising what wonderful and gracious achievements have been made, and what bright wonderful future we all welcome with the opening of the new building. The Hague, despite being the 'City of Peace, Justice & Security' of the world, does not actually have an official university. Leiden University where I study and indirectly also work at, is the only institution with a presence right in the city centre, and in the past years has been offering high quality education to professionals and civil servants and the international community. And this has grown so much we need a second building to accommodate all the different academic institutes and courses that are now available. The people who were invited were people who's names you often read in the newspapers… former ministers, university rectors, professors, experts in this and that field… Of course, as lowly employees my colleagues and I could only stand at the sideline and gawk and awe at their influence and prestige, but it felt somehow proud to be standing in the same room as these prominents.

OK, enough bragging. As we expected, my colleagues and I weren’t there to just sip free champagne and nimble delicate biscuits. In the middle of a speech we were silently dragged away and put to work. Each of us were given an umbrella, and I thought we were to use them to escort the guests because it was raining. Even though the weather was gray, there was no rain. Then as we were given our ‘assignments’, I burst out laughing.

A bit too loud, perhaps. From the old to the new building is a walk of around 500 metres. To avoid our very important people wandering off and getting lost, groups of us need to stand at ‘key positions’ and point the way. How would they identify us? With the umbrellas.

Soon enough, my colleagues and I were spread out along the way, hoisting our proud blue umbrellas bearing the university logo, and pointing the way… cursing under our breaths. Well, I didn’t curse, I just found it all hilarious and ridiculous. I stood in front of fences and barriers of ‘Guantanamo Bay’, with an open umbrella even though it wasn’t raining, and wondered how long it would take before the security guards came to arrest me. Probably they have all noted our faces and names, since we’ve been conducting some ‘suspicious activities’ around the American embassy for the past few weeks. We looked like a row of lunatics, in smart suits and shoes, holding up umbrellas and showing people the way.

The kind of things that goes on behind official events…

Saddam and Osama

Has to be one of the greatest satires I’ve seen in a long time.

The f-word

I don't like using it, in fact I don't think I ever use it.

But (still) resting in bed today, I heard the word numerous times on the radio. Yes, that word is not taboo here in this liberal low-lying country, and is not bleeped out. The reason why it was repeated so many times is because a man was just acquited for saying 'fuck you' to a police officer. The public prosecutor had demanded fine of €300, and insulting a public officer carries a maximum jail sentence of 16 months, but even though the judge thought the word "is not nice" ("is niet aardig"), it is not an insult.

Maybe I'll start using it more.

Indictment

The Prosecutor v. Musco Mousovic [aka. Mouse]

...Mr Mouse, the Accused.

He is brown, has round up-turned ears, and measures approximately ten centimetres from the tip of the nose to the end of the tail. He belongs to the species known as "Mus musculus", or commonly referred to as 'house mouse'.

(For the purpose of this inditment, the gender of the Accused is assumed to be male, though it does not prejudice the actual gender of the Accused if it turns out to be otherwise).


Mr Mouse is indicted for the following:

Count 1) causing nuisance to public order, sanitation, and sanity
Count 2) crime of pillaging food from Kitchen
Count 3) causing odious smell


THE FACTS

Mr Mouse was arrested this morning at approximately 11.30 hours, and transfered to a secure Holding Cell. Admitted, due to the lack of proper facilities in the posession of the Tribunal, the Accused could only be temporarily confined to a cell originally originated for cat-kind.

However, the Accused has now gone missing, and is suspected to have escape.


His arrest came in the wake of a series of unexplained rice-eating incidents. The Accused is also suspected of causing the peculiar stench that has been lingering in the Kitchen for the preceding few days.

Mr Mouse's presence, and alleged crimes were first brought to the attention to the tribunal by an officer of the Tribunal, Ms Kitty (herafter Cat).


In the morning of 8 January 2007, Cat paraded around the living room and stayed in the proximity of Sofa.


In various instances, Cat was witnessed attempting to climb under Sofa, but due to her oversized body, Cat could only manage to get her head and paws under Sofa. The Tribunal therefore investigated further.

Upon further investigation, it was found that Mr Mouse was hiding under Sofa. The Accused did not move when sighted, nor did he attempt to escape. The Tribunal took precautionary steps not to injury the Accused in his capture. By using an empty Jar, the Tribunal was able to trap Mr Mouse and transfer him, with all care and respect of his rights as a detainee of the Tribunal, into Holding Cell.

The Accused appeared to be in good health, evidenced by his continuous inhalations of breath and rapid heart beat. From the discovery to the confinement of the Accused, no attempts were made to resist the arrest or to escape.

Due to the occupation of the Tribunal with matters of examination, the Accused was kept in Holding Cell in the Kitchen, pending further decision on the future status and indictment of the Accused. Adequate food, in the form of fresh lettuce leaves and slices of Gouda cheese, were provided. There was plenty of air and light. As observed, no signs of resistance or struggle were attempted. Though Cat expressed interest in Mr Mouse and loitered around Holding Cell, the Tribunal managed to usher and keep Cat away at least ten meters from the place of detention. The conditions of confinement were in conformity with the Convention on the Capture and Detention of Mice.

Approximately four hours later, at around 17.00 hours, the Tribunal returned to find Holding Cell empty. Initial conclusions and investigation indicate Mr Mouse had, in the absence of the Tribunal, managed to escape from confinement. The lettuce leaves and slices of cheese were untouched. Possible explaination for the escape of the Accused may be the bars of Holding Cell were too big to hold the Accused, whereby the Mr Mouse was able to squeeze through the bars and escape.

The Tribunal is frustrated by the series of events, and is considering taking further measures to ensure the entrapment and capture of the Accused.

He is to be considered small, furry, brown, and cute.

The investigation continues, and the Arrest Warrant of the Accused is still valid, and will remain so as long as the Accused is at large.

"Porno!"

I just can't stop smiling to myself when I think back at what happened in class today. It's not everyday that you get to stand in front of the whole International Relations class and shout "Porno" [Dutch for 'porn'] : P

For the last few weeks we've been having student presentations, and each time just before class starts someone has to set up the equipment for PowerPoint. I've more or less become that someone!

Just as I hooked the laptop up and beamer started to project the image onto the white screen, a friend whispered something mischievously to me: "Put the ... on"

I really didn't hear what he said, and shouted across the room. "What? What did you say?"

Again, he cupped his mouth and whispered with a devious smile "Put on the porn..."

As innocent as I am, I thoughtlessly answered back, again in a loud, clear voice so as not to have any confusion: "Eh? PORNO?"

How embarassing, as I realised afterwards what I just did. The bunch of guys at the back of the room started chuckling, and some other people turned to look at me, wondering what was going on. Our lecturer was (thankfully) busily engaged in conversation with this one person.

I swear...I really am all that innocent.

"I wish I could be gay"

I've never met anyone who wished he was gay. Until last night, at 3am, lying next to him on the floor of a girl whose room we were crashing at for the night. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking...

It had been a long night, of studying, football watching at a pub, drinking, pizza-eating at close to 11, pool-playing and more drinking. When we got to our home for the night we were pretty much tipsy, but somehow strangely energetic, and probably not at all worried we had class in the morning.

So the three of us lay down, music in the background, and chatted and chatted, about mundane randomness, lawyery nerdiness and exchanged laughs and chuckles under the clear night sky. One thing led to another, and I somehow brought up the discussion we had about sodomy in class the week earlier. And of course the issue of homosexuality eventually got roped in. The girl mentioned how her country is now measuring the economy in terms of 'pink money' as well. "Pink money", we, the two unsuspecting guys on the floors asked. Yeah, apparently gays spend and contribute significant amounts of money to the economy, because (cliche, cliche) they're more modern, fashion and health conscious, know how to live well and in style...etc etc, so they're really a big group of consumers nowadays.

Then came the comment.

"I wish I could be gay."
"What?" I had my eyes closed, and immediately they opened. Of course I heard him the first time.
"Yeah, I wish I could be gay. It's so cool being gay."
"Well, some say being gay is the trend nowadays," I said suggestively, chuckling.
"Yeah, I know, but I'm just not."
"Hm, how do you know? Have you tried before?"I proded more.
"No, but I'm just not. I just can't get myeslf to be gay."
"Well, maybe it's just a phase, and it'll pass soon," I joked.

The conversation sort of went on from there. I asked whether he had any gay experiences, which he didn't. And I asked why, he just said he liked girls, and just couldn't do it. Tit for tat, back and forth, and at one point I said something along the lines of "Hm, how did you guess I was (gay)?"

All in the spirit of good fun and frolicking. Somehow we ended up making 'bedroom noises', groaning and moaning and pretending to be 'feeling up one another'. The girl lay in her bed and regreted aloud how she ended up with us on the floor.

I went to sleep, albeit for a mere four hours last night, smiling...

Dissing drugs~

The Netherlands is perhaps the only country in the world where cannabis (weed/dope/marihuana/hasj) is ‘legal’.

And this has led to some problems, especially with neighbouring countries, and increasing problems of teenage addictions and criminality. To address the problem and appeal to young people to kick the habit, the (ex) minister of Justice, came up with a solution: a rap to ‘dis’ drugs. Since his name is Donner, the rap is called: “The Don”.

In dit land van 16 miljoen mensen.
Heeft iedereen zo zijn eigen wensen.
Waar iedereen wil proberen,
Maar waar je niemand mag beleren.

[In this country of 16 million people

Everyone has his own wishes

Where everyone wants to try,

But where you can’t make anyone learn.]

In dit land van 16 miljoen wijzen,
Vraag ik: wat willen we bewijzen?
De joint, het stickie, maakte ons beroemd,
Maar de nadelen worden niet genoemd.

[In this country of 16 million wise people,

I ask: what do we want to prove?
The joint, the stickie, make us famed,

But the disadvantages are not named.]

Refrein:
Hier spreekt Donner van justi-tie
Ik doe het samen met poli-tie.
Schuif die dope maar aan de kant
Want een addict Nederland
Zijn zaken die ik liever niet-zie

[Refrain:

Donner of Justice speaking here

I do it together with the police.

Move that dope to the side

Because an addicted Netherlands

Are things I’d rather not see.]

Van een blowtje word je duf,
Dus steel de show nou niet zo suf.
Ga die drugs niet badineren,
Wees bereid om iets te leren!

[From a puff you become dull

So don’t dumbly steal the show now.

Don’t go joking around with drugs,

Be prepared to learn something!]

Reguleren is te duur,
Gaan we van zoet toch weer naar zuur
Met criminelen op de loer,
Lijkt dat me niet de juiste tour.

[To regulate is too expensive,

We’re going from sweet to sour.

With criminals on the rise,

That to me is not the right tour.]

Nog meer stekkies onder licht
Dus die achterdeur blijft dicht!
Lijkt het beleid soms wat verward,
Nou in deze ben ik hard...

[Even more plants under the light

So the backdoor remains shut!

Policy appears to be confused sometimes,

Well, in this I’m tough…]

Refrein:
Hier spreekt Donner van justi-tie
Ik doe het samen met poli-tie.
Schuif die dope maar aan de kant
Want een addict Nederland
Zijn zaken die ik liever niet-zie

[Refrain:

Donner of Justice speaking here

I do it together with the police.

Move that dope to the side

Because an addicted Netherlands

Are things I’d rather not see.]

Je ziet die rotzooi overal bloeien
Eigen teelt loopt uit hand
En de bajes blijft maar groeien
Dankzij deze hennep plant

[You see that mess blooms everywhere,

Own plantation out of hand.

And the prisons continue to grow,

Thanks to this hennep plant.]

Slechts een paar worden rijk,
De rest ziet zo bleek als een ...
Dus die zolders moeten leeg,
’t zou niet goed zijn als ik zweeg

[Only a few become rich,

The rest look as pale as a…

So the basements must be emptied,

It wouldn’t be good if I keep quiet.]

Alt. refrein
Hier spreekt Donner van Justitie,
Ik doe het samen met politie.
Ja, de drugs gaan van de straat,
Er komt actie na gepraat.
Blowers, neem daarvan notitie!

[Alt. refrain:
Donner of Justice speaking here

I do it together with the police.

Yes, the drugs are going off the street,

There is action after the talking.

Blowers, take thereof notice!]

Here's the news report about minister‘Donner dissing drugs’.

Technically speaking it’s still illegal to possess or use the cannabis, but the government has since the 1990s enforced this official ‘policy of tolerance’ (gedoogbeleid), whereby law enforcement officers and courts are told to look the other way when it comes to so called soft drugs like cannabis. So the rule is more or less recognised that you can grow 5 cannabis plants ‘for personal use’ at home or have 5grams on you at any given time without breaking any laws. The reason being that the use of cannabis is classified as a public health issue, rather than a criminal matter, provided it’s for your personal use.

'Coffeeshops' all over the country sell soft drugs openly. Anyone over 18 is able to go in and buy what they want, as long as it's not over 5grams. This creates a ridiculous situation whereby it is well known that these coffeeshops hold more than 5 grams of cannabis, and that they must get their supply from somewhere with more than 5 cannabis plants, but police don't really ask questions. So, it's OK for them to store cannabis in quantities to sell in the shops, but if people are caught delivering stocks to the shops, they'll be breaking the law!

With this 'open' policy of tolerance toward soft drugs, use in the Netherlands is actually much less than neighbouring countries. I can tell you, especailly for young people, if you ban something there are more incentives to try and experiment. It's not the drug itself that gives a 'kick', but also knowing that you're breaking the law at the same as well. Most of my friends occasionally use it, but really, nobody gets addicted that easily.

The problem with this 'turn-the-blind-eye' policy is that many people are drawn to the lucrative business of cultivating hennep plants in their own homes, often by 'syphoning' off electricity from the power grid because of the large amounts of light that is needed day and night to make hennep grow well. So recently there's really been a lot of talk about having legalised plantations that are regulated and licensed by the government.

Here's a useful website for those interesting in knowing more about the Dutch policy towards soft drugs