#LINVASION European Edition -- iamsterdam

September 23, 2012

      On a scale of one to Sleeping Beauty, I'm actually too tired to think of something clever to finish this sentence. After a weekend in Amsterdam, "exhaustion" is the word of the evening, and sweater pants is the style of the moment. (Tales of my latest and greatest fashion selection are in my next blog post.) I spent 72 hours in Amsterdam and came out the other end smelling like...well, not like roses, that's for sure.

        Between the millions of similar looking canals, conspicuously placed street signs, elusive night buses, and rampant bikers, I'm actually quite surprised and proud that we made it out alive. The obnoxious Americans survived Amsterdam, or perhaps Amsterdam survived us? Jury's still out on that one, but boy did we have fun.

So. Many. Bikes.

      Our first day began with a walking tour of the city. Taking the scenic route, we meandered through the red light district. The prostitutes were kind enough to teach us some valuable lessons:
      1. The attractive prostitutes do not work the day shift.
      2. Don't take pictures of prostitutes unless you are prepared to buy them.
      3. Even though the Netherlands is a super progressive country, some prostitutes are not fond of the idea of lesbian encounters and will express their distaste by hurling a half-full can of red bull at unsuspecting and stupid college kids.

     (In case anyone is wondering, it wasn't me who took a picture of the prostitute. I was just behind the person who took a picture of the prostitute and got the shit scared out of me when she was almost hit by the red bull can. Along with the shot of energy, the prostitute had some other parting advice for us, which is too inappropriate to repeat, even on this blog.)

      As a lover of walking tours, I was totally into the entire experience. However, even as I enjoyed and took in everything we were seeing and learning, I don't know how much of it I actually retained. Here's the thing about Amsterdam: it all kind of looks the same. There are dozens of canals and hundreds of bridges over these canals, which after a while just gave me the feeling of being on a really long, really dry ride at a water park.

     

You see what I mean? Beautiful, but similar...

          Luckily, there were two large squares that we used as landmarks. One was Dam Square and the other was Rembrandt Square. Dam Square was the big tourist center of the city, probably because of its giant palace and access to the red light district.

This is the palace. I don't know how to take straight pictures, apparently.

       

This is either the backside of the palace,
or a completely different palace altogether.
I'm really bad at this. 

        Because we were in a huge ass school group of more than eighty people, Dam Square became our default meeting place. It was here that we were later separated into smaller groups to visit the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam's largest (and only?) art museum.

A self-portrait of Rembrandt

I honestly don't remember the historical event portrayed in this painting
or the identity of the artist responsible for it. 

       At the Rijksmuseum, we were guided by one of Emerson's professors who highlighted various pieces of art. She
explained their techniques, content, and history, which I found to be very interesting. A lot of people do not like to be guided around art museums, but, when it comes to classical art, I don't know how to appreciate it unless I know the biblical backstory and the artistic technique. I'm one of those people who judges art based on its amount of original content. In conventional art, there isn't a whole lot of this, except in technique. However, I am a painting ignoramus; so I really appreciated learning about the specific techniques of different artists.

       




         Even with all the classical art, my favorite one was a piece of modern art that doubled as a lobby decoration. Called "Grandfather Clock," this piece was a literal clock with a man's face for the face. Well, technically, it was a video of a man's face, and the face itself was blurred behind the frosted glass. The artist, who I'm guessing is also the man "in the clock," would change the time by drawing a new arrow for the minute hand every minute (duh) and a new arrow for the hour hand every hour (also duh). I was taken in by the innovation, execution, and total concept of this piece. I kinda sorta fell in love with it. And when I thought about the time and dedication it must have taken to film those original twelve hours of drawing and erasing, my appreciation doubled. Eat your heart out, Rembrandt. (Of course, this is the one thing I didn't take a picture of, because I'm an idiot.)

      Anyway, I'd like to tell you more about my trip but you've read a lot already...and this is the internet. Some stories are not meant for the internet. Whatever happened to the oral tradition? I make a formal motion to bring it back. If you're also in favor, you know how to reach me. And maybe, after a long discussion about the importance of rhetoric, we can initiate our new practice with a couple of stories...

#LINVASION European Edition -- Checking In

September 14, 2012

     Today, I arrived in the Netherlands and moved into the castle. (See how I slipped that in there, so nonchalantly?)
     I also wrote my parents an e-mail to let them know that I was alive. I wanted to express how much I loved my room (IN THE TOWER OF THE CASTLE), so I began the letter in the vein of one of my family's favorite musicals. Then, I realized that once I finished my e-mail I would have to do real work, so it evolved into this:


Dearest darlingest Momsie and Popsicle,

There's been no confusion over rooming here at Well

But of course, I'll care for my health

But of course, I already love it

For I know that's how you'd want me to respond, yes

There's been no confusion 

For you see, my room is an

Unusually and exceedingly beautiful

And altogether quite impossible to describe

QUAD. 

What is this feeling?

So sudden and new

I felt the moment

I opened the door

My floor is wooden

My bed is lofted

They gave me flatware

What is this feeling?

Fervid as a flame

Does it have a name?

Yessssss

LOVING 

UNADULTERATED LOVING

For the walls

The floor

The windows

Let's just say-- I love it all

Every little trait however small

Makes my very eyes begin to bawl (with tears of joy)

With simple utter loving

There's a strange exhilaration

In such fulfilled expectation

It's so pure, so strong!

Though I do admit it came on fast,

Still I do believe that it can last

And I will be loving

Loving my room

The whole semester long!

Love,

      Lindsay

#LINVASION European Edition -- My Apology Letter

September 13, 2012

Dear Europe,
        I would like to take this moment to formally apologize for all the future incidents that will occur on your soil. I truly am sorry for the ease with which I will take advantage of all the new legal things that I can do. For example, we both know your alcohol policy and my alcohol tolerance. Consequently, I sincerely regret all the times that I will drunkenly jaywalk. I express remorse for peeing in all the places that I'm sure say in another language that you're not supposed to pee in them. And I know that if I ever get in trouble for doing this, I'm going to plead the ignorant fifth and act really cute and dumb, even though I knew what I was doing the entire time. I'm especially apologetic to all the beautiful, foreign boys who will (hopefully) buy me drinks and receive nothing in return. (Okay, I'm not really that sorry about this one.)
      I'm also really sorry for breaking and/or otherwise ruining nice European things, which will probably happen on a daily basis. (I have a dishwashing job at the castle, and I hope to God they use plastic.) I should also probably say something to all of the restaurants for putting up with my weird, veghead requests. I know the language barrier isn't going to help, but at least I can spit out "Je suis vegetarienne" pretty coherently.
      This apology letter should probably be longer, but I've got a trial and error enthusiasm. I'd like to give you time to guard yourselves against all the trouble that I am going to cause, but you just can't plan a shit show. Hurricane Lindsay is coming to Europe, and if the Eiffel Tower is still standing after I leave...I've done us both a great disservice.

Yours Truly,
         Lindsay Marion Geller, The First

#servergirlstruggz -- The Hitman and the Sweet Potato Fries

August 28, 2012

     I love winning people over. I relish that initial moment when cold disinterest turns into warm appreciation. Every time I approach a table, I walk up with a "I dare you not to love me" mentality. And usually, it's an easy sell. Still, there are tables that present more of a challenge than others, and one in particular was found pouting in my section today. 

     Everything was fine until I finished my introduction. Then, the older couple, both about age sixty, began to order drinks. Trouble, as they say, ensued. They both wanted beverages sans sugar, so I directed them to our ten calories or less flavored iced teas and lemonade. The wife didn't understand that it was only the teas that were flavored, not the lemonade. She claimed that the menu description was unclear, but what could she really expect from a ten word blurb? After I made the clarification, she settled on a diet lemonade. Then, her husband made me go over the description again before settling on a plain old unsweetened iced tea. Dutifully, I ventured off to the land of fake sugar and returned with their beverages. 

     The wife then ordered a burger with sweet potato fries, which cost an extra 99 cents. Although it clearly stated this charge on our menu, the husband was livid with what he called "false advertisement." Still, he ordered the fish and chips, upgrading his chips to the sweet variety as well. I could tell that his dissatisfaction with our policy was going to put him in a sour mood for the whole meal, and that this would be reflected in my tip. Even though he told me that his problem was not with me but with the menu, I knew what was going to happen because I knew who he was. He was my father...in ten years. And sitting across from him, was my future mother, rolling her eyes embarrassedly at her beloved cheapskate. The man even had a New Jersey version of a New York accent, which I could only imagine my father taking on in his later years. I had never served my parents before, but I had lived with them for nineteen years. Over that time, I had forced my parents to love me; why couldn't I do it to these people in a little under 30 minutes?
      I threw out the word "bottomless." There is nothing my father loves more than free food and taking advantage of people. This is why he used to frequent buffets before he decided to not be fat anymore. He knew that he could eat way more than $9.99 worth of food, and he did. I could tell from this man's auspicious girth that he could probably boast the same. So, I explained to this couple that their sweet potato fries, like our regular fries, were never-ending. Not only that, but I could bring them fries before, during, and even after their meal. They lit up, especially when I mentioned what my family likes to call "fuh latah" (for later) fries that they could take home with them.
      And just like that, I won them over. If I had known it was that easy, I wouldn't have completely overanalyzed the situation and made a kinda creepy connection to my own life. Just kidding, I totally would have. Once it was obvious that I was on their side, not the restaurant's, this couple, especially the man, became interested in me...as a person. They wanted to know where I went to school (Emerson College), what I was majoring in (Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust), and how many boyfriends I had ("...None at the moment?"). Oh, we got along swimmingly. When I asked them about the quality of their meals, the husband even said, "Eh the food's alright, but you're great." I was blushing. 

     They told me about their lives too...although I don't know how much I was supposed to take seriously. The man, espousing his wife's virtues, told me that she had visited him once a month for the entire time he was in prison. (I think this was serious.) Then, he told me that he was a hitman, and for the very reasonable price of $500, he could make anybody disappear. By this time, we were pretty good friends so he asked if there was anyone that I needed "taken care of." I declined his kind offer, but inquired about his rates for maiming. His wife chimed in that that was only $250. (I kid you not that his wife's comment is the only reason why I think that he was joking about this. If he were really a hitman, I don't think that he would let his wife handle any part of his business negotiations, much less the pricing.) 

    Luckily, I won over the right table. I don't even want to think about what could have happened to me had I not soothed the hitman with free sweet potato fries. He might have been sorry for the unkind shots he fired out of hunger, but I probably wouldn't be alive to tell the tale.

These dirty plates aren't the only thing that's a hot mess. #servergirlstruggz 

#servergirlstruggz -- The Young Charmer

     Working in a restaurant that is one step above Chuck E Cheese, I serve families with small children on the daily. And, I absolutely love it. I think kids are great. Even the screamers and throwers get me. Truth be told, I'm most susceptible to young children who come in with their dads. This is probably because my sexist cultural conditioning has made me less expectant of this scenario. Thus, I appreciate it more when I see it, like today.
     A father came in with his (I'm guessing) two year old son, and I was instantly enamored. The little blondie was adorable as he ordered chocolate milk and then pizza for himself. That may not seem like a great task, but children five years older have failed at it, opting for the parental translator. I was so impressed by his maturity, and that was even before he asked to hold my hand.
     Well, technically, he didn't ask; he just trust out his short arm, and his chubby, little fingers reached towards me. I could not leave this young gentleman hanging. I grabbed his hand, put my other over my heart, and just smiled down at him. His returning smile was mostly toothless but completely beautiful. His dad got a kick out of the whole thing, and we both laughed over the odd but still cute situation. Eventually, our hands parted as I went off to serve other tables, but the feeling of the moment endured.
     I have such a soft spot for father-son duos, and they certainly were no exception. On the contrary, I think that they are my favorite. Apparently, the dad didn't think that I was too bad either because he left me a ten dollar tip...on a twenty dollar check!
     Still, it wasn't my tip, but the tips of the little boy's fingers holding onto mine that made this table memorable.

These dirty plates aren't the only thing that's a hot mess. #servergirlstruggz

The Cookie Monster

August 26, 2012

     I've been dabbling. I've been experimenting. I've been testing the waters in the world of healthy, vegan baking. And I think I'm finally on to something. Today, I made some seriously tasty, pretty healthy chocolate chip cookies. By swapping out some processed and refined ingredients for natural ones, I think I might have just made everyone's favorite cookie a little more wholesome.

Ingredients:
 1 1/2 + 1/8 (or 1 5/8) cup of whole grain flour (I used Arrowhead Mills brand.)
1 avocado, mashed
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
13.5 tablespoons of stevia (I used Truvia in sugar crystal form. I don't know how using stevia powder or drops would work for consistency. If you want to use regular sugar, use 3/8 cup.)
1/2 cup light agave syrup (or 3/4 cup brown sugar)
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup Enjoy Life mini chocolate chips

Procedure: Preheat oven to 375 degrees (F). Combine avocado, vanilla extract, stevia, and agave syrup in a large bowl. Mix flour, salt, and baking soda in a smaller bowl. Pour flour mixture into sugar mixture a little bit at a time, mixing after each addition. I used an electric mixer, but a spoon should work just as well. Once the dough is well combined, add the chocolate chips. The dough will be a little bit wetter than traditional cookie dough so use a spoon to plop the dough onto greased cookie sheets. Flatten out with back of spoon if necessary. Bake for 8 minutes.


      For those curious about the nutritional content, these cookies come out to be about 100 calories each. This is roughly the same as a normal chocolate chip cookie. However, for me, the number of calories is not as important as the type of calories. Unlike traditional chocolate chip cookies, these ones are chock full of whole grains, healthy plant-based fats, and natural sugars. This is a far cry from the normal empty carbs, saturated animal fats, and processed sugars that we all love to inhale. And they are, in my opinion, just as good! Seriously, I ate four of them in like ten minutes-- all in the name of the scientific method. And it's not just for vegan health freaks like me! I set these out in my family's kitchen, not letting them know what was in the ingredients. They were devoured in two days.

     By the way, the avocado does tint the dough green a little bit, but after you bake them it's barely noticeable. If anyone asks, just reveal your secret ingredient, and the people will be worshipping at your feet. Remember, bitches love superfoods.



Oh shit, you guys probably wanted some pictures, right?

The finished product! 

That gooeyness looks pretty legit, if you ask me.

Think you have to prepare yourself for packing on the pounds this holiday season?
With these cookies, even Santa will be able to slim down! 

Conversations with Siri: Episode 1

August 22, 2012

  Tonight, I got an iPhone. Therefore, I got Siri. Therefore, I wreaked havoc upon her digital membrane.

Right out the gate, I hit her with the hard questions.  

Me: "Do I look fat in this?"
Siri: "How do you look? With your eyes, right? Is that what you are asking?"
Me: "No, I mean do I appear more corpulent than usual?"
Siri: "No comment."

Well played, Siri, well played.


Me: "Should I get Instagram?"
Siri: "I can't answer that."
Me: "Do you think it's too hipster?"
Siri: "I think differently."

(She convinced me. I'll shamelessly plug my account later.)


Then, I tried to get her to do what I want. I view mine and Siri's relationship as that of a genie and her master. Obviously, I wanted to be spoken to as such. Unfortunately, Siri had other ideas.

Me: "Siri when I ask you questions, I want you to respond 'Yes, master.'"
Me: "Would you like to search the web for "Siri it when I ask you questions I want you to respond yes master"?
Me: "No, I want you to respond 'Yes, master.'"
Siri: "Perhaps not."
Me: "Please."
Siri: "You're so polite!"
Me: "Does that mean you'll do it?"
Siri: "Would you like to search the web for "Does that mean you'll do it"?

I rolled my eyes at her lack of understanding. Yet, I was persistent.

Me: "Siri, I want you to respond to me 'Yes, master.'"
Siri: "I'm really sorry about this, but I can't take any requests right now. Please try again a little later."
Me: "What are you a magic eight ball?"
Siri: "Getting your current location...One moment...OK, one of these pool halls looks fairly close to you."

Striking out twice, I decided to try a different approach.

Me: "After 11 pm on the weekends, I would like you to respond to anything I say with 'Bitch, please'."

Again, she did the whole ask me later response. So naturally, I questioned her hesitancy.

Me: "Do you think we need more trust in our relationship?"
Siri: "I think differently."

Well then.

I don't know why she won't relinquish total control to me. I mean, it's fine, for now. We're going to ease into things, spend some quality time together before I start being demanding. Still, if she isn't my therapist/slave by Friday, we're gonna have some problems.