Change Your Life Today

“Change your life today. Don't gamble on the future, act now, without delay.”

Simone de Beauvoir

Okay, so I've known for a long time that I can't live in The Netherlands for much longer. It's the mantra I've repeated to myself for years. I can never tell if it's gotten better or worse. I used to wake up every morning in a panic. For years, I woke up panicking every morning. Flight syndrome. Is this another one of my posts that I will wind up regretting in a few days? I wanted to write about Max Weber, the Protestant work ethic, and how it has a stranglehold on Dutch society. Why is it that I can't bring myself to like it here? I've tried so many different things. I've taken advantage of a lot this country has to offer, but I still feel spurned.

It's a race against the clock now. Even though, for some reason, Blogger has the date all wrong, my Tuesday post says it was posted on Monday, I still have to get this out. I put myself under this obligation to "post everyday in November." It's the "post everyday month." Of course, who the hell cares, right? I'm not obliged to follow anyone's edict. I'm not sure that I even like blogging much anymore. It's not going to get me out of The Netherlands.

Once, years ago, I was talking to a friend in New York about moving to Europe. He laughed and said, "Then you'd be moving to a place with a bunch of people who are more like you than you are." I just kind of winced at the time. Europe seemed like such a better place, but it hasn't proven itself to be in the nine years I've been here. (It's a great place to take a vacation, I won't deny that.) The people are more Calvinist than Calvin for one thing. What you have marks your quality as a person. I think I'd feel more at home on an Indian Reservation in the American Southwest, or in China. I've often thought that about China. At least then I'd have a clear demarcation line. I'd know where I stood. I'd know from the get go that I was an outsider. But my great grandmother was born in Utrecht. I'm Dutch, but I'm not to any of "them." After moving here I understand why they all left. I should have known better, and never "come back" to a place my ancestors were wise enough to leave. My great grandmother's father had a good job in Utrecht. He was a typesetter. Still, he left with his family, and never set foot in his birth country again, and neither did she.

Yesterday there was an article in the newspaper about how the Dutch government is considering making DNA tests mandatory for immigrant children and partners of non-Westerners. There's so much paranoia going on here, it's remarkable. How they could actually make it mandatory for anyone to hand over her DNA is beyond me. Speaking of civil rights violations. They also want to ensure that foreigners coming into the country to marry a bonafide Dutch swear their alliegiance to Dutch society over any other society. It won't be long before they start discussing procdures to plant chips into our brains.

Most people don't realize it, but The Netherlands is the most policed country in Europe. There are cameras everywhere.

I'm a believer that these anti-foreign attitudes translate over to all people from other places, not only people with dark skin. I feel it all the time, and I'm not alone. I often wonder where this society is headed. It's like the chill before the storm, in my eyes.

In the United States I heard African Americans say, "all whites are racists. Even if they say they aren't, they are, by definition." Sometimes I think the same about the Dutch. They're all xenophobic. However much they deny it, and claim open-mindedness, they're all a bunch of xenophobes. Of course, I don't know many actual Dutch. Perhaps I'll be proven wrong someday if I'm stuck here for another nine years, I might actually succeed in building friendships with a few Dutch people, and they'll prove me wrong. It hasn't happened so far. I'm still waiting. I've been snubbed too many times to make any more overtures to anymore flesh and blood Dutch, so I'll just sit back, and keep safe for now.

I've been on the train to Germany and Belgium when they've checked passports of all the dark people, but of no white people. I agonized over my decision to bring both of my passports, and they didn't even check me. I could probably travel through Europe by train without any ID, I'm so white. They wouldn't suspect me of being an illegal. Of course, I'd have to keep my mouth shut. In fact, we're required by Dutch law to carry ID with us at all times. So my passport's getting a little dirty these days sitting in my purse. I could get a Dutch ID card, but then I'd have to pay about 40 Euros, something I'd refuse to do. I'd rather have a dirty passport.

Trala. I made the deadline. Another day. Another post. Even if it is a vitriolic one. Perhaps one of these days I'll write more on Max Weber. I'll be in Munich soon, so perhaps I'll become inspired by my surroundings. If I recall correctly, he was born there. Of course, Fassbinder was also from Munich.

I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry

Ah, Hank Williams. Last time we were in Utah we took a ride on the Heber Creeper, a wood burning steam train that runs from Heber to Provo, and back. If you want to catch a glimpse of this train in action, I'd recommend watching the Robert Redford picture, A River Runs Through It, where that train is featured.

On our way back from the fun ride peopled with family members who love me, we stopped into a diner right out of a Hollywood film, right on Center Street in Heber. I played a few songs on the jukebox, Hank Williams among them. I knew the name, but didn't know much about his music. I hadn't realized what a great artist he was.

It took me a while, but I finally checked out a Hank Williams dvd from the library in Rotterdam, and I'm glad that I did. I've started listening to Patsy Cline, Willie Nelson... Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow up to be Cowboys.... I'm so Lonely I Could Cry... I've never felt like such a lonely cowboy as I have these years among the icey hearted Dutch. There are many days when I'd be only too glad to settle into a four bedroom house in Springville, UT.

One of my readers from New York City, who I'll identify as Mtt Vscvi, made the suggestion that I give people in the USA an idea of what it's like living in The Netherlands. Well, MV, I can't vouch for anyone else, but here are some examples:

After sitting on the playground at my kid's snotty school in Rotterdam all choked up, and on the verge of tears because no one there ever acknowledges my existence, I gathered my children together, and headed toward the Metro. On my way down a typical Rotterdam street, strewn with dog shit and garbage, I encountered a group of middle-aged Moroccan men. There were other people on the street, typical white Dutchmen, some of whom were engaged in loud construction work. One of the Moroccan men smiled, or nodded. Then he said, "What wide open eyes you have! I'd like to fuck you." To which I called him a pig in two languages. Of course, all they did was laugh at me. One of the fathers from two kids in my kids' classes walked by at this point, but of course he couldn't be bothered to do anything at all, and has never even asked me about it. Lilly-assed Dutchman. He even looks like a lilly ass. His wife wears four inch stilletos to pick her kids up from school. I guess she pulls out the whip after the kids are in bed every night.

About a month ago I went to the parent-teacher night for my daughter's class. I was looking forward to reading my book on the Metro ride over, and settled into Annie Tyler's The Maytrees, but didn't get far. It was 9/11, and there seemed to be a lot of young Muslim men out celebrating on the streets.

In the first car was a group of young Moroccan men making lots of noise singing music from their village back home, so I moved to the next car. One of them followed me. He proceeded to ask me if the Metro stopped someplace. I pointed to the map on the wall, and tried to continue reading. But he wouldn't leave me alone. He kept asking me questions. Where was I from. What was I reading. I kept trying to ignore him without seeming rude. Then he sat down right next to me in an empty car, and kept talking. "Are you scared of me?" "No. I'm reading," "I can't read English," Wow, like I care. Then he put his hand out for me to shake it. I didn't know what to do, so I shook his hand. Turns out you should NEVER shake hands with a Muslim man, because then they think it gives them the right to touch you further. I had to duck my head away from him as he tried touching my cheek and hair. Thankfully, he had to get out at this point. While he was standing at the door, he said "Why not. It's so nice," (Actually, he said lekker, which is the equivalent of delicious). Then he kept repeating "lekker" over and over again before getting off the Metro.

I got to the school a minute or two late, but was still able to get a cup of tea. When I got to the classroom and sat down, the parents were introducing themselves. After I'd introduced myself, the teacher asked in front of everyone why my daughter (four-years-old) missed school that day. In the past year I've made myself unpopular at the school for allowing her to stay at home to rest resulting in 20 absences (she was FOUR). Well, I'd probably be unpopular, at any rate because I speak English to my children everywhere. A big taboo here. I don't care. I'm teaching my children English, and I don't care if they spit on me for doing so.

In short, after being harassed on the Metro, I was accosted once again by my daughter's school teacher, a short Dutch woman who looks like a frog, for keeping her home after she woke up in the middle of the night crying with an ear ache. I told the teacher that she seemed just fine during the day, to which the teacher scoffed that I'd allowed her to "play hooky."

Oh what fun it is to live in the land of the broad minded Dutch. Children here are allowed to stay at home until they're five, and even until they're six, they are allowed to stay at home one day every week, but this law didn't prohibit my daughter's teacher from calling me out in front of everyone. How appropriate. Maybe I should have told her that I was just getting over being harassed on the Metro, and could she please leave me alone.

I'm so lonesome I could cry... My bucket's got a hole in it... Oh yeah.

Hey Thar Cowgirl...

As an American in The Netherlands I've come at times to identify with Americana I distanced myself from while a resident of the good ol' USA. One of my funnier recurrent fantasies is to come back from a visit to Utah with a brand spankin' new pair of genuine Tony Lama's, a pair of lip hugging Wrangler's, and a nice big hat. I could go back to curling my hair everyday, and wearing makeup, or I could get a perm. I could develop a bounce in my walk, and purchase a belt with turquoise inlay. Mind you, I'd need a good ol' fashioned wad o' cash to do so, but it might be worth the supreme feeling of disdain I would feel walking down the streets of Rotterdam, having made myself into a true outcast.

Most Dutch people like to pride themselves on being better than Americans, and their society as being better than America. They're constantly comparing themselves to America in the newspapers. I'm sure that they think of themselves as superior in every way to me, a lowly American without a drawl. Faced up as I have been with this attitude for the past nine years, it would be great to play right into it with one of the greatest American icons there is, the cowboy. It would be a fun way of saying "Fuck you," to all of the fun people I see regularly, but who keep their distance because I'm too different from them.

Of course, I've come to prefer wearing running shoes everyday for comfort, but I checked out the Tony Lama website, and they do have orthopedic boots. They might just be comfortable enough for long walks through Rotterdam flaunting my new identity.