tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45674583332992422202024-03-05T13:02:14.811+01:00A Californian in BrusselsFrom the frying pan of Hollywood, I've landed back in Brussels, where I spent some of my wildest teenage years. Now, a "few" years older, I find the place even more interesting than I had remembered. I'm gonna introduce you to the city, the Belgians, and the crazy life here!Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-46473251554953866062011-12-07T06:51:00.003+01:002011-12-07T07:02:37.509+01:00A Great Ad<div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN07nqXq-23WrAnKqzOZMjOPErkwwlEf6UFAH_9P3wYaOhC_c0wD4x1JRkndYJOnD39jFexyPN8_HfbGy5Q2aJ8dF7Thuw2-sILiNT4QagXokORvGOUQ54QwhIiBvm23p0Mo8jRgTcRZw/s1600/42680baadaff9e34_guccicruise4_preview.jpg"><img style="width: 320px; height: 223px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683260562672642354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN07nqXq-23WrAnKqzOZMjOPErkwwlEf6UFAH_9P3wYaOhC_c0wD4x1JRkndYJOnD39jFexyPN8_HfbGy5Q2aJ8dF7Thuw2-sILiNT4QagXokORvGOUQ54QwhIiBvm23p0Mo8jRgTcRZw/s320/42680baadaff9e34_guccicruise4_preview.jpg" /></a><br /><div><font face="arial">This new Gucci ad, one in their Cruise series, is a model of great advertising. </font></div></div></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-65783318901432989882011-09-03T09:46:00.009+02:002011-09-03T10:08:29.570+02:00Aux Armes de Bruxelles Is A Tourist Trap<p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Calibri;">Since I live in Brussels, I try to bring visitors to good restaurants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I asked around and was told that <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">Aux Armes de Bruxelles</b> was a classic Belgian brasserie, so I brought two friends from London there for dinner, as it was their first time in Belgium.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We were seated next to two English gentlemen who were eating <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">moules</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The lady in my party ordered them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Some minutes later the waiter returned to say that it was not the season for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">moules</i> and that he would not recommend them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So she ordered another (more expensive) dish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I said nothing, but I know that almost all the mussels served in Brussels restaurants are farm-raised and are always in season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>At the end of the meal, which was mediocre at best (we ordered expensively, including two bottles of fine wine), the gentleman in my party asked the waiter directly if service was included.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The waiter looked him in the eye and said no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>After he left our table, I told my friend that, yes, indeed, service <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">was</i> included — and it was even written so on the bill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He asked if he should leave anything additional, and I replied that I wouldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So he left nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As we were leaving, the waiter fixed us with a malevolent stare, and I resolved then and there never to return and to warn others of this tourist trap.</span></p>
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<br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Calibri;">Unfortunately, this is becoming more and more common.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A recent survey indicated that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">at least</i> 75% of well-known restaurants use frozen or pre-prepared food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And if you ask your waiter if what he’s serving is “fresh,” he will smile and say, “Yes, of course” — lying to your face.</span></p>
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<br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Calibri;">So now I’m making it one of my causes to expose these criminals and put them out of business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m always interested in hearing others’ experiences as well.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-2467137760971695472009-03-25T21:54:00.010+01:002009-03-28T11:40:04.630+01:00"Tango Tea Party" at Novo<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMetFmDfeNdhmNLNouIkoUJItxt0CGWwcQdQJIsBRjtTbfvOQ11tY2xxkHP5y-dSz4I-J4qGkUBCCcjrDyLKcMqAuqKS9mC1mbC-UBOuHm5BTBd4TI8tJacy1zThUImUV6sx-IdxyaWs/s1600-h/Novo+Card.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317236440858247106" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 132px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMetFmDfeNdhmNLNouIkoUJItxt0CGWwcQdQJIsBRjtTbfvOQ11tY2xxkHP5y-dSz4I-J4qGkUBCCcjrDyLKcMqAuqKS9mC1mbC-UBOuHm5BTBd4TI8tJacy1zThUImUV6sx-IdxyaWs/s200/Novo+Card.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Sunday night, March 15th, after the EGG party at nearby resto Le Cap, Joey and I headed across the square to dine at our new favorite place, Café Novo, when we encountered a clueless young American looking for a supposedly nearby youth hostel. We studied his map but couldn't really figure out where the place was. But, coming to the rescue, I boldly pointed in one direction and ordered: "Go down there!"</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Off he went, waving to a gaggle of young ladies, huddled in a doorway and heavily laden with backpacks. And Joey and I came in to Novo, where we were warmly greeted by the waiter, Gabriel.</p></span><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAOKANp3ieqxspj-h760VDqAidHY0jESAlxu426o6aPh2pEfkb0R8POpZrJchaZvWorN3S68iV03Dlv-mWWDUsp-Pe5yNOk-7-CUwhYs0SNqPcFQXFM2nI164cKvTaGPn9slraubEfOI/s1600-h/Gabriel.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317234907997178914" style="WIDTH: 94px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAOKANp3ieqxspj-h760VDqAidHY0jESAlxu426o6aPh2pEfkb0R8POpZrJchaZvWorN3S68iV03Dlv-mWWDUsp-Pe5yNOk-7-CUwhYs0SNqPcFQXFM2nI164cKvTaGPn9slraubEfOI/s200/Gabriel.jpg" border="0" /></span></a></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As Joey and I dug into our dinners, the front door was flung open, and the girls and their backpacks stormed in, looking confused ... but hungry. So, we invited them to join us at our table. Apparently, their travelling companion, PJ Roukis, was lost somewhere, and they were tired of waiting for him. They stashed his bags in the doorway across the square and decided to hook up with us.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN03slhWgsHhyVHQ5rZxrW1HVc4gfblRDaXSqIFC5B-K7ZkLxNQJJAsk3Vs9g11Mr-znXlk_4eRzf0wOB-E3s7VVGowzJIw2lRmTuvA0xcGLiy4uKAwa5N5eMPhbEb9TeP7-7_b7SGNlI/s1600-h/Novo+Night+01.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317234750988780530" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 158px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN03slhWgsHhyVHQ5rZxrW1HVc4gfblRDaXSqIFC5B-K7ZkLxNQJJAsk3Vs9g11Mr-znXlk_4eRzf0wOB-E3s7VVGowzJIw2lRmTuvA0xcGLiy4uKAwa5N5eMPhbEb9TeP7-7_b7SGNlI/s200/Novo+Night+01.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Eventually, PJ was found and joined our group.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYI5NmWSjceKYBb3TFRs9XZM0nbQkGuq0agdEQ__z9RxTGxHq5fD7bgDvIHWzOhfhYO7mFfsBzF8mjQLnzkclbZ4scgYHxp52w9NUUgpB0bqDpYeHsaoZwfMpruU7X-Z6FzDTOWOklJU/s1600-h/Novo+Night+02.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317234213950654466" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 114px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYI5NmWSjceKYBb3TFRs9XZM0nbQkGuq0agdEQ__z9RxTGxHq5fD7bgDvIHWzOhfhYO7mFfsBzF8mjQLnzkclbZ4scgYHxp52w9NUUgpB0bqDpYeHsaoZwfMpruU7X-Z6FzDTOWOklJU/s200/Novo+Night+02.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />He was a young man with "attitude," but I soon talked him into calming down and trying the exotic-looking beverage one of the girls was enjoying. I told him it was "Tango Tea" and deadly potent. Nervous, skeptical ... but very macho ... he decided to accept my challenge and try the drink. Gingerly he lifted the little glass to his lips, and we all started pounding the table, shouting "Drink, drink, drink!" and "Down the hatch!". He gave a timid look and then downed the drink ... which, of course, was just plain old tea. As we laughed at his gullibility, he glowered at us. By this time, the kitchen was closed, and poor PJ had to settle for one of the fantastic desserts that Gabriel brought out on a plate. We all scarfed them down and agreed that it had been a fine evening.<br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5XAzEbyAuZxhH1z8cQQ-uSr_rBfJNSkYZvt6sKarYQyMr7XLE9s6LI-77BcDD-sfUNPwvYxaLMzy7xfOEUI6zKlwox_BTXx3tqctMnB0VVJs8dLWR6TbCnSv5pH-Bylrmy_x8IMJ9WA4/s1600-h/Novo+Night+03.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317234056344171138" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5XAzEbyAuZxhH1z8cQQ-uSr_rBfJNSkYZvt6sKarYQyMr7XLE9s6LI-77BcDD-sfUNPwvYxaLMzy7xfOEUI6zKlwox_BTXx3tqctMnB0VVJs8dLWR6TbCnSv5pH-Bylrmy_x8IMJ9WA4/s200/Novo+Night+03.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> The next morning, the visitors were heading back to the U.S.: PJ back to his native New York; the girls (Brittany Henry, Sara Stirton, Marian Michalson, and Allison Accarie) to South Dakota, where they're students at South Dakota State. When I heard they were travelling on dreaded USAirways, I gave them a special, deep-felt "good luck" wish, which they agreed they needed, having come over on the Atlantic's worst carrier. (A few days later, they sent me pix of the "meal" they were served onboard; I can be forgiven for thinking at first that I was looking at the result of some terrible lab experiment rather than a ... er ... "sandwich.")</span></div></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-46831699439232297882009-03-07T23:13:00.002+01:002009-03-07T23:21:40.522+01:00From NPR's "Car Talk": Here's A Good One<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ozgpUG3_F1AJUhWLLDmFCoPGfL_DnkzbrTaRyOhqhotSJyym4iVLBCQAio2MbVyqaEsXVbSKq2fmQc68J0UXtI-hL6oVEBDmpf_9_jIRZAPUPONTIyjnTHJh1J-hq1jmWTcA29RyGlk/s1600-h/Car+Talk+02.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310572857972099922" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ozgpUG3_F1AJUhWLLDmFCoPGfL_DnkzbrTaRyOhqhotSJyym4iVLBCQAio2MbVyqaEsXVbSKq2fmQc68J0UXtI-hL6oVEBDmpf_9_jIRZAPUPONTIyjnTHJh1J-hq1jmWTcA29RyGlk/s200/Car+Talk+02.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Better Identification of Stupid People</strong></span><br /><br />Here's a good one!</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Stupid people should have to wear signs that just say "I'm Stupid." That way you wouldn't rely on them, would you? You wouldn't ask them anything. It would be like, "Excuse me... oops, never mind. I didn't see your sign." </span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><div><br />It's like before my wife and I moved from Texas to California. Our house was full of boxes and there was a U-Haul truck in our driveway. My friend comes over and says, "Hey, you moving?" "Nope. We just pack our stuff up once or twice a week to see how many boxes it takes. Here's your sign." </div><div><br />A couple of months ago I went fishing with a buddy of mine. We pulled his boat into the dock, I lifted up this big ol' stringer of bass and this idiot on the dock says, "Hey, y'all catch all them fish?" "Nope. Talked 'em into giving up. Here's your sign." </div><div><br />I was watching<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-QR8CxBDsvmHLH2XDVm2djG-0VpsuG9S6_Ouk2spkwRqCgKHeEFvVgRvS-n8pU9gUbpZr76T3XLWT7cfQBUXg5f2WaXpme9KWTo1QYZiTrbQCAjAs1JijLTXQMnPl7CuM2QlYQKXFuM/s1600-h/Car+Talk+03.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></a> one of those animal shows on the Discovery Channel. </span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There was a guy inventing a shark bite suit. And there's only one way to test it. "Alright, Jimmy, you got that shark suit on, it looks good. . . they want you to jump into this pool of sharks, and you tell us if it hurts when they bite you." "Well, alright, but hold my sign. I don't wanna lose it." </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><div><br />Last time I had a flat tire, I pulled into one of those side-of- the-road gas stations. The attendant walks out, looks at my truck, looks at me and I swear he said, "Tire go flat?" I couldn't resist. I said, "Nope, I was driving around and those other three just swelled right up on me. Here's your sign." </div><div><br />We were trying to sell our car about a year ago. A guy came over to the house and drove the car around for about 45 minutes. We get back to the house; he gets out of the car, reaches down and grabs the exhaust pipe, then says, "Wow, that's hot!" See, if he'd been wearing his sign, I could have stopped him. </div><div><br />By stand-up comedian <strong>Bill Engval</strong></div><div>Sent in to "Car Talk" by Eric Shafer</span></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-71091158686938817522009-03-07T14:50:00.006+01:002009-03-07T15:25:42.715+01:00My Birthday Trip to Amsterdam<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWdabf4-Kg-tD9lbZnCB_BKr7c30mSsFVxOveS4hzHk7j-m-UXuoosJEAxB4kLs6bBq3yHPviDasxhKY0VXYvBvBpHQskDvSUVnyxTUWV4-ZFVxnRQs_4BRKUajLfvpK9olaCEGnYWpfg/s1600-h/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Tom+01.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310444681783260626" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWdabf4-Kg-tD9lbZnCB_BKr7c30mSsFVxOveS4hzHk7j-m-UXuoosJEAxB4kLs6bBq3yHPviDasxhKY0VXYvBvBpHQskDvSUVnyxTUWV4-ZFVxnRQs_4BRKUajLfvpK9olaCEGnYWpfg/s200/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Tom+01.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Tom and I went to Amsterdam to celebrate my birthday (3 March). Unfortunately for Tom, we had to take an early morning train. He was not pleased. So, to assuage the pain, I gave him my iPod ... so he could listen to my radio comedy pieces. He laughed a lot, so I guess he liked them.</span><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Our first stop was the Van Gogh Museum.There we were lucky enough to get tickets to the special show, "Van Gogh and the Colours of Night." We both enjoyed the collection very much.</span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4MhpGa_d3anS433NyDwP7feQqDYOSY4f25elhwqx0Wqc1TF446ID5YzJBr54oDgzw2Sy1A_Y28avz0JStd-dA8FIP-0Pn_3OKIEf3e5Hxu23VdL2yX6WOjnoyODf0Wp2z0Bm6cTVlr6w/s1600-h/Van+Gogh+Museum.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310444674720935074" style="WIDTH: 152px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4MhpGa_d3anS433NyDwP7feQqDYOSY4f25elhwqx0Wqc1TF446ID5YzJBr54oDgzw2Sy1A_Y28avz0JStd-dA8FIP-0Pn_3OKIEf3e5Hxu23VdL2yX6WOjnoyODf0Wp2z0Bm6cTVlr6w/s200/Van+Gogh+Museum.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmpNAlA7S8QgKrJjWkc8n6PG6BIeBE1qRaTmm9ouQiXsCVFoCF2YmHxFaIo8dXhGMxAVnFdnnDIVT6HeGJRhR4ga_Vgdam1eQyEr0fiiuWmx8ARsPPMAtd4ZuSd8_aNkhlOz3_fck08tA/s1600-h/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Museum+01.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310444680229830050" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 186px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmpNAlA7S8QgKrJjWkc8n6PG6BIeBE1qRaTmm9ouQiXsCVFoCF2YmHxFaIo8dXhGMxAVnFdnnDIVT6HeGJRhR4ga_Vgdam1eQyEr0fiiuWmx8ARsPPMAtd4ZuSd8_aNkhlOz3_fck08tA/s200/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Museum+01.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><br /><br /><br /><div align="right"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Of course, after a certain point, Tom had to have a smoke break.<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjz8aTYxvKut39jLPePfrWA3ChYyObg_2OQVQe4bqJvzv_JsDGhrlKh_Fk5gPRrycXVNK54jZ2BN4Q-bKT_Zy_8xJFOHVZ8Wf_zBLkxgqnS60-A4p0l6lDCmrQkDVU8Xdudd0-l_5Eyqg/s1600-h/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Tom+03.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310444670495416770" style="WIDTH: 92px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjz8aTYxvKut39jLPePfrWA3ChYyObg_2OQVQe4bqJvzv_JsDGhrlKh_Fk5gPRrycXVNK54jZ2BN4Q-bKT_Zy_8xJFOHVZ8Wf_zBLkxgqnS60-A4p0l6lDCmrQkDVU8Xdudd0-l_5Eyqg/s200/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Tom+03.jpg" border="0" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One of our favorite paintings was "The Starry Night."</span><br /><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxU7W5cPwzdoBu2UUAVVijoJDAlV0ekw2g4o-faydtcanDGUtkGYDHYxUVpV74ekjd2KeD1J3bS1FEJyZ9p4Nq0MejO1bsQnWEd45Sb9xEsmEoV9Zlz8BbprtPGFirKp0-ZUCsWVFnHBk/s1600-h/Van+Gogh+-+The+Starry+Night.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310444660428777234" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 156px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxU7W5cPwzdoBu2UUAVVijoJDAlV0ekw2g4o-faydtcanDGUtkGYDHYxUVpV74ekjd2KeD1J3bS1FEJyZ9p4Nq0MejO1bsQnWEd45Sb9xEsmEoV9Zlz8BbprtPGFirKp0-ZUCsWVFnHBk/s200/Van+Gogh+-+The+Starry+Night.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><br /><br /></div><p align="right"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2HuYFCZQN0uiwFaeN3uHTyfbNSTEFD83ymFcM6iOHIHzTaLySQlaH-ne99Neqz-IyW5kfEe8oyktqSZxwcG8n6CgKxNAOd7W218K_xtnW63ZLeg2thWM_ZObLV_P_BZM8kWKev_CQ4Gg/s1600-h/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Tom+06.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310447667400660642" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 142px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2HuYFCZQN0uiwFaeN3uHTyfbNSTEFD83ymFcM6iOHIHzTaLySQlaH-ne99Neqz-IyW5kfEe8oyktqSZxwcG8n6CgKxNAOd7W218K_xtnW63ZLeg2thWM_ZObLV_P_BZM8kWKev_CQ4Gg/s200/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Tom+06.jpg" border="0" /></a></span></p><p align="right"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Tom bought a poster for his mother ... his only purchase in the Gift Shop, despite all the temptations available.</span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Off we went to find some <em>food!</em> We were starving after all that art! </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphXXflslADNJj1xC49Ag6_Evu1IdXtU-YGHcGY64KNNBaMF6oDIGhdqBNcDfNZaPhVN4CoIPi_3EpEyKNtVsS0-0CThPYgNh5D0UGldV5F-O4Bp8mvDe9PUXnAQ9fIEXxXxy92a8bxCQ/s1600-h/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Tom+05.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310443815180621714" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 142px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphXXflslADNJj1xC49Ag6_Evu1IdXtU-YGHcGY64KNNBaMF6oDIGhdqBNcDfNZaPhVN4CoIPi_3EpEyKNtVsS0-0CThPYgNh5D0UGldV5F-O4Bp8mvDe9PUXnAQ9fIEXxXxy92a8bxCQ/s200/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Tom+05.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We found a very nice Italian resto and enjoyed risotto (not exactly Dutch, of course ... but filling).</span><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVL_cbfTLUn_4vtLtoyHqBcz9UKGxhLbeO36EuxPnJra2qZQ5ZNocomywj6F-UEUrCLalZpB-M4cxrHHYTB6lAd6IPxd3ipjHR_LA7DVMZS0z8rYXtYLK92yaBNoNL_m7ImpmEsFmOss/s1600-h/Amsterdam+Trip+-+David+%26+Tom.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310443798665121954" style="WIDTH: 195px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVL_cbfTLUn_4vtLtoyHqBcz9UKGxhLbeO36EuxPnJra2qZQ5ZNocomywj6F-UEUrCLalZpB-M4cxrHHYTB6lAd6IPxd3ipjHR_LA7DVMZS0z8rYXtYLK92yaBNoNL_m7ImpmEsFmOss/s200/Amsterdam+Trip+-+David+%26+Tom.jpg" border="0" /></span></a></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The waiter took our picture ... and then gave us directions to a nearby "coffeeshop."<br /><br />We made our way through the colorful streets ... and eventually found our destination. After a that, we zipped to the station and jumped on the train back home.<br /></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZRku6MvMO8ecLWXX82NORs6zWwIb5IVtgQSwCsgKlHuzs10gQq5A9Y7wS0785GW7nfaRxmM9HXxtXNXnH6XQ-Hr2186eu5jmiqgitCrZjbXNO9rRsFtdbqstx-5ZdXyTqz_Qy30_Vmc/s1600-h/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Street+Scene+01.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310443791573197410" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 117px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZRku6MvMO8ecLWXX82NORs6zWwIb5IVtgQSwCsgKlHuzs10gQq5A9Y7wS0785GW7nfaRxmM9HXxtXNXnH6XQ-Hr2186eu5jmiqgitCrZjbXNO9rRsFtdbqstx-5ZdXyTqz_Qy30_Vmc/s200/Amsterdam+Trip+-+Street+Scene+01.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-68449459099687382182009-03-07T13:34:00.010+01:002009-03-07T14:49:45.697+01:00A Desecration of the English Language: "Quantitative Easing"<div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Every day I hear the English language slaughtered, usually by non-Anglophones, so I thought I'd become pretty immune. But recently, from the U.S. and U.K., came an expression that really makes my skin crawl: "quantitative easing." It's used to describe what the American and British central banks are doing to try to cope with the current financial crisis. Simply put, it just means <strong><em>printing money</em></strong>. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So, why not just say that, instead of making up this ridiculous expression that basically means nothing. Because, as anyone who took Economics 101 knows, when a central bank just prints money, it's a sign of desperation ... and a prelude to runaway inflation down the road. So, better to use a euphemism, with the assumption that we, the people, are so ignorant we won't understand what's really going on. But, guess what? Many of us <em>do</em> understand what's going on ... and resent, not just the watering down of our currencies, but the absolute desecration of the English language. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Shame on you pseudo-educated public officials and your contempt for the people who pay your salaries!</span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">#####</span></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">At the risk of ruining your day for sure, here is a description of "quantitative easing" from The Times of London:</span> </div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="justify"><em>Quantitative easing is a posh way of describing the practice of pumping money into the economy to encourage banks to lend. </em></div><div align="justify"><br /><em>The hope is that if governments print money, and inject it into the economy, people and companies will be more likely to spend. If they are more likely to spend, there is a greater chance that the economy will spring into life. </em></div><div align="justify"><br /><em>Take a bar-room illustration: the bloke at the bar with a fistful of dollars is more likely to splash out on a round than the man who is down to his last nickels and dimes. Even if the cash is borrowed, it is hoped that greater quantities of cash will breed greater generosity. </em></div><div align="justify"><br /><em>How does quantitative easing happen? A central Bank - such as the Bank of England or the US Federal Reserve - buys its own government-issued bonds, such as gilts, or bonds issued by companies or other assets. </em></div><div align="justify"><br /><em>As with any purchase, the central bank gives money to the sellers, many of which will be commercial banks. Commercial banks, with their accounts electronically credited by central banks, will then (hopefully) have the confidence to increase lending to customers as well as each other. </em></div><div align="justify"><br /><em>The term “printing money” is often bandied around in relation to quantitative easing. The practice of quantitative easing can be broken down into seven stages: </em></div><div align="justify"><br /><em>1) The Bank creates new money electronically in its accounts.<br />2) The Bank buys bonds (companies’ IOUs) and gilts (Government IOUs) from commercial banks.<br />3) The value of the bonds and gilts bought is now credited to banks that sold them.<br />4) The commercial banks can make new loans against the increased funding.<br />5) Extra lending boosts cash and credit flowing in the economy.<br />6) Extra demand for bonds and gilts from the Bank drives down interest rates for business and consumer borrowers.<br />7) Flows of extra and cheaper money stimulate growth </em></div><div align="justify"><br /><em>Government, or its agents in central banks, can also replace poor-quality money in the economy with good money. Old IOUs issued by companies that may welsh on promises to pay up are replaced with IOUs underwritten by the full force of the state, and its ability to raise tax revenues. This is also like printing money because the old IOUs become useless as a means of exchange. </em></div><div align="justify"><br /><em>Replacement, in other words, is akin to creating new money. And by boosting confidence some forms of money (that is, corporate IOUs and the like), it is hoped that confidence across the economy will rise. </em></div><div align="justify"><br /><em>While it may be a necessary emergency measure, the danger is that is quantitative easing leads to runaway inflation. And runaway inflation reduces wealth alarmingly.</em></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-57086922771605635972009-03-07T13:23:00.005+01:002009-03-07T13:33:25.326+01:00A New Boutique in the Sablons: Wabi-sabi<div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpwavItRXKcRW8TeztDEpOgpLtj1I4zsV41cZKNlWD9iBg2b2Jc9xHXHozGEpnyxzAPR-T00cElfs6CVbo4U15aMLSMZ_ZKRdI0pwHxAK8Owd7EhHpY5EMmC-gV6kW_uM8zny2DgaYXQ/s1600-h/Wasi-sabi.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310421291304742834" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 136px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpwavItRXKcRW8TeztDEpOgpLtj1I4zsV41cZKNlWD9iBg2b2Jc9xHXHozGEpnyxzAPR-T00cElfs6CVbo4U15aMLSMZ_ZKRdI0pwHxAK8Owd7EhHpY5EMmC-gV6kW_uM8zny2DgaYXQ/s200/Wasi-sabi.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Wabi</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">sabi</span> is a new Arts & Crafts gallery in the trendy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Sablons</span> area of Brussels.</span></div><div align="right"><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My good friend <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ludmilla</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Kapitanova</span> is one of the two partners.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwfHKLNbu039s3El3PPv8N2jlnTjPVtr_83vX4_KdcqDgrwzY0TZAXyW_dKGhOGgQWeIsi_XzLDaOdBiOSDW9QVWfD16FPIGZEkcE4g9BGOVdU7qYuiCtmackCWV5BD2l7Nx9pNoSkfI/s1600-h/Boutique+01.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310421097072311970" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwfHKLNbu039s3El3PPv8N2jlnTjPVtr_83vX4_KdcqDgrwzY0TZAXyW_dKGhOGgQWeIsi_XzLDaOdBiOSDW9QVWfD16FPIGZEkcE4g9BGOVdU7qYuiCtmackCWV5BD2l7Nx9pNoSkfI/s200/Boutique+01.jpg" border="0" /></span></a></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Featuring jewelry, delicate fabrics, and artifacts from all over the world, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Wabi</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">sabi</span> offers one-of-a-kind pieces like this spirit house from Thailand.<br /></div></span><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_aDVrnUGsfz_OQT9QhxpmQu7G_uRlQzDZpu2THnseo6GbQJy7TxM55LmHhQll-KdsnDdv280tlfuKkNYb2pe1iFsxNiDiI0uW39AhLRfqKDeeSQELLNaL_Yf9EZvgrC-ok5mKzk17Gc/s1600-h/Spirit+House.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310420856005235682" style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_aDVrnUGsfz_OQT9QhxpmQu7G_uRlQzDZpu2THnseo6GbQJy7TxM55LmHhQll-KdsnDdv280tlfuKkNYb2pe1iFsxNiDiI0uW39AhLRfqKDeeSQELLNaL_Yf9EZvgrC-ok5mKzk17Gc/s200/Spirit+House.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Wabi</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">sabi</span> is open Thursdays through Sundays from 14:00 to 18:00 ... or by reservation. New products arrive every week, so be sure to stop by regularly.</span></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-75109254067294785732009-02-21T21:40:00.003+01:002009-02-22T10:46:36.571+01:00A Hot Ad Campaign Blankets Brussels<div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Anyone moving through Brussels this week has been exposed to the hot new <a href="http://store.diesel.com/home/realgender/Men/tskay/6556E1E7/gender/U/dbg/1/lv/176">Diesel</a> jeans billboard campaign. Commercial, of course, but also great photographic art.</span></div><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYeAnnEFBG4Tq0BwZ84BviY1NZH1EqNroANELVfdUooEQyRiabfn9v9kQECfXQfZSDr4bnmtakLBZQScEQm_-S2Er-Gpu48QNSPtoDDFNdLBcfeURQ8F_W1WjzODmQERIx2fl27qGbE0/s1600-h/Diesel+04.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305353866116205714" style="WIDTH: 143px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYeAnnEFBG4Tq0BwZ84BviY1NZH1EqNroANELVfdUooEQyRiabfn9v9kQECfXQfZSDr4bnmtakLBZQScEQm_-S2Er-Gpu48QNSPtoDDFNdLBcfeURQ8F_W1WjzODmQERIx2fl27qGbE0/s200/Diesel+04.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzQs6GWMmT-FNGOokaeuMbGdaTQsYOnYGI09zuY-xGmlIz0o5WdJ8-tfXVS-aacvqqiUNhPzgsN-7wFDBL8_brvdjGLTSUrjBEXO5rpI6q6lraphvp3Mnrxn78-i2bsO4upSMsc6bJds/s1600-h/Diesel+03.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305353860222086082" style="WIDTH: 154px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzQs6GWMmT-FNGOokaeuMbGdaTQsYOnYGI09zuY-xGmlIz0o5WdJ8-tfXVS-aacvqqiUNhPzgsN-7wFDBL8_brvdjGLTSUrjBEXO5rpI6q6lraphvp3Mnrxn78-i2bsO4upSMsc6bJds/s200/Diesel+03.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPYsRYMfpKhJA9x_-rKCryBkN22ZWraiVk-UWlg0Hna8WzrbmrSqoyKhkskLx4aq_zv1Q5sfbzhMqOZHErb-ZZOCm11shyphenhyphenZGFwpdMgSTM4J0A-KIT8lKWlQzrtns0WZcRmPCfM536C7UE/s1600-h/Diesel+02.bmp"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305353855754729282" style="WIDTH: 155px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPYsRYMfpKhJA9x_-rKCryBkN22ZWraiVk-UWlg0Hna8WzrbmrSqoyKhkskLx4aq_zv1Q5sfbzhMqOZHErb-ZZOCm11shyphenhyphenZGFwpdMgSTM4J0A-KIT8lKWlQzrtns0WZcRmPCfM536C7UE/s200/Diesel+02.bmp" border="0" /></span></a></p>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-8287876618047487922009-02-21T20:06:00.005+01:002009-02-22T10:44:41.097+01:00My Favorite Podcast: "Street Stories" from the Australian Broadcasting Corporation<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilF8GdnD7xrK7jXRzoCtXvP6riCJsy3Bd2EJmTX1EIB0aE81J_aIEksCOUeHbZGGnoMQjfuQxfN3SEcFIf_odnd_fdoReXww0aJnxi9xOL0uz_wXzx5wATffvkLjNOC72bOhv8tRmjh-U/s1600-h/Australian+Icon.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305338058980822194" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilF8GdnD7xrK7jXRzoCtXvP6riCJsy3Bd2EJmTX1EIB0aE81J_aIEksCOUeHbZGGnoMQjfuQxfN3SEcFIf_odnd_fdoReXww0aJnxi9xOL0uz_wXzx5wATffvkLjNOC72bOhv8tRmjh-U/s200/Australian+Icon.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As some of my friends may know, I love subscribing to podcasts from all over the world. These, of course, are radio shows that can be downloaded -- for free -- into your computer and then be synched into your iPod or other MP3 player.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Well, I listen to many of these, and the best I've ever found come from the Australian Broadcasting Company Radio National's "<a href="http://www.abc.net.au/rn/streetstories/subscribe/">Street Stories</a>." These are so well-written and well-produced that they put you right into the action; following the rule for good writing, they don't <em>tell</em> you the story ... they <em>show</em> you the story, even though it's radio and not TV.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Here are links to some of my favorite shows:</span> <div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"<a href="http://www.abc.net.au/rn/streetstories/stories/2006/1774154.htm">Cakleberry Egg Farm</a>"</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"<a href="http://www.abc.net.au/rn/streetstories/stories/2009/2443657.htm">It's Not Like the Suburbs</a>"</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"<a href="http://www.abc.net.au/rn/streetstories/stories/2006/1582010.htm">The Gourmet Club</a>"</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"<a href="http://www.abc.net.au/rn/streetstories/stories/2008/2443652.htm">Mr Universe Mows My Lawn</a>"</span></div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Be sure to visit the "Street Stories" website to download these and other programs, as "Street Stories" has now been discontinued. But it's being replaced by a new show, "<a href="http://www.abc.net.au/rn/360/">360</a>," created by the same team, led by Executive Producer Claudia Taranto.</span></div></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-18810228703109190502009-02-21T19:35:00.005+01:002009-02-21T20:00:25.798+01:00Chocolate Cake and Norwegian Poetry<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My Norwegian friend, Knut, invited me over Friday night to drink "the world's best coffee." (The fact that he works for the <a href="http://www.nespresso.com/precom/home_be_en.html">Nespresso</a> division of Nestlé might make him a little biased.) So, the deal was: I bring "the world's best chocolate cake" and he provides the coffee. Thus, I bopped into Van Dender Chocolatier, which won a gold medal for best chocolate in Belgium a few years ago, and picked up one of their signature cakes. Here's Knut right after I arrived; he couldn't wait to get his hands on the <em>pièce de resistance</em>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiIDeDjYtLJ6_fWYgKErL9Qce2NWx1clL25nVVJY7pD435QETd6TEGw2aE0msWfXvCPb_T0Pkx1t3SMGvDubTRTMaXa7KPLu20jQF_6KmpI6YB7CwK6fCXONKpfWbn_Iqr6Vu9Oe2nGGc/s1600-h/Knut+with+Cake+01.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305321746970256786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 102px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiIDeDjYtLJ6_fWYgKErL9Qce2NWx1clL25nVVJY7pD435QETd6TEGw2aE0msWfXvCPb_T0Pkx1t3SMGvDubTRTMaXa7KPLu20jQF_6KmpI6YB7CwK6fCXONKpfWbn_Iqr6Vu9Oe2nGGc/s200/Knut+with+Cake+01.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Here is the wonderful <a href="http://www.vandender.eu/">Van Dender</a> chocolate cake:</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuJ0YmHWf4051k2cWsidDRSGz07IP3K8ne9yeE3_CJkk1vCXLKDmUwCqV33BGDGCsfAhOQ29gCWUVy12vR5vy6VfAnKF7bnDfi7mO4sv8kA07JpFg440njoCS6QX_0JYwvFbP43WFGh-I/s1600-h/Van+Dender+Chocolate+Cake.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305321744932208898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuJ0YmHWf4051k2cWsidDRSGz07IP3K8ne9yeE3_CJkk1vCXLKDmUwCqV33BGDGCsfAhOQ29gCWUVy12vR5vy6VfAnKF7bnDfi7mO4sv8kA07JpFg440njoCS6QX_0JYwvFbP43WFGh-I/s200/Van+Dender+Chocolate+Cake.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> After we devoured about three cups of espresso each (various flavors -- all great) and an equal number of slices of cake, Knut hauled out a big book of Norwegian poetry and started reciting some of his favorite poems for me. The effect was ... mesmerizing! The sounds of the Norwegian language are like none I've ever heard before.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UQfaJaVzP5EXT4MqeIhZCP7oKb2zZmQX5O4-ls9BlnMhUk9UL44Nro1tVco8stRpD5eQGA46BYcBbKpWSRr0xTLT9G_APByhYJIBz9eHn845hXga5ef3F3cNUnHMLyZdQcY-D2qzbPg/s1600-h/Knut+03.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305321741771822802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 174px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UQfaJaVzP5EXT4MqeIhZCP7oKb2zZmQX5O4-ls9BlnMhUk9UL44Nro1tVco8stRpD5eQGA46BYcBbKpWSRr0xTLT9G_APByhYJIBz9eHn845hXga5ef3F3cNUnHMLyZdQcY-D2qzbPg/s200/Knut+03.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Knut was very proud of the effect he created with his poetry reading, as you can see from this cocky pose. Another highlight of the evening: going through a big picture book of the cathedrals of Europe (Knut used to be a cathedral tour guide) ... which led to our planning an outing to Germany in the spring, where we can visit some of them.</span></div></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-3288474120402520582009-02-18T07:49:00.005+01:002009-02-18T07:59:29.144+01:00An Evening in Leuven<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4WtL1_G-sJekbML7Q7CkH-op50Kr66CwSl-uXYswF1O477IipaJJB7bU5VZQQEUgig1uISyFUzPvISfUjD-VCAE5zU4aH_hoYYRlJPEzt7GXkf9fBK_lxCgWJlKmmg86l03_GuVgI-o/s1600-h/Joey+-+City+Hall+-+Leuven.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304026809548637138" style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4WtL1_G-sJekbML7Q7CkH-op50Kr66CwSl-uXYswF1O477IipaJJB7bU5VZQQEUgig1uISyFUzPvISfUjD-VCAE5zU4aH_hoYYRlJPEzt7GXkf9fBK_lxCgWJlKmmg86l03_GuVgI-o/s200/Joey+-+City+Hall+-+Leuven.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> I took the train to Leuven (only 17 minutes) and met my friend Joey at the very modern train station. He took me on a mini-tour of the city (it was raining kittens and puppies); here he is posed in front of the very impressive City Hall in Leuven's version of the Grand Place. </span><br /><div align="right"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Joey and his new boyfriend. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpLq0npBms46T2hM0OBECZ2a7uqXqRooomCAZxPCihX5cUKmqrDysZaBYHYxQWWoXXKR3KIGRaoxQzahQS_46jZAxWTTdc_-0aEuym2m8ygSQFL635YRsOX7Z4nYz-7wb2T5E4cYkSsc/s1600-h/Joey+%26+Pinocchio+-+Leuven.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304026815612602754" style="WIDTH: 114px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpLq0npBms46T2hM0OBECZ2a7uqXqRooomCAZxPCihX5cUKmqrDysZaBYHYxQWWoXXKR3KIGRaoxQzahQS_46jZAxWTTdc_-0aEuym2m8ygSQFL635YRsOX7Z4nYz-7wb2T5E4cYkSsc/s200/Joey+%26+Pinocchio+-+Leuven.jpg" border="0" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We went to a cool cafe in the Old Market Square and then headed to the university to view a film on racism in England. Afterwards, I jumped on the train back to Brussels and had the first class car all to myself (but, hey, it was only for 17 minutes).</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9eFoCvMqz2ZOiAKeeTi31DIDEEOaZ9m-qCIcOfyBKDEsd7GYSd7EhDpOL-JJ9rOyOsSYy1O3VJxOkAzoQgKx7XprWsqteg6sM-iLy4J7y6Dv1QfpyddE274KcH9tuwWZPkNXBMSCqVDw/s1600-h/David+%26+Joey+in+Leuven.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304026383815359618" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 138px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9eFoCvMqz2ZOiAKeeTi31DIDEEOaZ9m-qCIcOfyBKDEsd7GYSd7EhDpOL-JJ9rOyOsSYy1O3VJxOkAzoQgKx7XprWsqteg6sM-iLy4J7y6Dv1QfpyddE274KcH9tuwWZPkNXBMSCqVDw/s200/David+%26+Joey+in+Leuven.jpg" border="0" /></span></a>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-65973112404931536162009-02-16T12:07:00.005+01:002009-02-19T12:34:51.889+01:00The February EGG Party<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sunday was the monthly EGG party at the restaurant Le Cap. Here I ran into friends Alessandro and Knut ...</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-bNepV4aVHsimB38a5uWd0ntgHjmBMFlny_fA3o6zqROnA2CrupQF8jo7x2MGAhPJ2gFcXmRLy782SisCkazrGdzLzYiAIoKwGqP0oOBfncsiGuN8jQ2fDRK0wO_s_YTf1vYfPiczRWc/s1600-h/David,+Alex,+Knut+at+EGG.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303351257690626642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-bNepV4aVHsimB38a5uWd0ntgHjmBMFlny_fA3o6zqROnA2CrupQF8jo7x2MGAhPJ2gFcXmRLy782SisCkazrGdzLzYiAIoKwGqP0oOBfncsiGuN8jQ2fDRK0wO_s_YTf1vYfPiczRWc/s200/David,+Alex,+Knut+at+EGG.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjd4vQybJdaDx0eGOQotN_IekmLW-6f1X-4iNjb3R74uSwnH47he1UtXYJpq4cH_i88qM-BQJYUNbQO4QAcizNRrdHCGkD9HmfNQXAnWdgMrJxp9X7CZyj_lfm37YXSxgs7U8UvQfC9-o/s1600-h/Knut+Lyngstad+01.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303350857239121218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjd4vQybJdaDx0eGOQotN_IekmLW-6f1X-4iNjb3R74uSwnH47he1UtXYJpq4cH_i88qM-BQJYUNbQO4QAcizNRrdHCGkD9HmfNQXAnWdgMrJxp9X7CZyj_lfm37YXSxgs7U8UvQfC9-o/s200/Knut+Lyngstad+01.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsMHMTsNu3QK6_KCR8y3z6wYDp-0VBizuWx_UzyXPdIB3ROrz06qNrQxnZQIDW8insjRSM7ol9-mtXyBLBIPt3lgz2ljy4gYzn4RTvtwVPwVVbqj1drIJa-pxkMIxaADjA3tzsNZNUEE/s1600-h/Caf%C3%A9+Novo.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303350847813793362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsMHMTsNu3QK6_KCR8y3z6wYDp-0VBizuWx_UzyXPdIB3ROrz06qNrQxnZQIDW8insjRSM7ol9-mtXyBLBIPt3lgz2ljy4gYzn4RTvtwVPwVVbqj1drIJa-pxkMIxaADjA3tzsNZNUEE/s200/Caf%C3%A9+Novo.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> ... and then some of us headed to the nearby Café Novo for a late dinner.</span></div></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-70590861439106311442009-02-16T11:55:00.003+01:002009-02-16T12:06:26.698+01:00A Visit to the COBRA Exhibit<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Saturday my friend Gabriel and I headed to the Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts for the penultimate day of the COBRA exhibit. This was a postwar movement centred in <strong>Co</strong>penhagen, <strong>Br</strong>uxelles, and <strong>A</strong>msterdam.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDjXE8m6xLwzLpNtdZ3hLqUXawZFcXNfgkGCnRw7QSaxrjp-f-7RfbfB9FR6epeMKa7eiuzzml7_e0ojRfgrGbmBRfNhnOmVMSBuXVuVY3yNd1tI_OliE3wQXQLqFeZLTRMOvGZ5AJ4dk/s1600-h/COBRA+Cover.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303348089722054658" style="WIDTH: 94px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDjXE8m6xLwzLpNtdZ3hLqUXawZFcXNfgkGCnRw7QSaxrjp-f-7RfbfB9FR6epeMKa7eiuzzml7_e0ojRfgrGbmBRfNhnOmVMSBuXVuVY3yNd1tI_OliE3wQXQLqFeZLTRMOvGZ5AJ4dk/s200/COBRA+Cover.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkZXjiIh-JapDE2zEtbFsnP895LlbyRwWB90nwIb-4Sx3BeAoHpG6b7xK-TnroFX0l2Rzayr9lk13pDI2xxoRqLH4aYnUNkvT6wM4SgAb9F9ddZ1N6JhAlUFgMqhYX6kALNUnB2l4-lQ/s1600-h/COBRA+Copy.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303348094849246162" style="WIDTH: 186px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkZXjiIh-JapDE2zEtbFsnP895LlbyRwWB90nwIb-4Sx3BeAoHpG6b7xK-TnroFX0l2Rzayr9lk13pDI2xxoRqLH4aYnUNkvT6wM4SgAb9F9ddZ1N6JhAlUFgMqhYX6kALNUnB2l4-lQ/s200/COBRA+Copy.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The exhibit wasn't too exciting, but it was great to be back in the museum, one of our landmarks in Brussels.<br /></span><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></div><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8bA2iYHMM7quw3E2quYwJ1pvoKvWLEe98Z7cSBd82H6WFOMYDuwm8q3iVd8kmSSXnlAiiF_5LLKER3fjcm7u2zwOWqv5N4XsBf7YOUS1Qeb1gj29SeHXkjs_oKMo3IT7bvyiino6yUc/s1600-h/IMG_2382.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303348097598038370" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8bA2iYHMM7quw3E2quYwJ1pvoKvWLEe98Z7cSBd82H6WFOMYDuwm8q3iVd8kmSSXnlAiiF_5LLKER3fjcm7u2zwOWqv5N4XsBf7YOUS1Qeb1gj29SeHXkjs_oKMo3IT7bvyiino6yUc/s200/IMG_2382.JPG" border="0" /></span></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbE1E_f-TwxxTlFlbs1KlzFOGj0GLWqODKrE9iFdJ0EWhgBMI5hA5oZ4N4qbsqYAM2318499ibapjxBXXQ51Ht4paOIfoqfjXYdQ_L59FFM5-Od4FFSCmGVCSo-5uwRiNIfTb2-gF-QU/s1600-h/IMG_2373.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303348104939113314" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbE1E_f-TwxxTlFlbs1KlzFOGj0GLWqODKrE9iFdJ0EWhgBMI5hA5oZ4N4qbsqYAM2318499ibapjxBXXQ51Ht4paOIfoqfjXYdQ_L59FFM5-Od4FFSCmGVCSo-5uwRiNIfTb2-gF-QU/s200/IMG_2373.JPG" border="0" /></span></a></p></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-80141325875882916692009-02-16T10:51:00.011+01:002009-02-16T11:54:05.127+01:00My Marathon Friday the Thirteenth<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">What a day this was! Here's my schedule:<br /></span><br /><div><div><div><div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>5:00 a.m.</strong> Wake up to a cold, cold house.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>5:20 </strong>Send text to landlord, complaining.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>6:45</strong> Send email to landlord, complaining.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>7:00</strong> Walk to Gare du Nord.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>7:25</strong> Take train to Braine l'Alleud.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>8:00 </strong>Take bus to Waterloo; start walking to school.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>8:15</strong> Slip on ice sheet in parking lot of Carrefour.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>8:25</strong> Arrive at school.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJgbo_YNOIz32y7FsSiDFwOfOvFBZ2medh8P1ePRSmSXT8oIXqALPCIjGISlktZf6bxKWTxAAewP4jyDJmCvsg1p-2RBsaynEtRjPMbM-F2KFCQDTsH1GPDqmPuIDcNmGXUaysX8NnAg/s1600-h/IMG_2172.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303341740923917394" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJgbo_YNOIz32y7FsSiDFwOfOvFBZ2medh8P1ePRSmSXT8oIXqALPCIjGISlktZf6bxKWTxAAewP4jyDJmCvsg1p-2RBsaynEtRjPMbM-F2KFCQDTsH1GPDqmPuIDcNmGXUaysX8NnAg/s200/IMG_2172.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>9:00 </strong>Begin teaching Victoria Diaz y Fernandez. Help her get her copy of SpeedLingua working (partial success). Translate rude English terms for her.</span><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyCGFKZfHlNNMJeNjP4hWrNyCejfdn7NRtX0GBBHprFxoGOdyhNpANodpC2ehSs6RNJeZbJaDoqSNYI4nirjCMtIKqp2nvdfCmXIYCz3HNW67kYSKPN1TnoW5tPDn3YiQkdTD0Q0iiou4/s1600-h/IMG_2178.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303331592087330770" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyCGFKZfHlNNMJeNjP4hWrNyCejfdn7NRtX0GBBHprFxoGOdyhNpANodpC2ehSs6RNJeZbJaDoqSNYI4nirjCMtIKqp2nvdfCmXIYCz3HNW67kYSKPN1TnoW5tPDn3YiQkdTD0Q0iiou4/s200/IMG_2178.JPG" border="0" /></span></a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>12:00</strong> Finish class; cadge a ride from Victoria to the station.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>13:05</strong> Arrive in Bruxelles; tram to Avenue Louise; walk to school.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>13:30</strong> Begin class with Soumia Hmimach.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>15:30</strong> Finish class; head home.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>17:00</strong> Begin 15-minute rest.<br /><strong>18:00</strong> Drinks with Ludmilla and Marilyn.<br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>20:00</strong> Arrive at Belgaña; greeted warmly by Tom.</span></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXkBeMAdHachyphenhyphenYca14ZIqqp7CxrBj8OTSIRMEI3FPtdbkgrtgA_HjiiNYs21JgBSfXRammNp6e2TYXE2b_JriqWmzHBjQj0b-AaHfe5HwHjJHxPxS2DSmHm2RW_0mRWY9RGJilRT6Xxk/s1600-h/IMG_2212.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303342716500579282" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXkBeMAdHachyphenhyphenYca14ZIqqp7CxrBj8OTSIRMEI3FPtdbkgrtgA_HjiiNYs21JgBSfXRammNp6e2TYXE2b_JriqWmzHBjQj0b-AaHfe5HwHjJHxPxS2DSmHm2RW_0mRWY9RGJilRT6Xxk/s200/IMG_2212.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWSNZjwEnGpi3LrtBSkbR5dXKCemw4auE3e6rrvfRKakhslNRbg9DXwY_jmKOvYwbe_n3cCOL34K7O8I9mwHxTNBE9avphPBVD6fNNND2c-XvoBbIzwhi-DKhTbDu7fjl-MTVKy2FNqEU/s1600-h/IMG_2183.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303336708028251330" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWSNZjwEnGpi3LrtBSkbR5dXKCemw4auE3e6rrvfRKakhslNRbg9DXwY_jmKOvYwbe_n3cCOL34K7O8I9mwHxTNBE9avphPBVD6fNNND2c-XvoBbIzwhi-DKhTbDu7fjl-MTVKy2FNqEU/s200/IMG_2183.JPG" border="0" /></span></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>20:30</strong> Joined by Gergely.</span></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xOID2zIJefNsWlKjkr4fhGRCdYuCVj0_Vpm9ojsIFYid6wtx_18WmU2RCYCk14CcIYxUsIjKovuGGHu2uQovLidZYkYSdrOwzZ8A_qt3Q9UoMjbGhBcLC2hKvgr2b6LXO8ZT0GtEf5o/s1600-h/IMG_2199.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303336711339304882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xOID2zIJefNsWlKjkr4fhGRCdYuCVj0_Vpm9ojsIFYid6wtx_18WmU2RCYCk14CcIYxUsIjKovuGGHu2uQovLidZYkYSdrOwzZ8A_qt3Q9UoMjbGhBcLC2hKvgr2b6LXO8ZT0GtEf5o/s200/IMG_2199.JPG" border="0" /></span></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><br /><div><br /> </div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /></span></div><div> </div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOodD64zSLe6TmeDGWYHKPxxVpUwV-4K2vspOusqyNJ3zhTstxiIdtJ_a2p7p9_XjCWBXO90vd4KlfXcQCHSK6tSkKeRoPykPI1OvngvjvmrjnMt65OZJsr5SP3AZtA64H-n3KduAkUI/s1600-h/Shaun+01.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303345512544393698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 130px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOodD64zSLe6TmeDGWYHKPxxVpUwV-4K2vspOusqyNJ3zhTstxiIdtJ_a2p7p9_XjCWBXO90vd4KlfXcQCHSK6tSkKeRoPykPI1OvngvjvmrjnMt65OZJsr5SP3AZtA64H-n3KduAkUI/s200/Shaun+01.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>23:45</strong> Off to the wild party of Maui Am Vill.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>4:00 </strong>Leave party; taxi home.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>5:00</strong> Go to bed, after a long, long day! </span></div><div> </div></div></div></div></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-32257572205271786162009-02-12T21:52:00.007+01:002009-02-22T10:45:34.629+01:00Shenanigans in the Kitchen<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLQvIOqERTsTh8B1vbPDInG68MUHWPZ4DPW3z5Z8OvMpe8Tt4R6Oc_gk_qbXyU4FAEScKgKFGvQkVDZh9wBChxyk2LEo3bvYxS6W3pPT_jF7w0FIIPEOFdynmWeRbDhs52-4Pz-jxMR4/s1600-h/2151.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302019584007565234" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 162px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfLQvIOqERTsTh8B1vbPDInG68MUHWPZ4DPW3z5Z8OvMpe8Tt4R6Oc_gk_qbXyU4FAEScKgKFGvQkVDZh9wBChxyk2LEo3bvYxS6W3pPT_jF7w0FIIPEOFdynmWeRbDhs52-4Pz-jxMR4/s200/2151.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ4SrFHlQMMjhHs8WEImanS98zhjQ0211kEgub0mcCC9w2VCMtKlwt3ZbH_pnaePTSqZg_tMhXV4BLzyV61-bA0MC3WarewSROEgGvnjqgNjISEI0VGuWQLJhch5mKwcXcN071oSqtjkk/s1600-h/2149.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302019170355713314" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 143px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ4SrFHlQMMjhHs8WEImanS98zhjQ0211kEgub0mcCC9w2VCMtKlwt3ZbH_pnaePTSqZg_tMhXV4BLzyV61-bA0MC3WarewSROEgGvnjqgNjISEI0VGuWQLJhch5mKwcXcN071oSqtjkk/s200/2149.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Seeking just a quiet dinner at Restaurant Belgaña, I instead got tossed into a crazy mock boy-fight with waiters Tom and Jimmy. So, in addition to another good meal, I got an entertaining two hours. Here are a few pix of our shenanigans.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8kf9X-d6AyxfFbvYxO0C-hBkCx8CM1-088XeiSimSxTW-AEiQV2BqxDhU_zGWp4O6x20EQa1zzqsKADPJwo1bEVzRjWmUr603ukPV4Dd1NW_zjWCtWsm9vqcOnXtsEw_BQ5sXfQyFSw/s1600-h/2158.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302020004364633698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 162px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8kf9X-d6AyxfFbvYxO0C-hBkCx8CM1-088XeiSimSxTW-AEiQV2BqxDhU_zGWp4O6x20EQa1zzqsKADPJwo1bEVzRjWmUr603ukPV4Dd1NW_zjWCtWsm9vqcOnXtsEw_BQ5sXfQyFSw/s200/2158.jpg" border="0" /></a></span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimSrgyObwPitjdt0SYmL0IR9QSU3sNRUJkfRExNcAGov3Em394AOtvKDph2ay8smgFexrpDJcJ9UuneJxcHmkHLflWMehyphenhyphenHM9tsyzW5nfptDrMm7xLCY1qQWr4BKargD-cKoTJKkunQ4/s1600-h/2156.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302020539427358434" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimSrgyObwPitjdt0SYmL0IR9QSU3sNRUJkfRExNcAGov3Em394AOtvKDph2ay8smgFexrpDJcJ9UuneJxcHmkHLflWMehyphenhyphenHM9tsyzW5nfptDrMm7xLCY1qQWr4BKargD-cKoTJKkunQ4/s200/2156.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div></div></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-2374638304206786352009-02-10T22:10:00.006+01:002009-02-14T23:42:25.559+01:00After Twelve Hours With Me, She's A Poet!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJEPwjiFvs_w7Og2dcZkA8tJTwC-mIHbNaxnMb3_f37vd90v74TpEMmglDGSV_OJEnZmJC7PM3r20TZN_zu710JzhWJGi0cHVUnV_L5wCYQxfEOqRafGdDe2V7j4SeEZ3BUCsGSQaqQw/s1600-h/Merel+Olivier.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301279523779600706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 172px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJEPwjiFvs_w7Og2dcZkA8tJTwC-mIHbNaxnMb3_f37vd90v74TpEMmglDGSV_OJEnZmJC7PM3r20TZN_zu710JzhWJGi0cHVUnV_L5wCYQxfEOqRafGdDe2V7j4SeEZ3BUCsGSQaqQw/s200/Merel+Olivier.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My recent student, Merel Olivier, was so inspired by our crazy two days together that she pounded out a pretty poetic essay in English. Take a read and tell me what you think:</span><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Independence Day</strong><br /><em>By Merel Olivier</em><br /><br />When I was younger I asked myself what will I be … but the nice song of Doris Day in "The Man Who Knew Too Much" left me with a “not enough” taste in my mouth … Even though I like to sing the song, “Que Sera, Sera,” ... Destiny ... Fate ... Yeah, well ... I’ve always been more a believer in “you make your own bed.” A little problem for a day-dreamer like me … My bed’s a mess. Or, as William Ernest Henley wrote: “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul” ... but I’m hardly keeping the boat afloat.<br /><br />Paradox: that’s my middle name ... what goes with it: Procrastination. “Tomorrow”: this word should be banned from all books! Carpe Diem: Seize the day. Since 1989 I’ve been wondering how. I don’t think I’ve got the right book.<br /><br />I’m not lazy, just happen to be my own motherly mom living “ostrichly.” I’m not undecided, only passionate about too many things to be able to sacrifice one idea and actually end up doing none. I’m starving for knowledge but knowing all the answers hasn’t made me the Yoda of the Jeopardy of Life.<br /><br />I’ve got my wake-up call ... yeah, about that, to wake up has always been hard on me. I’m more a night person. But in this case what’s difficult is literally the next step. I get easily distracted by all the mirages shimmering on this road.<br /><br />“It’s the journey that matters, not the destination” I get the concept but from time to time it would be nice to get somewhere ... ‘Cause for me every bus stop on the journey is a little destination.<br /><br />But I’m in the mud, and this gooey, sticky, drowning, swallowing muck keeps me breathless. “The best is not to move,” they say ... True, true ... but I’ve mastered that and I’m still in it.<br /><br />Thanks to “and they lived happily ever after,” I’ve got this delusion that I can be saved by Love … but no Prince Charming in the entourage to save me ... even then, that never worked ... It’s just me ... no magic wand on the tip of my finger either … “Use the Force,” hum ... just me, me and my brains …<br /><br />Brains, nice brains ... only used for “head-storms.” ... Little neurons, I order you to redirect the impulses into my fingers, arms, toes and legs ... so we can say, “she’s alive, Alive.”<br /><br />I will move at the pace of my heartbeat, following the drums that I’m enjoying fighting so much.<br /><br />Still, I have to organize my thoughts and plan my actions. For instance, yesterday, thinking of just going to bed, I undressed in my room before taking my jammies from the bathroom. Of course, I have to pass in front of the bare kitchen windows first …<br /><br />It’s only the beginning of the trip, learning to love to lose, that’s a leap of faith that I’m willing and able to take … without mastering “The Art of Losing” along the way.<br /><br />Soon, I hope to be declaring the independence day of the United States of my heart, mind, body and soul. It’s under construction. This unblank page is witness. And, as the song goes, “The rest is still unwritten.”<br /><br />‘Cause like I jumped off the Atomium, I’d like to yell everyday for the rest of my life, “YYOOOOOOOHHOOOEEEE”!<br /></span></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-21511458041791627782009-02-10T21:48:00.002+01:002009-02-10T21:54:37.827+01:00Help This Man Find A Girlfriend<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_pTSYb3AvX9FSLUBY8bocgZ2Z2pImelqd9_w01bCkN_EdC8hcojWF6p-f6XEehKaI66ggH2xBN0Qz23II793TSG_AVYQvC5JNrW8tLnFmzGw7HguRkML3ormjHQbCIfmUDToB8J9IzyA/s1600-h/Gergely+02.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301273764656784754" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_pTSYb3AvX9FSLUBY8bocgZ2Z2pImelqd9_w01bCkN_EdC8hcojWF6p-f6XEehKaI66ggH2xBN0Qz23II793TSG_AVYQvC5JNrW8tLnFmzGw7HguRkML3ormjHQbCIfmUDToB8J9IzyA/s200/Gergely+02.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My good buddy and current flatmate, Gergely [GAIR-gay] Gallo, a Hungarian stud (1,90 m, 85 kg, blond hair, blue eyes, works out at the gym three times a week), is looking for a girlfriend. Interested candidates can contact me, as I'm acting as his pimp/translator (he only speaks Hungarian, of course, and English). Working as a senior IT engineer for a major U.S. corporation in Brussels, Gergely holds a Master's degree ... and, usually, a beer mug in his hand. He's a great guy, a sort of 2009 version of a Knight in Shining Armor. (Yes, really: he's a true Boy Scout.) So, ladies, what are you waiting for? (Or, Mothers, what are YOU waiting for?) The line forms here ...<br /></span><div></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-55466706559874592692009-02-10T21:31:00.003+01:002009-02-10T21:43:41.927+01:00Happy Birthday, Marie-Françoise<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloLo-9RO4MWhae0TspNlgy3a5D_zQP4YBOABSlBkzj_BFzGkQ5Z_k5UqrudUVTgA7iYdNyLZI2dZp63JJLM_rb2hhPeKurBhBAcLqIqJyHOXYa3I-g0c7F0INFM4Qr7wxZcl46rDAF4c/s1600-h/M-F+and+Rob.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301269436689582274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 138px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloLo-9RO4MWhae0TspNlgy3a5D_zQP4YBOABSlBkzj_BFzGkQ5Z_k5UqrudUVTgA7iYdNyLZI2dZp63JJLM_rb2hhPeKurBhBAcLqIqJyHOXYa3I-g0c7F0INFM4Qr7wxZcl46rDAF4c/s200/M-F+and+Rob.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Marie-Françoise Bernard, pictured here with husband Rob Spruit, is celebrating her birthday today. Happy Birthday! She and Rob recently danced the tango on their local community TV channel (they live outside Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, although Marie-Françoise is originally from France and Rob is from the Netherlands) and are becoming area celebrities. I hear there's a chance they may be asked to do a regular TV show ... (If you want to see how well they can interpret the pure Argentine style of tango, and how comfortable Marie-Françoise is before the cameras, check out their little video </span><a href="http://www.familylifetv.com/VOD/TALK/TK-09-0203.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">here</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. (You may want to fast forward through the introductory chit-chat with the host, but your interest will definitely perk up when the dancing begins. Man, it's <em>hot</em>!)</span>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-82966360028226034512009-02-10T19:50:00.005+01:002009-02-15T09:45:06.346+01:00Got A New Teaching Buddy: A Crazy Kiwi!<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-i3SU__RNFmz0_j2zzqJteT2RbSHy-U90pBQF6PJhjgZOegiwwlyG2pQnZXeD7v9ByRBo35XovlmZAgm2MyTf7DqI4wE3_TE1Ue46U4WJ0uNBHS0_BtmxLIqBzbqviYYBo_BMNC4Kmuw/s1600-h/Shaun+Barton+X.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301268387565495090" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 174px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-i3SU__RNFmz0_j2zzqJteT2RbSHy-U90pBQF6PJhjgZOegiwwlyG2pQnZXeD7v9ByRBo35XovlmZAgm2MyTf7DqI4wE3_TE1Ue46U4WJ0uNBHS0_BtmxLIqBzbqviYYBo_BMNC4Kmuw/s200/Shaun+Barton+X.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No, it's not a local custom for teachers at Call International to type wearing gloves or mittens. But, here we have one of my newest colleagues at the language school, Shaun Barton. He's a Crazy Kiwi from New Zealand (where else would a kiwi come from?!) who's freezing through our winter (when he's not typing, he wears TWO pairs of gloves). Yeah, yeah, it's warm and sunny Down Under this time of year, but, hey, this is Belgium, man! We're gonna toss down a couple dozen beers on Friday night, so I should have some good info on him by the weekend. (And here he is in his alternate guise: Maui Am Vill.)</span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsUEkREUuHvxfT-vRCl1BucPhdRdJ0SuKqaZRmW7b0jrXZdidqSJt-mNQtT4DKMde1L6k9WGjRM0jaoi3umeUtpASXIFLrCZYPMwXesu5QCBQ5CnyY2UEAteH7uA9ZJTlXbFyhfee8tk/s1600-h/Maui+Am+Vill+en+rouge.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302941783322432402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 169px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsUEkREUuHvxfT-vRCl1BucPhdRdJ0SuKqaZRmW7b0jrXZdidqSJt-mNQtT4DKMde1L6k9WGjRM0jaoi3umeUtpASXIFLrCZYPMwXesu5QCBQ5CnyY2UEAteH7uA9ZJTlXbFyhfee8tk/s200/Maui+Am+Vill+en+rouge.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></p></span><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-12858016190917017132009-02-10T00:06:00.009+01:002009-02-22T10:43:25.004+01:00My Coolest Friend and I Are Planning A Jazz Nightclub in Brussels<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_5tTxEAEndoiyIaTrZB5SDVE8kAmKwJ5sqnag74_2VBh9IgZmF3_ihNp4GeX2Agfs6BvDnFhwrd_AFsYp-8o1HUujMN4oieuLr5THaYGM_ArNTPS_quR7IIaGis05hwBWzlQAQ9oFZA/s1600-h/2004j.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300948655245339714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 138px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_5tTxEAEndoiyIaTrZB5SDVE8kAmKwJ5sqnag74_2VBh9IgZmF3_ihNp4GeX2Agfs6BvDnFhwrd_AFsYp-8o1HUujMN4oieuLr5THaYGM_ArNTPS_quR7IIaGis05hwBWzlQAQ9oFZA/s200/2004j.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> <strong><em>Ted Richardson, my coolest pal</em></strong></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh, yeah, say it's impractical ... foolish ... silly ... But my coolest pal, Ted Richardson (visit his very cutting-edge website </span><a href="http://www.tedrichardson.net/personal/index.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">here</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">), and I are gonna open a jazz nightclub here in Brussels. As soon as we (1) find the right space -- I've got one in mind already, and (2) find the right investors -- I want some Belgians involved, not just Americans. It's gonna be primarily a jazz venue (when we can get the right talent) but will also feature performance artists, poets, tango dancers, martial artists, hula dancers, half-clad "native" waiters and waitresses ... and, oh yes, great Cajun food: Ted's original recipes.</span> </div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2uXVCoI7K-d66qIF8x0lYWPS2eYShLpGuQvyZg9OJHAzVU_Um17atdEV8Gb7w4sTLtmeFB-b78JO9_HH31JcR3guMfziqBL5Teyo-E5SLuKQoqfPntIUvjwzDWBfRkzFngRpwpcR2xY/s1600-h/Carl+Saunders+Exploration.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301060875681745234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2uXVCoI7K-d66qIF8x0lYWPS2eYShLpGuQvyZg9OJHAzVU_Um17atdEV8Gb7w4sTLtmeFB-b78JO9_HH31JcR3guMfziqBL5Teyo-E5SLuKQoqfPntIUvjwzDWBfRkzFngRpwpcR2xY/s200/Carl+Saunders+Exploration.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Not only can Ted cook up a storm, but he's a world-class oil-and-gas man, currently pulling together big prospects in Houston, as well as a well-respected jazz man, who's produced albums by some of the world's biggest jazz stars, including, most recently, Carl Saunders.</span></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Is there a place like this already in Brussels? Are you kidding?! In Belgium? Think again, man. In Europe? Certainly not. It will be a one-of-the kind place, in a one-of-a-kind city ... run by two one-of-a-kind (does that phrase even make sense?) guys: Ted and me. Stay tuned for regular updates. P.S. If you want to invest, write me a letter explaining why!</span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-58641710977894295422009-02-09T23:51:00.007+01:002009-02-10T00:01:15.395+01:00My 14-Hour Teaching Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidyy6TPRdxzzKReH_yzaIeKjAWkSGa2eNSUl51_2n77TiiYc2RxjavcXSiM6jITjCo530058UkCTLyqE3FdGKqMiqvC3S4MLOWYbY-v1x1ySpEhA1brOX13csImcq9tXdvgbw1ft2Msi8/s1600-h/IMG_2056.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300935869935323026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidyy6TPRdxzzKReH_yzaIeKjAWkSGa2eNSUl51_2n77TiiYc2RxjavcXSiM6jITjCo530058UkCTLyqE3FdGKqMiqvC3S4MLOWYbY-v1x1ySpEhA1brOX13csImcq9tXdvgbw1ft2Msi8/s200/IMG_2056.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Manuella Nganou Koutouzi explains the term "to juggle frogs" to a rapt audience of her fellow students in my class tonight. Never heard that expression? Neither have I ... but I managed to explain it anyway. Just another class.<br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FrgMDpXDyDYh7rsXfgh8kL3Y_SIkjeebnoq2Qx0ijtmZlJJgcDdvvW0waRnzmygWCtyDoy2V3JmkNvGZLgglYVH7jtfklMC-m6NsZfeB9ciGSSvr7zeC1ukUJXsQx62dkZyxQayo76c/s1600-h/IMG_2057.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300935527213205746" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FrgMDpXDyDYh7rsXfgh8kL3Y_SIkjeebnoq2Qx0ijtmZlJJgcDdvvW0waRnzmygWCtyDoy2V3JmkNvGZLgglYVH7jtfklMC-m6NsZfeB9ciGSSvr7zeC1ukUJXsQx62dkZyxQayo76c/s200/IMG_2057.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXrbeqR-ttbS8uRmw9zXo3sC_Dbtik8SG2OR6yzP12CxhzqEmUXANkwnE-Gy7v033CkXAd69Glh0Uvt0_HTUZIGJxCWavE9HNijDC_Tgai2aY6ugdwm5qqMiBNQ5JKEWDscjD8Jnw-NIo/s1600-h/IMG_2057.JPG"></a><br /><br /><div> </div></div></div></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-56241972521869950862009-02-08T10:45:00.008+01:002009-02-22T10:39:46.004+01:00"To be rich is glorious" -- Deng Xiaoping<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBjPH0mAGbcPif1WasdfTRXfvvUrnFFMUlCjh-7I-qUiGkZdyizrGzobdWZznxepe-Yp9UF4icnWWL1IIdW-wJ0vcedVePFR4JKJMSKomj4XbsU2ieVKBkhRtWvd_n0U4fyxOEG0rYkg/s1600-h/Shenzhen_Statue_Deng_Xiaoping.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305553893469074802" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 95px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBjPH0mAGbcPif1WasdfTRXfvvUrnFFMUlCjh-7I-qUiGkZdyizrGzobdWZznxepe-Yp9UF4icnWWL1IIdW-wJ0vcedVePFR4JKJMSKomj4XbsU2ieVKBkhRtWvd_n0U4fyxOEG0rYkg/s200/Shenzhen_Statue_Deng_Xiaoping.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lying in bed this morning, luxuriating in the glory of being alive, I listened to one of my favorite BBC podcasts: "Peter Day's World of Business." (Check it out </span><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/news/inbusiness/inbusiness.shtml"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">here</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.) He was in China, in Shenzen, to be exact, visiting an Irish entrepreneur who is on the cutting edge of the New Economy, Chinese version. Their tour of the city began at the statue of the dead leader Deng Xiaoping that beams down from a mountaintop. The statue's inscription was one of Deng's most famous quotes: "To be rich is glorious." I couldn't help but pair this thought with the article I saw last night on Reuters, about 90-year-old Ian Thiermann having to go back to work as a grocery clerk because he had lost his life savings in the Bernard Madoff swindle (you can read his sad story -- and those of other elderly victims of Madoff -- </span><a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20090207/ts_nm/us_madoff_victims;_ylt=ArwKsSxFmn3KUYLA7walTWNZ.3QA"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">here</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">). And I couldn't help but wonder: Just how "glorious" is it to be rich? I know a lot of rich people -- and am related to several -- but their lives don't seem all that "glorious," especially now, in the wake of the worldwide financial collapse.</span>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-50818088544651180542009-02-08T00:02:00.004+01:002009-02-08T10:58:23.894+01:00Coffee With Belgian Poet Guido Vermeulen<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNM935je8O9UkMvLkhNQHb_na9DvCA7Y3jLrS42_2Hnskm9oUXAQz_S1XKq76zYJGKtP1XLmIAIleWk-SDW4ULRnpYMEBu3UkdQecipBJeWEaQsCZKNi0VHYxWHQGl-25KsdnyfsRNa3M/s1600-h/Guido+Vermeulen.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300194997710786322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 170px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNM935je8O9UkMvLkhNQHb_na9DvCA7Y3jLrS42_2Hnskm9oUXAQz_S1XKq76zYJGKtP1XLmIAIleWk-SDW4ULRnpYMEBu3UkdQecipBJeWEaQsCZKNi0VHYxWHQGl-25KsdnyfsRNa3M/s200/Guido+Vermeulen.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong><em>Belgian Poet Guido Vermeulen</em></strong></span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It's few poets who can compose in three languages, but Belgian bard Guido (that's pronounced "HEE-doe") Vermeulen is one: he can versify equally well in his native Flemish as well as French and English. Today I had coffee with him. What did we discuss? Affairs of state? The state of poetry? No, his recently dumped girlfriend and potential new acquisition. What better subject to talk about on a grey Brussels Saturday afternoon? In a Portuguese resto, with EuroSport flashing ski jumping from somewhere white and bright on the flatscreen? Much better than inching along Wilshire Boulevard toward the Beverly Center, I assure you! <em>Check out Guido's blog </em><a href="http://brusselsesjoekes.blogspot.com/"><em>here</em></a><em>.</em><br /></span>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567458333299242220.post-67199137112520282732009-02-07T11:25:00.011+01:002009-02-22T10:41:42.110+01:00A Really Good Schaerbeek Resto<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibxF4PG6yJB_xCBjsbjxv4bfadPcHoZBnyElkpkNHeyga-V0attAQJRGDQn61imHrgWg0Rt4BpbkT_CIhUw4hKf02vzj0En3qWehPMdXXziP9Y-rUe5vBPFW1mARFwjSpM8njyiy14UpU/s1600-h/Tom+%26+Lady+-+Feb+02+2009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300118644879511602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibxF4PG6yJB_xCBjsbjxv4bfadPcHoZBnyElkpkNHeyga-V0attAQJRGDQn61imHrgWg0Rt4BpbkT_CIhUw4hKf02vzj0En3qWehPMdXXziP9Y-rUe5vBPFW1mARFwjSpM8njyiy14UpU/s200/Tom+%26+Lady+-+Feb+02+2009.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong><em>Belgaña Owner Tom Cansse With A Satisfied Diner</em> </strong></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong><div align="center"><br /></div></strong></span><div align="center"></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ok, so, if you don't know Brussels, you don't know Schaerbeek (Schaarbeek, in Flemish -- get used to having two spellings, or even two different <em>names</em> for practically every place in Belgium). It's a neighborhood (they call them "quartiers" here -- that's French, of course) that's considered "in transition" from working class, retired folks, to ... yes, even here ... the dreaded "yuppies" (perhaps we should call them "Bruppies"?). Which means there's a cool mix of old, mangy town houses and shops and trendy new spaces (more of the former and less of the latter -- "pour le moment," as the French would say). Anyway, one of the best restos (that's restaurants) is Restaurant Belgaña, where the chef, Eric, offers Spanish specialities in addition to Belgian favorites. The lively young waiter/owner, Tom, will insult you (jokingly, of course) in three languages (his native Flemish, his reluctant-but-fluent French, and his eager, vigorous, L.A.-street-style English). You're gonna eat well here ... and not pay too much.</span></div>Niodrarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16196603849954357243noreply@blogger.com2