Bring back happy hour after 10 pm. please!!!!

Dear Mr. Platt,

The other day you wrote me:
Hi Alicia,

I am trying to understand your comments about the Belgium beers that we serve at the Yard House.

Can you expand your explanation for me?

You are a very good writer by the way and enjoyed reading about your experiences. I have also been to Holland and agree with you 100% on the beer qualtiy and flavor. What we have here in the US is really the best we can get especially in the draft state.

Thanks,

Steele Platt
Founder & CEO
Yard House USA, LLC

steele@yardhouse.com

February 25, 2007 10:15 PM

Dear Mr. Platt,

Thank you so much for your kind comment on my writing. I thought nobody besides a few close friends even read my blogs if I am lucky so I am a little curious as to how you found my page unless you have some kind of a trigger that informs you when people are talking about your company. May I start by clarifying that I actually am a huge and loyal regular of Yard House and if you haven’t noticed, I tend to write with a huge amount of sarcasm. Erica my travel partner and I actually refused to have our going away party anywhere else besides the Irvine Spectrum Yard house because the food and martinis are seriously killer. You think I am possibly joking? Let me tell you my favorites, chicken or shrimp lettuce wraps in a crispy wonton, steak sandwich, barbeque chicken pizza, and lets see what else, recently discontinued items, Mojitos and Crystal Cosmo martinis. My friends and I seriously make it a priority when we go on little vacations like to Palm Springs to have a night at Yard house because the food quality and service is always consistently good. Now with that being said, yes the beer just isn’t the same quality as Europe. I have been told the biggest problem is that America pasteurizes the imported beer and by bringing the beer to a boil, it kills the rich flavor. If that is indeed the truth, I think this is your number one problem. In order to keep the true flavor after all the work that was put into making the beer with the right amount of wheat, fruit additions, aging etc. the beer should not be boiled because it will completely dilute it. Now my gibberish of being a beer scientist is just hocus pocus make believe garble but I don’t think it even takes a beer scientist to recognize if the beer has to be regulated this way, there are going to be major flaws in its authenticity consistency and flavor. On the other hand, I believe Yard house only serves beer in Kegs so as far as heat being infiltrated through cheap glass which would have a negative effect on the freshness of the beer shouldn’t be a problem. However, since Yard house has 150 beers on tap, I am assuming it must be difficult to keep them fresh unless they are going through all 150 kegs rather quickly, which would be difficult to do since I am sure some beers are in much higher demand than others. Nevertheless, I think if Yard house could go to it’s sources of where they purchase the beer and find out the difference of how its manufactured and transported over to local Belgium breweries vs. American Yard houses and force the manufacturer not to make alterations, than maybe this alone would solve the problem. Then again I don’t know what kind of FDA regulations Yard house must go through once bringing the beer into the US. At the same time at a domestic brewery known as New Belgium Brewery that I went to in Colorado in which makes Fat Tire, I was surprised of how delicious it was when served directly in the brewery but when it finally made it out to California years later it tasted one hundred percent more bitter. In addition, although quality is of the essence in my own individual opinion, would Americans really appreciate Yard house bending over backwards to improve the quality of the beer resulting in higher profitability for the company? I mean I know I would like it but I also am aware of supply and demand and that a business is a business, meaning its main motivation is how to increase the greens and not waste funds on non profitable projects. If its sole purpose was to only make the customers happy Yard house would still host happy hours after 10 pm. with half off appetizers like it used to for many years. Hint hint. In other words, going the extra mile to improve the flavor could backfire if the American consumers don’t appreciate the change resulting in much higher costs for the company. That being said, I do think Americans are becoming more and more savvy about food and alcohol like the Europeans and maybe it is only a matter of time that they will demand that the quality of the beer be the same as in Europe. If that becomes the case, maybe you can market advertisements on the dinner tables or window banners that state the difference on how you guys import and regulate your beers and don’t allow it to be pasteurized vs. other U.S. breweries or restaurants that don’t care. I wish you the best of luck and on a side note maybe you can have a trade off in which you teach the Europeans how to make proper martinis since yours are the best at that and they teach you guys how to keep the Europeans beer flavor true.
Warm Regards,
Alicia

Stupid American

Have you ever seen a sea of fifty thousand men? Well I sure have at the Monchengladbach German national soccer game that I gladly volunteered to attend on a fine Sunday evening. Here I think that I am going to a typical football stadium such as in America to watch a European football game, which would consist of both the female and male sexes but to my delight, I quickly discovered upon arrival that Erica and I were about the only two survivors of the female race present. Apparently soccer is only a macho man’s game in Germany. Therefore the women must be obedient housewives by staying at home ironing their husbands underwear while preparing a feast of sour crout and frikadelen for the family, then patiently sit by the fire knitting their beloved men’s socks waiting for them to come home at any hour and as drunk as they please. Yeah right, keep dreaming men! So being about the only two women at the game I thought, “Wow what a bummer, I just really detest being surrounded by a sea of men.”
Although I know Germany is absolutely insane about soccer and in my opinion is the king of soccer because they hold the most world championship titles, I did not realize that the games was watched in such grand stadiums and publicized as widely as is American football. It was so neat to learn that Monchengladbach had recruited the American national team goalie. Not to mention throughout the game he made some amazing saves leaving us Americans very proud. With a big mustard smeared bratwurst tucked into a crisp bread roll in the right hand, a German pils beer in the left, and crystal clear view in the front of the stadium of sexy German men running around kicking a ball on the grass with little cute white shorts on, I would have to say, I was on cloud nine. Not to shabby to have a German dad that is good friends with the Monchengladbach stadium’s market director and also who was once a big soccer player himself. It was unbelievable witnessing even thirty minutes before the game started, thousands of fans singing at the top of their lungs perfectly coordinated German Monchengladbach soccer chants. They did this weird criss cross thing with their arms while jumping up and down at the same time, creating a huge ricochet effect of noise throughout the entire stadium. And the flags that these people carried were about four times the size of one large dwarf. How they swung them around while singing, jumping up and down, and gulping down beer all at the same time beats the hell out of me. Now fortunately I am a complete retard and I thought the team dressed in green and orange (northern Germany) was the home team (Monchengladbach Western) thus persuaded Erica to cheer loudly for them with me. Now I thought I heard someone say to me in German “Stupid American go home that is the wrong team” but then again, my German is not up to par so he very well could have said, “Beautiful American let me buy you a yummy beer.” Either way, soon after Monchengladbach scored a fabulous cross cage goal and the fans went absolutely bezerk, did I have to admit to Erica what a complete failure I was and that we had been cheering for the wrong team. After she swiftly back handed me across the face because surely by now all the men probably hated us, I quickly regained my composure and switched over to the right side and began cheering loudly for the correct team. Final score, an even two two, and even though a boring tie, still quite an amazing experience to see such talent right before your eyes.
Watching them warm up with such stern and focused looks on their faces reminded both Erica and I off all the years of pre game warm up before water polo matches at UCI. Obviously, we did not play under such heated pressure as professional national German soccer players, but the rush of adrenaline that shoots throughout your body and waves of excitement are the same. It made me a little sad for a second thinking that even if I wanted to, I would never be able to physically handle the strenuous training of four to five hours a day like back in college polo after my accident. Mentally I am too far removed and my NCAA is far used up anyways to even consider getting back into it. But just the thought that I couldn’t is a little bit of a downer. However with that being said, on a brighter note, the next morning when I woke up I felt this sudden urge to go for a nice long run. Since I have arrived in Europe Erica and I have been going on long walks with a mixture of slow jogging for five minute stretches. This is a major improvement from November when I could not even get out of bed to even walk to the toilet without major assistance and excruciating pain. So this morning I wasn’t going to push it to the point where I have major pelvis pain as I have accidently done a few times already. Since it was oh I would say probably five degrees outside and drizzling shards of ice rain, I made sure to bundle up in a beanie, sweatshirt, gloves and so on so forth until I looked like a little brown eskimo. A few minutes later jogging alone through farm fields that stink of good old fresh horse and cow poo, listening to a mixture of Matisyahu and Damion Marley reggae, I finally for the first time felt almost zero pain in my pelvis or knee and therefore was able to continue jogging much further and at a quicker pace. To say the least, it was a great feeling knowing that with patience, determination, and an angel from up above always looking our for me, finally my body was finally coming around. And although it will probably never be as powerful as it was during my years of college polo, nor did my body ever possess the slightest chance of containing as much technical talent as the German professional soccer players, either way, it was all slowly coming back together in one strong piece, me.

Brugge Belgium

Brussels Belgium

The three gold keys

There are three main reasons why Belgium possesses the three gold keys to unlock the gates of Alicia’s heaven. No ladies it’s not the men, you have to go to Holland for that where they are all tall strong and handsome. Although, hmm I must admit they are mighty scrupulescent here as well. One, every single corner of every single street in Brussels has the most amazing little chocolate stores. Did you know that Godiva and Hagen Daz is from Belgium along with five hundred other mouth watering types of chocolates? Today from one little chocolate store I purchased three different kinds of chocolate hazelnut pieces that each individually have distinct flavors even though they are from the same family. And who doesn’t like chocolate during the time of the month? Belgium is literally, as Erica calls it, menstruation paradise I tell you! Who needs men for orgasms when you can have five hundred in one night with each delicate little bite of Belgian chocolate. Take your pick you can have creamy vanilla, smooth milk chocolate, nutty ebony or mix them all up together at once for one wild erotic night! Now I can finally understand how my own German blooded master pastry chef father has always declared that Belgium’s chocolates and deserts are far better than his own homeland. Second reason I love Belgium, because the beer is so deliciously smooth that you just want to savor it in your mouth unlike the usual gulping down bottles of bud water. For example Stela Artoi and Hoegaarden have recently become quite popular in the U.S. especially at breweries like Yard House. We Americans rave of how delicious this Belgian beer is but the sad truth is the Stella Artoi tastes absolutely nothing at all like the real one out here because in Belgium, it is so much fresher and the alcohol content much stronger. Erica and I had a recent Heineken science experiment in Holland the other day in which we discovered the same sad truth. Heineken tastes completely different in Holland than in the U.S. As a professional beer scientist and years of beer drinking, I have made the scientific conclusion that the reason for the beer flavor changing is because of how it is manufactured and bottled before being sent to the U.S. Throughout the duration of being manufactured and then transported, the beer becomes stale due to the cheap glass it is put in or the time it takes to get to the consumer, thus bitter, the color fades equaling watery consistency and flavor, the heat infiltrating through the poor cheap glass of the bottles results again in stale bitter and flavorless beer. In Belgium, there is not even a tinge of a bitter aftertaste, the consistency is fuller, and even the color is so much more golden. My personal favorite is Hoegarden because it even has a mild sweet flavor like Hefenweizen but is no where near as filling nor as sugary. All in all, I officially declare that Belgium beer is the best beer in the whole wide world and I plan on pressing charges against Yard House when I return to the U.S. for false advertising and misrepresentation of Belgium beer. And finally, the third reason why I love Belgium is because there is such an abundant fusion of ethnicities and food that you just can’t get enough. Belgium is a mix of German French and Dutch influence and although French is the dominant language the people here also speak German, Flemish, English, and many Spanish. In addition, there has recently been in the past thirty years a huge migration of Asians and people from West Africa. After all, little Belgium colonized big Western Africa for many years. Especially Brussels being the capital of not only Belgium but also of Europe and the center for the European Union, attracts people from all over the world. Therefore, can you even imagine how amazing the food is here? The first night we arrived here we indulged in a French Mediterranean cuisine that consisted of melt in you mouth pieces of lamb, cous cous, with tomatoes, and white raisons. Yesterday for lunch we had proscuitto with bre cheese baguettes smothered in pesto sauce and for dinner tonight red curry Thai chicken with vegetables, shrimp boiled dumplings dipped in soy sauce, and fresh spring rolls wrapped around shrimp and pork. I must say, tonight was probably the best Thai food I have ever eaten in my entire life. But so many tourists are mistaken by constantly eating right in front of the traps and thus pay enormously huge amounts, get shitty service, and mediocre quality. Erica and I make it a priority to ask where the best restaurants are and make a conscious effort while walking off the beaten path to check the menus so we know we have plenty of options when we return for dinner. With the chocolate, beer, and fusion of cultures I must say these three gold keys are the gate to the golden heaven of Belgium.
To add to what lies behind the golden Belgian gates, today we took a train ride from Brussels which is where we are staying, over to the little medieval city know as Brugge. The entire city is filled with one elaborate church or castle after another, cobble stone roads, elaborate statues and fountains, along with a fabulous market place with horses taking people around in carriages. Surrounding the city are canals in which you can take boat tours throughout the center. I know it sounds like a little delusional fairy tale I made up but unless someone put lsd in my coffee this morning I swear that is how picture perfect it really is. We headed over to the Groeninge museum which has a wide collection of 600 year old to present day Flemish work. I personally thoroughly enjoy Flemish Primitive artwork because I think it is so neat how these artists were so precise in capturing such fine minute details from peoples faces, parts of nature such as plants and flowers, luminescent coloring radiating anywhere from the flesh tones to the gold coloring of robes but yet, were so proportionally off with where they placed their figures and how elongated they made certain pieces of the body, thus giving almost deformed looking body types. Linear perspective was before Flemish artists time and therefore they relied on optical perspective (painting larger images in the forefront and smaller in the back) thus resulting in disproportionate sizes of figures and space. Some of the work I saw today was so amazing because for example, there was a painting of Mary nursing baby Jesus. Now how many zillion paintings consist of Mary and Jesus throughout Europe I seriously could not tell you. But here’s the cool twist, instead of the Flemish artist making the human figures completely proportionate and realistic, baby Jesus has arms and toes that are way too long, his head is too big, and then the rest of his infant size is way too muscular. Mary is enormous in comparison to the fairy tale imaginative background that sits behind her. But wait, how come the garden to the left of her has perfectly sized and shaped flowers? And why are the people way in the background sized perfectly proportionate? And why is the background of a famous Brugge scenic canal that I just saw outside before coming into the museum, mixed with some made up imaginary scenery that the artist just made up but doesn’t and never has really existed in Brugge? That’s what is the mystery about Flemish artwork. Yes, they did not have the resources to understand human anatomy or linear perspective but yet I think they toyed with their work for fun. They were masters of capturing the luminescent coloring of peoples flesh tones by painting with oil paints on wood boards layer upon layer to create the perfect color and texture and capture the fine details to make their work look like a photograph but nevertheless, how ironic that they supposedly accidentally made certain body pieces way too big resulting in disfiguration. And, some artists made the landscapes of Brugge so realistic while others included imaginary scenes like depictions of heaven, which was obviously purposely placed in there to create certain illusions. Furthermore, Flemish artists were such masters of mixing realistic pieces with the imaginary that in “The Last Judgment” by Bosch, that I saw today, he has heaven on the left with hell on the right. In the middle, he uses imaginary pieces like a wood clog as the sailboat with a crazy devil riding on it with a huge knife in hand. Then he also has musical instruments that are representative of sexual objects along with large rats with human heads running around. Its totally sick and twisted but again it makes me wonder how could these artists make such large errors of body figuration and placement by accident regardless of their lack of knowledge on linear perspective. This museum is so proud of Brugge’s master artists that ninety percent of it’s work originated from Brugge. The museum starts you off with classic Flemish primitives work such as Jan Van Eyck, Hugo Van der Goes, Hieronymus Bosch, Gerard David, and Pieter Porbus but then throughout each gallery room you wander into, the pieces are more recent all the way to the 1970’s. Therefore you are able to see the huge transformation from the 16th century classics of Flemish to neoclassicism, Flemish expressionism, surrealism, and right into contemporary Belgian work. This helps you see piece by piece the huge improvements and changes throughout the centuries to body sizes and placement of objects once linear perspective was introduced and then the incorporation of Flemish expressionism mixed with Cubism between the two world wars. It’s fascinating because the museum really portrays the transformation and fusion of different and new techniques in the mediums throughout such a huge period of time. All in all Belgium is an amazing country and unfortunately is not visited as widely as places like Paris and Rome even though it flourishes in art from its Flemish masterpieces, fairytale landscape scenery, and culinary art experiences of savory dishes, chocolate, and beer.

Eieiu Braten

Well what can I say about the whirlwind week of Karneval that I just survived? Umm, let me start by saying I think Erica and I are about ready to check into the German Beddy Ford Rehab Detox Center. My liver is actually making weird gurgling noises like its drowning in a bucket of Bitburger and Schnapps. Come to think about it I think that’s about all I am going to say about the past five days because I think the pictures speak loud and clear of just about how much fun we had dancing to weird German techno and waltzes with old men, linking arms and loudly singing Karneval folk music, eating bratwurst with French fries every night, and drinking in elaborate costumes for fifteen hours a night. Oh wait and did I forget to mention that Erica and I landed on the cover of the Düsseldorf Times, which states in bold letters, “The Free and Long legs at (hotel name) is the new thing this Karneval and worth coming to check out.” Oh yes and then I met the Prince of Düsseldorf, was asked to play Vana White at another bar by pulling out the raffle tickets and announcing the winners in German, and then last but certainly not least, was asked by the most adorable little teeny bopper if she could take a picture with me because she has never met a real “Californian” before and was super dooper excited. So basically you guys are all thinking Alicia why don’t you stop bragging about how much fun you are having while we are all stuck at work ready to smash our computer screens with the fax machine and throw the printer at our bosses head? Well my lovely little friends all I gotta say is buy your ass a ticket and I will meet you at the airport with a bucket of Bitburger and bratwurst with your name on it. Until then get back to work!
So moving on for a little history lesson on the best festival in the whole wide world, Karneval originated all the way back in the 1600’s and therefore each day has a specific purpose. For example, on the first day known as Vibaball all the old women of the village gather together to protest and take over the village government. In order to carry on the tradition, they put on scary old witch masks and head over to the village center in a parade with the marching band, cut off the men’s ties at the government building, and steal the golden key from Gotvield (governor). We had so much fun watching the official start of Karneval because not only did we get to see the old witch parades amazing costumes but also, the most adorable kids all dressed up in various animal costumes running around and cute old people dancing to Karneval folk music in front of the government building. One thing that absolutely amazes me is how precious and innocent the children are here. They have this aura of freedom and security about them that American children simply can’t have. These children don’t know what it’s like to be scared of avoiding the evil man that tries luring you with candy because this evil just doesn’t exist in their safe world. I found myself captivated with taking one picture after another of all the small children because it is seriously amazing how happy they all seem to be. It’s like they never stop laughing and singing songs, playing games, and dancing in circles with each other. When I saw this I had a flash back remembering how incredibly lucky I was to have been able to have part of my childhood in a sheltered bubble when I used to visit here. I would spend my days riding horses with my cousins and biking over to Bruggen to get ice cream everyday without a care in the world. So the other night Erica and I decide to go for a long walk around the village and through some of the farm land. While we were passing by an empty park that had absolutely no street lamps anywhere and was almost completely pitch black, a small little boy around the age of 8 walks out of nowhere and creeps up behind us literally startling Erica. He walks right up to Erica’s face and says, “Hallo Ver bist du? Hello who are you”? We both surprisingly smile back at him and I explain to him in German that we are from America and this is Erica and I am Alicia. So then I look around me wondering where the hell is this child’s parents and why is he skipping along the street playing with a yo yo in his hand chatting with complete strangers late at night. So he innocently responds, “Hi I am German and I am going to visit Oma and good bye.” Off he goes walking by himself down the dark road. I seriously almost got upset for a second afraid that something might happen to this sweet child wandering around with his yo yo. But then I remembered harm to children is non existent in this village so of course this is completely normal for an eight year old to be running around by himself late at night. Unfortunately, the same fairytale scenario would never occur in America. Why, because sadly, America is statistically proven to have one of the highest ratio of children kid knapping in the world!
The second day of Karneval throughout the rest of the week consists of each village having their own individual parades with their precious princes and princesses and parties that carry on throughout the early hours of the morning. After the first day, they all seem to start blurring together, but if you would like to get a full review of the individual days history and significance, my Oma would be more than happy to sit you down and tell you in full detail over a delicious cup of coffee and cake. As for me, my nuttiest and funniest night was the one in which we began with the parade at two pm., followed by numerous yummy little schnapps bottles, partying at the bar until two am., followed by cooking a zillion plates of fresh farmers eggs with bruschetta, Bitburger, and cigarettes until five am with Meggie Rudiger Erica and the crazy neighbors that initially tried hosting the after party at Oma’s house by loudly singing my name and Karneval music in the driveway until we agreed to come next door to join them. My Oma and dad made sure to inform me how they very much appreciated being woken up by the singing about Eieiu braten (cooking eggs) music and witnessing one of our friends Simon leaving the neighbors house in a drunken stupor, half dressed, and completely barefoot in minus one degree weather crossing the street to his parents house later that morning while Erica and I were peacefully passed the fuck out until like two in the afternoon. On a side note, Simon’s parents have now officially kicked him out of the house since he has failed to be sober for 96 hours straight during this week of chaotic Karneval, so if any of you would like to volunteer in opening your home to a drunk barefoot 21 year old please let me know.
So now that Karenval is over, all of the Germans must be good little Catholics and stay away from sweets, alcohol and engaging in deviant actions. Why? Well but of course because Lent has begun. I laugh to myself thinking how convenient that Karneval just happens to fall right before Lent so the Germans are well aware that during Karneval they must get all their partying out of their system because after they are supposed to give up all indulgences and naughty temptations and be on their best behavior. Me being a good little Catholic girl went with my family on Ash Wednesday to this restaurant in the middle of this forest by the village to eat the most delicious German food ever. This restaurant used to be in the area of Bracht which was strictly English. The English military and their family lived here for over twenty years and so the exact restaurant that we ate in used to be an old pub that English officers would come to. The surrounding forests has quite a variety of wild life. So once a year especially for Ash Wednesday this master chef cooks this exquisite buffet that consists of various fishes such as sword fish, salmon, and tuna a huge cheese platter of brie, muenster, mozzarella, fresh German white bread, and my personal favorite, fabulous lobster bisque. From the unique bean salads to the little potatoes with bacon, every single dish I tried was incredibly flavorful and unique. Of course no red meat was served due to Lent but don’t let that confuse you in thinking that my family resisted from indulging in Bitburger and Oma with her sweet tooth for cake, nearly dove into the deserts head first. All in all, Germany never fails to amuse me with it’s funny Karneval and Lent traditions and abuse me with Bitburger, Schnapps, and late nights of partying.

Night Time Fun Karneval

Karneval Day Festivities and Parades

Calcutta or Frankfurt

Oh geez here comes the tea Nazi again. Everyone have your cups ready to be filled, make sure you are sitting upright, and don’t make eye contact or she will curse at you and not give you tea. So apparently Erica thought when she found cheap tickets online that we were headed for Frankfurt but I think there has been some kind of a mix up here. I am looking around and I think I am on a plane with Gandhi’s relatives or even my relatives for that matter. I am looking up at the airplane TV. screen and I see Bollywood films on that are in Hindi. The flight attendants are all in sari’s and they are making announcements in a language that sounds like a dirka birka dirkah, and I don’t know what that means.
Well it all started this afternoon when Zachy boy picks us up and takes us for the most mind blowing delicious Indian meal in L.A. before our flight. Little pieces of fried pakora vegetables dipped in spicy green sauce, basmati rice blended in saffron, with chicken masala, and mixed vegetable squash curry melted in my mouth. Like butter, telling ya, like butter baby. This savory experience was just the beginning of immersing myself in my Indian roots. Then off we go the the chaotic war zone formally known as L.A.X. airport. Two large suitcases filled beyond capacity with touristy passport security purse dangling around my neck and a fifty pound backpack suffocating me, and we are off to check in. Now I know airports can be quite confusing and I have been told that finding the right baggage check-in counter can be complicated but in our case, it was like a red flag dangling in front of our counter. Just imagine what an outside crowded market place in the streets of Calcutta look like and clearly you can catch my drift as to why we knew exactly which counter was ours. The Air India sign was definitely not even needed to be displayed. In addition, I must say, I was very impressed with the extra tight security at this airport. Initially we not only have to first take our luggage to a separate security checkpoint and then through regular security clearance and beepers like the rest of the airports passengers but for some unknown reason, they decided to rescan every individual that was loading our plane. As I was being searched for the tenth million time before boarding I thought it was ironic that the flight right next to us heading towards Switzerland and another to Germany, had already boarded with no further security precautions. At this moment in time it dawned on me that quite possibly the reason for this is because I was surrounded by people that could easily pass as Osama Bin Laden. “That’s racist Alicia, you bigot!” is what I told my brain but I swear that is the only fathomable explanation I could come up with as to why the security was so stridently targeted on my flight. Meanwhile just when I am about to seriously recheck my tickets to make sure that I am indeed not headed to Bombay, I notice in the mix of all my mom’s relatives a few dabs of Techno German boys and I am reassured we are headed in the right direction. Wow what a sight to see here! We have my mom’s relatives surrounding me and then my dad’s German peeps sticking out like soar thumbs. Believe me you know a German when you see one. Dressed in bright orange bling bling sunglasses, a white addidas jump suit looking concoction, weird red and black Nikes, cologne that infiltrates your nostrils and makes you want to gag, and a fanny pack, yup I thought to myself, this guy is definitely German. Phew, we are definitely on the right flight. Okay so we get on the plane and me being punctual and all am quite content in seeing we are only ten minutes behind schedule. To my delight guess who I get to sit next to? Well his name is Kuhl Deep (cool deep) and that is not his Indian Bollywood rapper name. Have you ever seen an Indian with bright red spiky hair, well I have! Can I just say I am so glad to have Ms. Erica by me because she immediately makes friends with him so I can just put my Ipod in ears and pretend like I have a hearing disorder. He apparently knows a lot of Bollywood movie stars and has invited me to come meet him in India because he has all the hook ups. He even seduced me with flashing at least ten grand worth of Benjamin’s in his pocket to demonstrate that they pay for everything with cash. I am so impressed by his celebrity hook ups and fat cash that I have decided to move to India and have my own Monsoon wedding followed by two little babies with him called Jumpta Shakhur and Rasheed Muhammad. See ya later mom!
So two hours later and Erica and I look out the window to not see us flying high in the sky but instead sitting on the ground at the airport. We have moved oh I would say about umm zero inches so far. What is the hold up? Who knows, all we do know is that security walked through the aisle before we left and that is quite unusual. So finally blast off, we are finally flying high, and dinner should be on its way shortly.
Erica and I have officially decided after dinner that we are joining the India Air Mile High Club because the food was so delicious that it was worth waiting three hours on a delayed flight. Sorry mom I know your cooking is the bomb diggity but from now on I am officially the biggest fan of Air India food! Eggplant vegetable curry, chicken tiki, basmati rice, Indian sesame wafer, and yellow dahl in my tummy and all I got to say is, “Mom get your ass back in the kitchen because woman, you have got some competition!” I am not kidding if my mom ever stops cooking for me I am going to specially order Air India food from the manufacturers. In addition, the other reason for flying exclusively with Air India Mile High Club is because I have just witnessed the one and only gorgeous authentic Indian man on the planet. He is one of the pilots and let me tell you, seeing a handsome non hairy Indian man is like seeing a dinosaur walking down your street. I thought they just didn’t exist. I mean I am looking up at the Bollywood video right now and they are doing their little Indian shin dig dancing and the women are drop dead mouth watering beautiful and the men by their side look like woolly mammoths.
So back to square one about the tea Nazi. Well let me tell you, don’t let Air India’s flight attendant’s petite beautiful figures fool you for innocent sweetness. These flight attendants are evil I tell you! No joke one in particular looks like my mom. Now what I mean by this is, she looks like my mom after she has worked a twenty hour shift in the ER and has come home to my teenage bratty attitude and is chasing me through the house attempting to smack me with a wooden spoon. Everyone knows that when my mom gives you the glare you better not fuck with her. So basically you better have your tray ready and tea cup in hand or this flight attendant is going to make your ass starve. Kuhl Deep thought it would be funny to be a smart ass to my mom’s evil twin (flight attendant) and said something like, “Excuse me miss how can I get a job with Air India since it has such great customer service”? Mom’s evil twin glaringly snarls at him, “Where do you think, on the internet like you would for any other job!” And then she stomps off while Erica clarifies to Kuhl Deep the website to apply is www.red-dot-not-feather-Indian.AirIndia.com Well it looks like we are going to get thrown off the plane in mid air so until then, back to my Bollywood movie and immersing myself in my Indian heritage.

I smell like a flippin ashtray

Have you ever woken up from a late night of partying and thought to yourself god damn I stink? Perhaps your hair had the slight scent of cigarettes, skin smelt a little sour from the multiple martinis that you had gulped down, and your breath had the aroma of a goats ass. Well in my particular case, every inch of my entire body from my toenails to the back of my ears stinks of an ashtray filled with five hundred old cigarettes. You think I am joking, oh ha ha Alicia you made a funny, you little exaggerator! Oh no, this is not of a laughing matter. I literally spent the night in a sauna filled with three hundred cigarettes in my face. Erica Meggie and I headed over to a little village called Lloyd last night to engage in a pre carnival festivity. Although I have been to Germany probably fifteen times now it never ceases to amaze me how the German’s entire lives are circled around partying. For example, the actual planning of Carnival begins in November although the actual festival does not start until three months later. The prince for each village must throw a party every week starting in November so they spend approximately thirty thousand dollars a year on Carnival. Obviously the people of royalty in the villages have a ton of money to blow. The first day is supposed to be the wildest for the young partiers because all the women go out together and the men go out separately. This is the night in which in American slang terms, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” applies. Basically this is the night where any and everything goes whether you are married or single. Live it up, drink it up, and if you please, sex it up. Personally, I will be in bed at 9 pm. because I don’t like drinking or dancing and I particularly hate fun. Okay maybe Erica will twist my arm and I will go have a little fun. Every section of each village starts designing their costumes and floats months in advance so by the time its show time they are looking sharp and coordinated. The day of the parade they start getting their makeup done at 9am. begin drinking beer at 10am, jagermeister shots at 11 am, and then all liquored up ready for the parade at three. Do they stop drinking during the actual parade? Oh no they not only are in charge of throwing out little brandy bottles out to the crowd, but also continue to pound Bitburgers until the parade is over. Next, off to the beer tents where everyone joins in for Carnival folk singing and dancing the rest of the night. And by the rest of the night I am not talking about ending at 2am. like in the U.S. Try more like 6 in the morning. And oh yes how could I forget, did I mention, Carnival is five days long!
Last night was just an appetizer before the entrée arrives. Before heading out we made sure to bundle up like Eskimos because it is about minus one or two degrees. Winding through the narrow old cobble stone roads through the villages, passing by farms and old little houses to get to the pub, I thought to myself, its amazing how when I was younger and would come here every summer and winter, I never really appreciated how amazingly fortunate I was to have two childhoods, one in modern America and the other in a German village. Maybe I was too young to see that most people who travel throughout Europe are not so fortunate to hang out with the locals and discover little tourist free zones such as Bracht and this area of Germany. To prove my point of how non existent tourists are here Erica for example, was chatting last night with some random guys and every single one of them thought she was playing a drunk joke pretending that she was from California. Even with me, not until I mentioned I was Rudi Weider’s daughter did they believe me.
Since Erica and I arrived on Tuesday we have already rode our bikes around the villages, sat and drank coffee with Oma, ate yummy bread rolls with all the old locals at a little bakery in a village called Bruggen, hung out with my Uncle Pauldie watching home videos of Carnival in his pub that is located in his backyard, and engaged in complete chaos drunkenness at the pub last night. Oh and how can I forget yesterday during the day we went and saw the huge dome in Köln. This particular cathedral in my opinion is probably the most shockingly breathtaking in all of Europe. It is so incredibly huge that you literally have to step back like three blocks in order to even attempt to capture the entire length of it in a picture. The massive spikes at the tips of the cathedral literally appear to be hanging out with the clouds. Built before the Renaissance, this cathedral is one of a kind because throughout famous eras such as the Renaissance, numerous additions were made so you can actually see the unique styles of the different eras throughout sections of the cathedral. Not to mention it has outlasted many other cathedrals because it was preserved from being bombed during the war. Therefore, although it is almost a little scary to look at because of its dark gloomy color and ugly gargoyles looming above, it symbolizes power and strength, which is an accurate representation of German culture all the way back before the Middle Ages, throughout the Renaissance, and right into present day Germany.
So as I was saying about my ashtray stench, yes I smell like an ashtray but it was all worth it because last night was an absolute blast. I mean my lungs are probably filled with black tar, pretty soon I will have a hole in my throat in which like the old lady in the commercial, and I may die of cigarette smoke carcinogen suffocation but hey, I guess that’s the German life. When we arrived at the village Lloyd we walked into this pub and I literally almost took a step back because as soon as Erica opened the door no joke, a cloud of smoke came pouring out. Of course, since its ass cold outside all the windows are also shut so the heat and the cigarette aroma is quite overpowering. Nevertheless we quickly put down some yummy Bitburger beer which let me tell you is completely different tasting then in the U.S. It has no bitter aftertaste and is incredibly smooth, not to mention about double the strength of alcohol percentage than the U.S. as well. Loud Carnival music was playing and everyone around us was singing and dancing an old traditional German dance. Now I have been told once or twice that after I drink I tend to have what is referred to as, “loud voice disorder.” Well let me tell you, try taking two hundred of me all in one bar with loud Carnival folk music playing and you can imagine how loud it was in there. Well since we literally could not move because it was so jam packed there was nothing else to do but jump right in on the singing, drinking, and chatting with the locals. So far we have only been here for a few days and its amazing how quickly I readjust to this place because already, I feel right at home. How could I not feel on cloud nine with my family surrounding me with love, bread rolls mixed with delicious Dutch cheeses Italian prociutto or salami, pommes mit mayo (french fries with mayo), lecker (delicious) bratwurst, and a whole lot of Bitburger.

Koln, Germany

The distorted universe of Vincent van Gogh

Amazing! No seriously the Van Gogh museum is worth spending an entire day getting lost in and immersing yourself in his distorted world. Amsterdam on its own is a city filled with art museums, one coffee shop (smoky smoky) after another, canals lining up on each street, every type of food you can imagine, and a whole lot of crazy weird shops with red light districts consisting of half naked hookers dancing in windows surrounding the city. But the Van Gogh stands alone because the art that is displayed throughout the museum really gives you an inside look not only at the variety and wide range of art techniques he mastered but also him as an individual, his mental struggles, and how deeply he influenced the period after him known as Expressionism. Erica and I both were smart enough to get up early to buy tickets in advance and walk over there right when it was opening to avoid the lines. Actually I lied we didn’t pre plan that, our butts just couldn’t sleep past six am. due to soar throats which was as a result of sitting in too many coffee shops the entire day when we arrived yesterday. Those darn coffee shops really have too much incense smoke floating around in there. And for some reason that smoke really made my brain fuzzy, mouth thirsty, and tummy hungry. WEIRD must be some kind of magical incense.
Anyways, when you get into the museum you can purchase an audio tour which explains not only the actual techniques used in the paintings but also the time periods and Van Gogh’s emotions throughout his life which motivated him to paint particular pieces in the way he did. I am so glad that I purchased the audio tour because by no means am I an expert on Van Gogh’s work even though I absolutely love it. Some of my favorites that I learned about was his passion for copying Japanese woodcuts and incorporating it with his style. One piece in particular that stands out was his Blossom Tree. During this time in his life Van Gogh had recently cut off part of his ear in a fitful rage of insanity and checked himself into a mental asylum. His beloved nephew was just born and named after him and as a gift to the newborn, he painted beautiful white blossoms sprouting out of one thick branch with a moody soft blue background. The contrast of the piercing white blossoms with a tint of red in the center displayed on top of a washed out blue canvas is quite soft and appealing to the naked eye although at the same time the contouring is very strong and it makes you literally feel almost tranquil for a moment. The sturdy branch represents strength due to how tall and sturdy it appears while the white blossoms are symbolic of a new life since most are just beginning to bloom. What’s interesting, and here is where the audio tour takes you back in time to really understand the depth of this piece, is that during this period of Van Gogh’s life, he was in such great depression from being trapped in an asylum that his emotions of longing and despair wishing he could be back in the outside world, is portrayed all over the choice of colors in the painting. The cloudy blue represents the longing he is trapped in while the vibrant budding white blossoms are the world outside of the asylum and also his new and pure nephew.
I also really enjoyed seeing a special Expressionist exhibition displayed this month. All of the expressionist pieces displayed were by artists that, like me, were so in love with his work that they incorporated many of his techniques and even imitated a lot of his work but of course added exclusive twists and their own style. I learned that to the Expressionists, Van Gogh was their biggest role model because they too paint with their emotions and although are not as strong in pointillism, portray the power of different light techniques with strong contouring just like Van Gogh did. I loved seeing one expressionist piece that was made during World War 1 because you could feel the despair and turmoil in it like the War itself had its own distinct emotion. This piece looked very similar to some of Van Gogh’s pieces during a time when he too was going through a great state of depression and anguish.
All in all, this magnificent impressionist had the greatest impression on me with how he covers his canvases in small dots with thick and thin lines and layers of bright colored paint. This technique was due to the Neo-Impressionists influence. Every point has so much detail but yet is so distorted because nothing is really blended in. The amount of time he must have spent deciding on how thick to make each point and the choice of color for each must have been endless. But yet this genius who didn’t even know he had a talent for art until much later in his life, made one masterpiece after another. While I was learning about his depression and how he really focused on expressing his emotions and moods through the amount of light he portrayed in his work I discovered one of his favorite cities is Auvers-sue-Oise. Umm yeah, Auvere de what is exactly what I thought too. So the reason why I found this interesting is because Erica and I have been talking about how much we enjoy just wondering around enjoying the little things of each place and immersing ourselves in the towns culture and atmosphere without being too preoccupied with planning exactly what we have to see and how productive we must be. Well sure enough I was just thinking when I was looking at Van Gogh’s Paris pieces how so many emanate his emotions of stress, hustle, and bustle, and chaos. But when he removed himself from Paris during his last two years of life to Auvers-sur-Oise, which is located in an artist’s village outside of Paris, the colors are much more vibrant and although they are not soft pastels that make you feel so peaceful like some of Monet’s work, they are cheerful and cookey and weird just like Van Gogh. Most of these pieces made in this village portray vineyards, old houses with thatched roofs and the cornfields. In order to depict the vast landscapes and open spaces in this village, he began painting on much wider rectangular canvases in attempt to grasp all the colors and layers in the sky and fields. Going back on why I found this so interesting is because I too don’t want to spend the precious time I have when I arrive in France stressed out like Van Gogh in Paris with all the chaos of the city life. Instead, I would much rather spend my time in little villages outside of Paris that look like Van Gogh’s happy paintings such as in Auvres-sur-Oise so that I too can incorporate these feelings of happy emotions, obviously not through paintings because I can’t seem to even draw a straight line with a ruler, but through my own mind, love for rich food, photography, and writing. After all, as I learned from someone I met in Amsterdam, the universe will unravel as it should, so why waste time in a state of anxiety and stress?

Amsterdam and Venlo

The magical ship or was it an acid trip?

Journal Entry: Friday September 1, 2006

I can feel the positive energy blazing through my body this fine Friday morning. Feeling the desire to write, words flow through my mind as I recap the dream I just had. While some of us wake up with other desires, whether sexual or aching cravings to just go back to dreamland instead of facing the day, I on the other hand, tend to try to recapture the magical memories of my dreams in the front of my brain and not let them get lost in the back. The majority of the time the dreams do go fuzzy within minutes and then are lost forever. Now this is not a typical story with a plot, theme, climax, and resolution. I do not write for the pleasure of others and I really could care less if anyone reads what I have to say because it probably sounds like a bunch of garble from a delusional person that likes to write about their dreams that have no endings and always come to a halter abruptly without leaving the reader with a sense of satisfaction. Again, I am just writing what I remember and really, what I feel like.
A euphoric body fry rushes throughout my body. Why do I feel this way? Did I just smoke a fatty? Wait, that wouldn't make sense because I never made a good stoner. It just didn't mesh well with my brain chemistry. While most people tend to feel relaxed and mellow, I feel paranoid and a bit psychotic. Most people chill and don't worry about their hectic lives while I tend to automatically obsess about why I am feeling so limp and lazy. True stoners heart rate rests while mine speeds up like I am running a freaking marathon and then I think I can't breathe. Like I said I made a terrible paranoid pot head. Maybe I should get this problem checked out. Hey don't laugh at me. See this is my journal and although the writer is technically not supposed to talk to the reader directly, I do what I want to do and therefore, I am telling you the reader, not to laugh at me. As you can see this is not your typical journal entry because I can write as scattered and disorganized as I want and you will just have to try and follow along.
So now back to my dream. I am ecstatic that I am about to embark on a new adventure and am boarding the Royal Caribbean. I have been planning this for years and finally my master journey has come alive. I am the captain setting sail with my pirates. Where did all of these people come from? I see friends from random stages of my life appear throughout the ship. Old high school buddies that I lost touch with or weren't even necessarily that close with are there. My closest girlfriends Phoebe Erica and Lily are all running around acting nuts as usual. Random acquaintances from my travels throughout Costa Rica, Europe, and other mysterious lands are scattered here and there. I am so thrilled that all of my buddies and these familiar faces are about to embark on this journey with me that I can barely contain myself.
The ship has the body of a real cruise ship but the inside is filled with little villages made of cobble stone sidewalks and beautiful vibrant flowers flourishing around little cottages. It looks like something out of Lord of the Rings. All of the little cottages are candlelit inside and are glowing. Inside them I imagine little hobbits sitting by the fire drinking tea and eating English biscuits. The decks are made out of old rich cabin wood with areas for sitting around and just chilling. The wood reminds me of old cabins out in the wilderness surrounded by evergreen trees. I can even smell the pine. I see some old high school boys having beer chugging contests and doing keg stands on the deck and I chuckle to myself thinking about how silly we used to be. The interior of my ship is elegantly designed through the eyes of the Titanic director James Cameron. Yes I love that movie and I don't care if it's sappy. All the ladies wish we had Leonardo drawing a mosaic of us naked and maybe some boys that swing that way wish that too. Anyways, the antique china and crystal glasses are neatly displayed over round tables with the chandelier looming above from the ceilings. The smell, taste, energy, and inner emotions within me all change with every different section of my ship like when you reminisce of different periods of timelines throughout your life.
For example, the deck where my high school friends are partying bring back the smell of beer, flavor of ash, feeling of guilty giddiness, and a shiver of coldness. You see when I was in high school, we would always head out to the desert, get totally shit faced on cheap beer by the fire; hence the smell of beer and ashen flavor. I would always feel a little guilty knowing mom wouldn't necessarily approve but that made it all the more exciting. And, it was always a little chilly at night but we would be so fucked up it wouldn't phase me. The smell of the wood reminded me of camping out in the wilderness with a huge fire blazing in the middle of our campsite. Leaving the decks, I stroll over to the cottages and feel an overwhelming joyful sensation of a small child back in the summers of Germany, my second home, in which the houses are so delicate and warm. I remember the rows of sunflowers lined up alongside the farms and the greenery of the land that my family is from. At this moment I can not put the connection together because this village on my ship does not look at all like my Oma's in Germany, but yet, the aura of joy it gives me is the same.
This ship is a trip! The colors everywhere are so bright and the warmth of the sun shining on us infiltrates every inch of our bodies. I stroll along the lower decks and to my amazement I realize this ship is different than any I have ever been on before. It is moving ever so slowly through the suburbs. Kids are playing on the streets and riding up to the ship on their bicycles. They can jump on and off the ship like a slow moving treadmill. The kids are so adorable because they are making a game out of jumping on and off the ship like jumping back and forth from fantasy to reality. I hear one of the kids moms yelling at them to get in the house and soon after, they all scatter away into their homes for dinner. Wow I think to myself, I know we are leaving from somewhere in California but it's amazing how the homes all look like my childhood neighborhood in Sugarland, Virginia. I feel a pang of de ja vu but figure it must just be some kind of a coincidence. The only area of water in which the ship sails on top of is directly under the ship. It's like the ship is sailing throughout the neighborhood. I don't dare to jump off this magical ship into reality because I enjoy the fantasy world of my magical ship much more.
So where exactly are we all headed to? My brain is fuzzy and I can't seem to recall. And then I remember we are on our way to Prague but for some reason, I can't remember why and what I will be doing there. My mind and body is so relaxed and warm that I don't concern myself with these questions. I just go with the flow of the ship. And then I wake up and realize, yes it is a fine Friday morning and this dream is coming alive in a matter of months. Unfortunately, I will not be setting sail on a magical ship with all of my loved ones from my past and present. But nevertheless, I will be embarking on a whole new world. I think to myself before starting my day and locking this dream into my memory, amazing, this dream will soon become my reality in only a matter of months…..

How did this become me?

Journal Entry: Monday November 27, 2006

The cold air circles around me infiltrating all the very exposed vulnerable wounds. They are frail and timid and paranoid with the fact that they can not defend themselves any longer, nor hide beneath a once strong shield. I look around me and see the crowds pass by me. Some with their loved ones feeling sheltered and warm. In their coordinated matching attire appearing as cozy couples, she grabs his arm extra tight to redefine over and over again in her head that she is indeed protected and supported. Others, running to the next bar with their friends are dressed to perfection, or at least exploding as magnets for attention. Maybe they too are not confident in their own skin but at least they can play the role that they are indeed strong and free. A young female banters back and forth with some thugs claiming to be from “ the dirty south.” At least a difference in age of fifteen years, the young naive little Latina thinks she’s sassy and does not see the danger that potentially lays ahead. He continues to aggressively flirt, luring the young one to leave with him, while his partner devilishly smiles at the potential and possibilities that may lay ahead for he and his friend tonight.
I see and hear all the action that is flying by me, coming and leaving the mall, and getting in and out of cars, but I am not really present or a part of all the commotion. I don’t really blend because my presence is ever so foreign. They don’t know how to act around me so they act as if I don’t exist. My incapacity to function in the acceptable manner of a human being is intimidating to them, so they turn the other way. Or is it all within my frame of mind that makes me feel this way due to the sudden shift in my life. I thought I was only physically traumatized so why does my brain juggle around like marbles and make me feel so hopeless? I want to believe that everything will heal and my strength will grow stronger than before but clearly there is that terrifying inevitable chance that I may be stuck outside the world I once lived in, forever. I realize at that moment that I can not be the free person I once was because my power has been stripped from underneath me and replaced with a crippled broken body. Should I be disappointed in myself that I am not fixing the problem and don‘t know how to win this battle? The chilling vulnerability rises within me like a lit flame and the physical scars become ever so pungent in the cold air of this mall. And for the first time I am frightened with the reality that this is me, not some friend of a friend that you heard of the accident through and thought you knew how to sympathize with and soothe their pain. Wake up call, you are that friend or acquaintance talked about to others of how horrific of an ordeal you must be going through! They can not alleviate your pain but you mask it well to make them feel better . Everything continues to spin around you at the speed of light that you just can’t keep up with anymore. Your worst fear, you are vulnerable, codependent, exposed and at everyone’s mercy to handle you the way they please. Feel sorry for yourself, let the tears well up choking your throat while sliding down your cheeks because nobody can fix you, not even yourself this time.