windowdrop.com Blog

Since my initiation into the world of www.hypem.com I have found it increasingly enjoyable to attend random shows, many times only after hearing several songs as performed by the band.  This is quite a change from my old method, which consisted of the following:

1. Track down the album, either online or via Best Buy.
2. Play incessantly for weeks, irritating all roommates, fellow car passengers, and co-workers.
3. Log into Ticketmaster with fingers fervently crossed, hoping that the band has worked Kansas City into the tour.
4. Curse Ticketmaster for the extra $15 dollars in fees.
5. Claim that Ticketmaster will never be used to purchase tickets until they eliminate said fees.
6. Purchase tickets on Ticketmaster.
7. Repeat.

The Okkervil River show that I was attending tonight at La Maroquinerie, located in the 20th arrondissement.  This happens to be an area I have never heard anyone speak glowingly about, although I never have heard anyone speak un-glowingly about it either.  It’s simply another neighborhood toward the outskirts of Paris. 

Getting to this show was going to be a slight pain, as it required several Metro transfers and a walk to the La Maroquinerie.  However, it refused to be boring ride.  Displaying remarkable foresight, fellow concert attendee Dan and I not only brought several 1664s, but we also chose the train with the loud, possibly drunk (or drugged), bare-breasted He-She.  I’m not sure the correct term for this, so please accept my apologies in advance.

Now, as a guy…I must say that when something like this happens there are two stages.  The first stage is all about the primitive portion of our brain.  What this means is your brain says something along the lines of, “Hey, hey, pay attention!  There are breasts coming your way.”  The second stage, which hopefully kicks in soon in case of situation like this, is the civilized part of your brain taking over.  In this case, stage two went basically like, “Ok, great make sure you look at this person’s face, let’s not be rude…oh sweet merciful 1664, I think that’s a dude!  Abort!!”

In retrospect it was a bit like being at a gentleman’s club.  It’s you and some buddies, drinking some beer and hanging out in a crowded place while…let’s see, how to say this…while in the presence of a topless female form that was most likely enhanced by plastic surgery.  However, there is the very uncomfortable difference that this was a (Wo)Man on a metro train.  Quite honestly I’m not sure, even now, how to respond in this type of situation and I really do hope it never happens again.  All I know is that A) this half man, half woman was very proud of his / her large new features, as they were exposed for virtually the entire time he / she was on the metro, and B) Due to the mixture of fear, awe, confusion, and loud hermaphrodite yelling we missed our metro stop.

With the random metro experience behind us, we were free to get lost in the 20th trying to find La Maroquinerie (but, by sheer accident, discovered a cheap Chinese place where one can purchase an enormous egg roll and two beers for about 3 euros), which turned out to be a very cool venue.  Okkervil River puts on an energetic show, and my only regret is that I wasn’t around when they introduced themselves – so I’m still not entirely sure how to pronounce the band’s name.  Track down a song by them named “Unless It Kicks” and enjoy.

Wednesday, February 6 2008 is the day that finally, finally, after approximately five years of brilliant displays of ineptitude, I arrived face to face with the CEO and founder of the company whose stock price I tirelessly toil for.  Quite honestly, I was flabbergasted that the purpose of the trip was actually to deliver a speech to the Paris office, not to award me a boat for my contributions to our shareholders.  Now, there are some amongst us that may claim to have played an equally large part in the stock’s meteoric rise, maybe even some that started the same day as I, but please – don’t dignify these outrageous claims with any type of response, except for perhaps a swift kick.  As evidence, I submit a graph (and we know that graphs are incapable of lies).  Please note that it begins with about a week before I began working and spans to this very day.

When presented with an opportunity for conversation with my CEO, I always have had grand plans.  Maybe I would pull a breathtaking marketing presentation from my jacket, explaining how my ideas would generate the company millions.  Or perhaps a brand new, revolutionary business proposition- set to quadruple market share and skyrocket the company to the top of the Fortune 500.  Instead, I recommended a bar, asked how his French classes were coming (he’s not taking any), and questioned why we weren’t expanding into northern Europe.  In retrospect, probably not the best topics to discuss but at least I didn’t trip over the carpet and fall on the floor.

It was around the time that I was making an ass out of myself that I finalized my decision that yes, I was going to attend the Smashing Pumpkins concert that was going on tonight.  I had been debating this for most of the day – how often does one have the chance to see a 90’s musical powerhouse in a Parisian arena? - and after the above interaction I figured loud, deafening music and beer was a good remedy for shame.  It turned out to be a splendid idea, as evidenced by the cheap scalped ticket and set list below!

Smashing Pumpkins ~ February 6, 2008
01. Porcelina of the Vast Oceans
02. Behold! The Night Mare
03. Bring The Light [Spoken during this song - "They will never play 'Tonight, Tonight'"]
04. Tonight, Tonight [They played it]
05. Mayonaise
06. Try, Try, Try
07. Superchrist
08. (Come On) Let’s Go!
09. Stellar
10. Perfect [This was quite awesome, it was a solo acoustic version and dedicated to the 'perfect' ladies of Paris]
11. Lily
12. The Rose March
13. Today
14. Tarantula
15. Stand Inside Your Love
16. Ava Adore
17. Drown
18. Bullet with Butterfly Wings [Insane version of this song - even better live!]
19. 1979
20. That’s The Way (My Love Is)
21. My Blue Heaven
22. The Everlasting Gaze [Another insane song live - incredible!]
23. Cash Car Star > Easy Living [Uriah Heep] (tease) > Foreplay [Boston] (tease) > For What It’s Worth [Buffalo Springfield] (tease) > Wasted Years [Iron Maiden] (tease) [This medley was sweet, and the Iron Maiden was the highlight - spotlights on the two guitar players who were rocking out very, very hard]
24. Daydream
25. Wound
26. United States > Star Spangled Banner [Key] (tease)

Encore:
27. I Don’t Mind
28. Cherub Rock
 

After a late night scouring the streets of Bruges for hotels and and clambering over fences, today was destined to be a bit more calm and relaxed – and so it was.  As the dawn gave way to mid-morning, so did the thoughts turn from breakfast to the enormous bell tower that dominates Market Square.  There really is only one option when presented with a tall structure, whether it be a basilica or bell tower, and that is to climb it.  No matter how many steps, no matter how giant the line, it is human nature to seek out those stairs and huff and puff your way to the top.  Oddly enough, this malady only seems to afflict individuals when they are on vacation – throughout a normal routine every day routine, these same individuals will go to great lengths to avoid anything more than a tiny staircase.

Stumbling all the way up 366 winding, narrow, and crowded steps is easier said than done, but it was well worth it.  The view of Bruges, with canals running along the red-roofed houses and narrow streets, was enough to forget that the bell tower was still, in fact, a functional bell tower with many bells which enjoyed a good ringing every now and then.

The rest of the day was spent walking throughout Bruges – the cathedrals, an attempt to have a beer at the oldes bar in Bruges (closed for the day!), a scenic boat ride through the canals, and finally – a Belgian waffle.  Even if the waffle did taste almost the same as a waffle would taste at a Denny’s in the Midwest, it was still excellent to be eating a Belgian waffle in Belgium. 

The oldest bar in Bruges…sadly, not open for a pint.

On a side note, Bruges is home to a rather interesting church named the Chapel of the Holy Blood.  Its claim to fame is the small small vial held inside its walls, within which is said to be the blood of Christ.  Allegedly it was picked up either during the Crusades or was taken to the Crusades – I can’t remember which.  Anyway, the point is – if this church truly contains the blood of Jesus, why has no one ever heard of this place before?  I’ve never heard of it in any Christian literature, and one would think that Bruges would be a hot pilgramage spot if the blood of the Son of God was hanging out in town. 

Bruges truly is a beautiful city, a city saved by a stubborn river that refused to accept any more of the ships that at one time passed by its banks, and for that Bruges retains a charm that will most likely lure me back for several more visits.

A day in Brussels must have several specific goals in mind, as the rumor goes.  First, you must try the famous Belgian beer.  The men and women of this country are known to be conisseurs, meaning they claim to know the difference between a Pilsner, Weissbier and an IPA and drink beer based off the taste, not for the silly name or nostolgic purposes.  They are proud of their beer, and would sooner punch your Bud Light bottle in the label than take a sip. 

The second thing you must do is try is some chocolate.  Or maybe look at lace.  What use anyone has for lace I don’t know, but Belgium has got it.  These, along with the fine beer, is what Belgium is known for.  Knowing this, you can easily put together a theory on the neutrality of Belgium…while France was all about revolutions and progress, the Germanic states were off modernizing and thinking about (and eventually creating) a healthy, industrial, powerhouse country.  Meanwhile, Belgium was sitting around, getting drunk and eating chocolate while discussing lace.  Let’s put it this way – if you were in junior high and you had a revolutionary classmate and a kid that was swiftly growing faster and stronger than you, you were in trouble if your main interest was lace and chocolate.  If you weren’t hiding out in a corner drinking a beer and eating a truffle, you were going to get beat up.

Then there is Le Manneken Pis, also known as Le petit Julien.  Brussel’s most famous statue, landmark even, is a statue that literally translates to “The Pissing Boy.”  The great thing is that the people of Brussels thought that only one statue of a pissing child was ridiculous, and so they also built Yanika Pis.  Allegedly, Yanika Pis, the female counterpart in this urine game, does exist in Brussels.  However, both myself and Wikipedia are unable to confirm or deny such claims.

“In 1619 I was five years old.  I got lost in Brussels.  After two days of frantic searching, my father, a nobleman, found me in an embarassing position…peeing.  As a token of gratitude, he ordered a fountain to be built, with a statue depicting me in that same position.” ~ The words of Le Manneken Pis, as told by a placard posted in a nearby chocolate shop.

Le Christian Pis?

All Brussels sights go downhill after looking at a pissing statue – what else can top that?? – and so the decision was made to hop the train to Bruges, a city that I had no idea about other than that someone once told me it was nice.

Bruges is spectacular.  Spectacular, I tell you.  Most cities that look old usually have something to ruin it at least a bit.  Tons of dirty traffic (Rome), several giant downtown buildings looming over church steeples (Paris), throngs of tourists (London – and while I admit that I am a tourist, may I also point out that I alone do not constitute a throng), and so on.  Bruges has none of these.  None!  And it appeared to be untouched by time, but in a good way.  This means that there although there was electricity, central heating, and people that spoke English there was also no plague, ugly modern monstrosities, or countless cars that wanted nothing more than to run you over.

It turns out there is something to this – without getting into it too much, Bruges had at one time been a very important trading city (actually, it seems most European cities can make that claim).  It is after all only about 13 miles from the coast, and had a nice little river through the center.  At one time it was bigger than London, but I suppose it is worth noting that at one time many old towns were bigger than London.  After all, London’s population didn’t go from zero to ~ eight million overnight.  Long story short, the river from coast to town got silted up, and voila – city untouched for the next couple hundred years.

I have but one vexation from Saturday, and it is not in regards to Bruges but at the hotel that we chose to stay at.  “Chose” is actually the wrong word to use, as Missy and I arrived in Bruges after dark with no hotel and had some difficulty tracking one down – surprisingly, most hotels were either packed full or 160 Euros.  We ended up at the ultra luxurious Koffieboontje Hotel (not sure the correct pronunciation, but it sounded like they were saying “Coffee Boy”). 

Coffee Boy had a single room, large enough for a bed and that’s it, and graciously offered it up.  But ah, who cares - the real vexing thing about Coffee Boy is that after a glorious dinner out, a bottle of wine, and several beers off a 300 beer menu (300!  And I thought the beers of the world ended after Red Dog, Olympia, Hamm’s Special Light, and Icehouse!), we ended up having to scale the ten foot tall gate that surrounds the hotel.  Apparently we didn’t pay the premium needed for the rope ladder required to get back into the hotel at night.  Or, maybe we broke curfew.  Then again, it could just be that at this particular time of the evening neither Missy or myself were capable of operating the key to unlock the gate…and so the mystery shall remain.

[PICTURES IN GOOD TIME...]

What European country has seen the most battles?  If you have guessed France, I’d say that’s a logical choice.  If you chose Portugal, I’d recommend a history book.  The answer, from what I have read, is actually Belgium.  Little neutral Belgium.  However, given that two great powers of the last several hundred years were hanging out on either side, it makes complete sense.  In World War I alone, there were three huge battles fought at a town that I am still unable to pronounce: Ypres.  Before there is some giggling at the name of a town that sounds like the noise from an intoxicated dog, let me share these statistics:

Can you imagine if these numbers were repeated today?  There’d be some mass outrage, to say the least.  Waterloo, where Napoleon was once and for all defeated (by an interesting coaltion, no less: UK, United Netherlands, Prussia, Hanover, Nassau, Brunswick – I thought Nassau was an island in the Bahamas, but apparently I’m wrong) is about seven miles from Brussels – the town that I was visiting tonight.

It’s odd, I have never once heard anyone breathlessly recommend Belgium the country to visit, or even a country to visit.  Even reliable Bill Bryson, who has written many excellent and silly travel books, somewhat thumbs his nose at Belgium.  Nonetheless, this city has been on my list for several months, and it was with only a minor bit of backpack and train ticket drama that Missy and I found ourselves on a train bound for Brussels.

Arriving in a city in the evening is quite different than arriving in the morning, or in the middle of the day.  Cities have a different character after night falls – a different look, a different energy.  My first impression of Brussels was overwhelmingly positive.  Standing on the quiet steps of the great St. Michael cathedral, with the streets of the city sloping down to the lights of central Belgium, the spire of the Grand Place rising up in the distance…it was easy to forget that it was windy and cold.

We spent the rest of the night enjoying the Grand Place, wandering the small twisting streets around the square, attempting to track down a hotel, and discovering a restaurant that serves steak with about twelve different sauces.  I was ecstatic about this last point.  It’s almost worth a trip to Brussels for a meter of Belgian beer and the sheer magnificent quantity of sauces alone…