Amsterdam: It's Not All About Pot (They Also Have Prostitutes).

So Amsterdam is pretty damn fun, not going to lie. It's strange being that close to so much decadence, however. Every street and most of the buildings absolutely reek of what today's youngsters call "marijuana." Prostitutes stand in the windows, peek out their cute little heads, and wait to distribute stds, while the coke and ecstasy dealers, shy as they are, emerge after dusk so visitors can still do something illegal. But the ecstasy dealers have to greatly aid the whoring business-- I haven't seen that much cellulite since Kathy Bates showed her ass in About Schmidt. But here's the rundown of the weekend:

Thursday. We land in Amsterdam. I immediately complain that I'm not high yet, then get distracted by this:
The Dutch have vending machine waffles! How did we let this technology escape us? In the States, if I want a waffle, I have to drive to the south and eat at one of the 4,061 Waffles Houses down there. In Holland, you can find one in every warehouse and office building (While you're there, you can steal some printer paper!). First Russia beats us in alcoholism, then Japan beats us in, well, everything else, and now this? What's next? There's only one reason I put up with America's deceitful government, ignorant populace, long lines, country music, and pungent aroma-- the good eats. Get back on track, America.

...Um... Anyways...

After checking into the Hostel, everyone immediately got way, way too high (and therefore completely useless and too intimidated to go outside). Thus, after 9 pm there were only about five or six of us still out and about. But I feel like we made the right decision, because we got to drink at the Old Sailor. I mean, honestly, who doesn't want to drink with Popeye? Fucker is crazy.

Friday. We went to a Van Gogh museum, which I really, really liked, though I was surprised to see his ex-girlfriend didn't donate his ear to put on display. Then we went to "The Heineken Experience!!!" (editor's note: I put in the exclaimation points. It deserves it.) Basically, it's just a quasi-museum inside the original Heineken brewery, but it was so fun, hyper cheesy, and ridiculously unnecessary it was impossible not to have a good time. Just listen to (or read, if you're alone) this quote from the bio of their old CEO: "Green was his colour, for green is earth, grass, trees... green is safe." Um, I guess. Maybe you should lay off the sauce for a little while, buddy.

After seeing two different things in Amsterdam, we thought "enough of this shit!"and almost everyone got too high and went back to the hostel. Those of us that didn't, however, went to a sex show. It was wildly disappointing. I was expecting to see some seriously sick stuff, things that would make me want to vomit afterwards, but there wasn't anything there I can't see after 4 pm on my parents Cinemax. Ah, well. Maybe I'm just jaded from acting in all those pornos.

Saturday. Saw the Anne Frank House, which I thought was moving and incredibly well done. It also led to this exchange, while we were waiting in line to get in:

Alex: What are we going to do after this?
Jen: Get fucked up.
Jamie: Let's just go to a store, go to a pub, go to a store, go to a pub.
Me: I think that's how Anne would've wanted it.

Then we went on an evening canal tour, complete with wine, cheese, and grapes. We were at least 15 years younger than everyone else in there, but don't worry, we handled ourselves with dignity-- Alex (remember her? She's the one who affectionally calls female genitalia "meatflaps") only stuck one grape up her nose. I mean, we didn't want to embarrass ourselves. After the canal cruise five of us went to a bar called the Grasshopper, as everyone else was high off of mushrooms and couldn't leave the hostel. This could very well be my favorite place I've ever been, all due to the airbrushed paintings on the walls depicting a grasshopper god receiving sacrifices from half naked women, looking like Shaft, or making the love. It was fantastic (I have a picture, but for some reason this damn thing won't let me put anymore pictures on this post. You'll see it later, I assure you).

A couple other thoughts:

Dutch is a strange sounding language. It's not angry like German, but there's still some of the gluttoral "huccch" sound to it. It sounds like how English might sound to chimpanzees, with some extra syllables thrown in for good measure.

Amsterdam has the best hobo populace on the planet. This is because they're high, and thus more docile, than any hobo community I've encountered. Most European hobos are drunk and surly, and most American hobos are drunk, surly, and in desperate need of psychiatic medicine. In Amsterdam there is no such problem, as alcohol is too expensive for them and their bodies are pumped full of cheap hash.

Basically, go to Amsterdam and get high and laid. You'll understand why the Dutch aren't a warlike people.