Four Quotes and a Discussion Point

Here's the world's greatest airbrushed painting, as promised. In case you forgot and are too lazy to scroll down (how are you even alive?), it was found in a bar called the Grasshopper in Amsterdam. On with the rest of the post!

1. "The President cares about the poor-- he made a lot of them." --Steven Colbert.
2. According the the Associated Press, in last week's game against the Washington Redskins, Peyton Manning was "bent over awkwardly twice in the first half, losing his helmet and once appearing hurt." Think someone over at AP has a passive-aggressive hatred for ol' Peyton?
3. "I can't help it but I'm a bit bummed out that George from Grey's Anatomy came out of his closet this week wearing all the colors of the rainbow." -- My sweet lil' mother.
4. "I took your profile picture from bullschmitz and saved it to the background on the computer at home, and it bothered everyone so much they eventually resorted to taping a piece of paper over the monitor when they didn't have another window pulled up--it was that frightening to them. Eventually, I was getting angry letters telling me to promptly change the background. It's funny; your picture has the same effect on my parents as I have on the opposite sex."-- My friend Hampton, who I once depantsed in front of the high school cheerleading squad and, on a separate occasion, whipped with a belt until he had scars (to be fair, he told me to. It's a long story).

Also, Hampton met Pauly Shore. How awesome is that? I would much rather meet a formerly famous and/or guilty pleasure celebrity than a quality one, and it's not just because I still watch "Son-in-Law" at least once a year. Think about it-- Sean Penn is talented but he'd be a huge dick, Tom Hanks would leave me totally thunderstruck, and Natalie Portman would probably need to issue a restraining order. Plus, if I met someone like Jason Bateman and hated him it could retroactively ruin Arrested Development for me. Things would go much differently if I met some awesome quasi-celebs. Think about it. I run into Cary Elwes buying panty hose for his next film and he acts like a dick-- I just shout "Robin Hood: Men in Tights" and "the Princess Bride" quotes at him until he runs away crying. If I met Minnie Driver outside a gas station I would just stay calm and firmly say "no" when she asks me for money, and if I met Rick Moranis... well, I'd have met Rick Moranis. I could die happily. Not that any of you read this far in the post, care, or will respond, but at least think about what bad celebrities you want to meet. My number one is Steve Guttenberg.

Finally, if you're bored (and, since you're reading this, I'm sure you are), click on this link and read about how cool Beck is: http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/12072882/beck_brings_his_goofy_roadshow_to_nyc

Amsterdam In Technicolor! ...Not Really. Just Pictures.

Everyone keeps raving about how informative and beautiful my photo tour of London was, so much like Harold and Kumar, I'm going to Amsterdam for the sequel.

(By the by, this is my second post about Amsterdam-- the first is below, so read that first)

This first picture(I like to call it "Buddha Triumphant!") I found in an absolutely delicious Chinese restaurant. How in the world does this thing not fill you with happiness? I love a any religion where the figurehead is fat, bald, and filled with what appears to be utterly euphoric joy. That's how I hope to be in later life-- mainly because it's probably the most I can hope for.


This place made the most delicious sandwiches in the entire world. I ate there twice. They put hard boiled eggs on their baguettes, and the proprietor was this kindly old man I kind of want to be my new favorite uncle. If you're in Amsterdam, make sure to eat there. I forget where it is, though, so you'll have to go door to door.

You know those assholes who think there's nothing to do in Amsterdam but get high? Well the hell with them. You can also learn about getting high. It's a place of education, dammit. Why else would you hear people having such deep, life-affirming conversations? For instance, several people on our trip came to the conclusion that (affect pothead voice in inner monologue now) "the whole world is a stage, man. It's like we sit here, and we're the audience, and the set changes, and the actors change, but it's all a stage. We're just watching, man." Nothing but the solid education found in Amsterdam could produce such knowledge. That or it was the mushrooms, I dunno.


This is the entirety of the men's restroom in the Old Sailor pub. I mean, all of it-- my ass was up against the door. The second time I visited the restroom the change on the floor was gone. This means, obviously, that someone actually stuck their hand in several people's urine in order to retrieve about five cents Euro. What the hell is wrong with people?


Here's a sign I found outside of the 1-up store. Unfortunately, they didn't sell turtle shells or flower power. The signs outside of the stores were pretty handy, though, as they let everyone know what drugs are sold there-- obviously, this store sold mushrooms. I was a bit confused why places to buy and smoke marijuana were called "coffeeshops," however. I was in several of these and never saw one that had an actual coffee machine. I feel bad for the poor, unsuspecting tourists that walk in there.
"Can I have a mocha latte, please?"
"Sorry, we don't serve coffee here."
"Oh... Well, I guess I'll just get fucked up on hash."

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.