"Ik Ben de Paashaas Peter ...Who?"

It's that time of year again, when the crocus bloom, baby chicks are born, and that elusive little devil the Easter Bunny puts eggs in a basket to deliver them to children in honor of...the Resurrection of Christ?

What the fuck is going on here? Santa makes a little sense, but where the f do we get the Easter Bunny?

Ik bedoel, our Muslim friend Achmed asked us about the Easter Bunny and Easter, and the best advice I could give him - get this - was to read the passage from David Sedaris's Me Talk Pretty One Day where he and a French teacher have it out over Easter while he and his classmates try to describe it to a Muslim student.

This is seriously the best I can do. David Sedaris and I have something in common (other than, of course, both being hilarious, bright and gifted writers...ahem). He is Greek Orthodox and I am Eastern Orthodox, which are the same religion, in different languages. (Both of them are pretty much OldSkool Catholic, only with funkier languages mumbled through more facial hair.)

The teacher tells Sedaris that he has it all wrong, and it's a BELL that flies in from Rome to bring chocolates to all the children. He can't figure out why the bell would have to come from so far away when all the bells in Paris are just sitting around doing nothing. Would a foreign bell even get work? And why the fuck is it a bell? She says something like, well, why the fuck is it a bunny, then?

I highly recommend not only this passage - which made me laugh so hard when I read it that my sides ached and I was crying - but the entire book, which is hilarious; especially when you are a depressive, deprecating sack of shit like I am.

I said something to Achmed about the eggs being symbolic of rebirth and resurrection, i.e. THE Resurrection. The Wiki on the Easter Bunny fails to mention this. This theory of, well, mine, apparently.

Anyone have a better story?

A McJob?

I might have a McJob. Not actually at McDonalds. It's much, much worse (or better). I need the money so bad and I need the tax benefits for daycare, so I am going to take it if I get it. I have a proefdag today. WTF is that?

(Hopefully I can do ok despite the fact that I am having a reaction to my medication and I can barely stand up from dizziness. I hate my medicine. I hate it almost as much as the illness. Mental illness. I am mentally ill. I am mental. With this medication reaction, I actually feel crazy - motherfucking crazy, insane and unstable - for the first time in years. My poor kids. They don't know what they're going to get any second.)

Even if I make 50 cents an hour, the tax breaks make it well worth it. God, I hope I don't trip and fall, puke, or lose my hearing, memory or vision. All the charming, CHARMING effects of the "cure." Instead of being a mental deficient, I can be a physical one. YAY DRUGS!!!

I'll let you know.

Partner Swap

Just kidding. I got you though, didn't I?

Book swap, actually. I am organizing an English language book swap because I am sick to shit of having to write my own material in order to have something to read. Libraries don't have enough, and bookstores make you pay 15 euros for lousy chick-lit fluff novels, nevermind a decent page-turner. I could easily blow a week's grocery money on books that would only take me a day or two to finish. (Similar to a week's worth of groceries. God I have a fat ass.)

I've already posted to a couple expat forums, but I thought I'd clue in my VAST readership (both of you). So, anyone in The Netherlands who is down with it can shoot me an email at amsterdamyankee@gmail.com and I'll count you in.

The Neighbor Paradox

You know how Dutch people are standoffish and not chatty and generally not known for their friendliness? Well, there is one major exception: The Neighbor.

In the affluent Boston suburb I grew up in, we didn't speak to our neighbors. For 35 years now. We can talk to strangers for hours, but we ignore the shit out of our neighbors. Here, it's the complete opposite.

I was reading an online forum where an American was looking for a petsitter. The overwhelming response was "Don't you have neighbors?"

No matter how unappealing or incompatable they are, your neighbors are fucking THERE and ready to serve. It's an expectation. You don't have to worry about your pets, plants or mail while you are away. If you need a ride someplace, or someone to let the cable guy in, feel free to call on your neighbors. They'll lend you a car or bike, pass out candy to your kids and help you clean the gutters.

Inexplicably, Dutch people are proud of being good neighbors. Be a bad neighbor and you risk being labelled the dreaded "asociaal." Feel free to ignore strangers, though. It's part of the maddening and puzzling duality of the Dutch.

Every neighbor we've had has been helpful to the point of our being tearfully grateful. Most recently, our newest neighbor served as an emergency babysitter for baby M at 8 a.m. and lent me her (SWEET) car to take V to the doctor when he had pneumonia. No problem. She's our neighbor.

It must be in the Dutch constitution: 1) Ignore that the monarchy is totally useless and robs you blind, and 2) Be a good neighbor.

Shopping under the influence

Yesterday I was so sick and feverish and I went to C-1000 and Lidl anyways. I realized in the drink aisle at C-1000 that I was talking to my shopping cart. The stupid thing didn't understand a word I said.

I know what I hate

I finally have pinpointed what it is that I hate about the Dutch landscape.

That it's flat and flavorless, most people know, but there's more. There are no big trees, which I find depressing, but my Dutch friend told me that on a recent trip to Ireland, all the big trees made her fell "claustrophobic." WTF is the matter with this picture?

Having no big trees makes me feel like there is such a lack of privacy. You can see a cow taking a crap in a field three miles away. You can see EVERY house in the neighborhood. You can probably see every villager every second of the day.

Yet, there has always been something more about the landscape that has bothered me, I've just never been able to put my finger on it until now. Now, I've finally grasped it.

Here it is: There is not one inch (centimeter) of this country that is not planned, planted, pruned and predictable. The place is so small, that every citizen has been over every speck of it. There is no wild, untamed anything ANYWHERE. THAT is what bothers me.

At home, even in my yard, I'd discover new things - "oh look, a new sapling... Hey! A rabbit!...What the hell kind of plant is this? A weed?" There are huge expanses of America that hold tons of surprises and oddities. Giant mountain ranges, deserts, hills and lakes that make you feel far from the rest of the world, etcetera, etcetera. Here is so WYSISYG, it makes me feel like I am trapped.

Phew. At least I know what it is now.

Viva la revolucion!

So my 3-year-old son has this weird exclamation he uses when he does something dramatic, like a somersault, or smashes a racecar. He yells; "MEXICO!!!"

I have no idea where he got it, or heard it, or whatever.

This has been going on for a couple of months. I never really thought much about it until the other day when he was playing and suddenly yelled "TEXAS!!"

WTF is going on here? Has he secretly been watching the history channel? Is he a reincarnated soldier from the Alamo?

We live in Holland, for Chrissakes. It's not like everyone is running around speaking Spanish or wearing ten-gallon hats and eating giant steaks. Mmmmm. Steak.