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Big Brothel is watching you
Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!
Fol-de-rol and fiddle-dee-dee, Fiddle-dee-faddle-dee-foodle,
All the dreamers in all the world
Are dizzy in the noodle!
Invite me to the seven seas like some sea-sick man
The youngsters of Amsterdam - those in their late teens and early 20s - patronize two spots in particular: the Sheherezade and the Lucky Star.
The Sheherezade, 3 Wagenstraat (just off the Rembrandtsplein), is Amsterdam's only nightclub featuring modern jazz and poetry-reading combined! It's packed on weekend nights with its younger clients, then attracts a barely-older group on the weekdays (hours are from 8 p.m. to 2 a.m.). Admission is only 75 Dutch cents (21 U.S. cents), drink prices are 80 Dutch cents (and I could swear the genever has been watered down by the city authorities), and discotheque dancing is the main activity; it's an especially good place for young tourists to meet their Amsetrdam counterparts.
The Lucky Star, 29 Korte Leidsedwarsstraat (just off the Leidseplein), is entirely similar in nature, but mainly attracts a crowd in their early 20s. There's dancing here on two midget floors to recorded twist and other music, and a bar observation post which allows spectators to view the action on both floors at once! Admission: the Dutch equivalent of 15 U.S. cents.
Finally, the city's younger teenagers (15, 16, 17) dance in the Cave Toulouse-Lautrec, in the basement of the Moulin Rouge nightclub at 5 Thorbeckeplein (off the Rembrandtspelin) - an airless, unventilated, surrealistically-decorated cellar with bottles hung on the ceiling. Here, there's no admission charge, and the mood if one of serious dedication to the twist, aided by loud records, chosen for their heavy beat.
So, do you enjoy these places, Nimh or do you avoid them? I have family in the Nethelands, Sneijk (not sure of the spelling.)
Interesting Nihm! Are you off travelling soon, by the way?
devriesj, drom, I'm afraid not many people devote a "serious dedication to the twist" in this time and age anymore ... And "modern jazz and poetry-reading" ain't such a big thing anymore either!
Ah, and to enter somewhere for 75 Dutch cents ...
All long before my time, I'm afraid ... it's from a lovely 1965 Frommer's guide, "A KLM Guide to Europe's Most Delightful City" ;-)
Aw! And here I was, really getting geared up for Amsterdam! By the way, Nimh; you know that, as like a National poet, we have Shakespeare, Spain has Cernuda and Portugal has Camoes-- who do the Netherlands have?
And why do you have such a guide?
And a bit of randomness at the end:
It is Nihm who comes down your chimneys at Christmas. The whole Santa Clause thing is a lie, made by people in Taipei who want to sell hedgegrowers.
Well, we have a national poet of sorts, but not the kind you mean I think (tho I think you have one in the UK as well): a poet who's been named "national poet" in exchange for writing appropriate poems to accompany major events for the nation. It was a novelty thing, and Komrij, I think (a normally cantankerous poet in self-chosen exile), was the first to be called to the task a few years ago. He wrote a few very bad poems, then handed in his notice and someone else less famous took over.
As for why I have such a guide: because I'm nimh, and I like my randomness, especially if it comes for 10 cents on the Queens Day fleamarket (More quaint- and sillyness where that comes from).
And now for some more randomness:
"...The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."...
and the light
.....................cascades gently
.................................................down the wall
........................................................................leaving no mark.
A scene from Grease, as it would be shot to-day.
Scene 1 opens
Rizzolicshious' bedroom
Enter 'Rizzolicshious' and 'Coolio, as himself.
Rizzolicshious: Ya know how I like it up here, Coolio.
Coolio: Too cool, my main man. You know what?
Rizzolicshious: What, O great one of gangstahood?
Coolio: This is a perfect place to lose it--
Rizzolicshous: You might be a little too late--
Coolio: (ignoring her and probably going Ad-lib) This is the perfect place fo'you an' all ya little friends to lose their minds and go crazy for the new Coolio album.
Coolio Tries to do a handstand and fails. He tries to make it look as though he never wanted to do a hand stand.
Coolio: That was just a bit of quick... Pilates.
A quick voice: Coolio 'Pilate yaself into the hood' DVD available, only $30.99.
Coolio: Anyways, yeahhh-- you can get jiggy with me. And your friend-- your hardcore friend. What she called?
Rizzolicshious: I have a lot of hardcore frie-
Coolio: This one: more hardcore than you. Blonde hair. Tendency to wear velvet collars on her neck and tied up shoes.
Rizzolicshious: Sandy!?!?!?
Coolio: Sandy! that's the one. She's got the get-fresh flow pumping out of her like... (realizes that he doesn't know what he's saying) a yak. She's all that and a bag o' potato chips!
(Coolio tries to hold in laughter, and fails.)
Coolio: (laughing) You see I be jokin with you.
Rizzolicschious: (laughs too) Hardcore.
Coolio: Hell mighty!
Rizzolicschious: I even got a rap about her. You wanna hear?
Coolio: Hell mighty!
Rizzolicshious: You've been sayin' that for the last three weeks to nearly everything.
Coolio: Just sing the damn song.
Rizzolicshious: Here goes.
*raps* I'm like Sandra Dee, like, I'm running through the depot
You you you know I'm too scared of the galepo
And I ain't letting none gangsta climb over me
I ain't got no heroin or LSD
Scene II
Sandy is outside Rizzolicshious' room. This is completely inplausible, but people won't ask about this anyway. They're probably not here for the plot.
Rizzolicshious (singing from within:)
Cause I'm an ordinary girl in a whiplash world
I'm like I won't stoop down to polish the pearls.
Yeah, yeah.
Yeah, yeah, Bo.
Scene III
Rizzolicshious' room.
*Sandy is in the corner, watching. She looks very much like a manic wallflower. Memo: steal description from the Virgin suicides.*
Rizzolicshious: I be---
*Sandy loads her gun. The click makes Rizzolicshious and Coolio turn around.*
Rizzolicshious: Sandy, you don't understand. It isn't how you think it is.
Sandy: (sings) Don't cry for me,.. San Marino!
Director, from within: Great way of getting around that copyright law.
Sandy: Thanks, Mr. Walishanigabostinardo.
Director: De rien.
Sandy: The time has come to say goodnight, it's the end of a lovely daay.
*Shoots Rizzolicshious.*
Sandy: I'm giving you three seconds to run. You better be out of my sight by then.
*Coolio jumps through the window*
Sandy: Today, Rizzolicshious-- tomorrow, Ralph Nader.
*Sandy exits to the tune of a funked-up version of 'Love grows (where my Rosemary goes.)*
Do you ever notice how 'fate' and 'faites' (you do) are pronounced the same? Enough grounds to start a religion, I think.
sometimes 'not' commenting is the hadest thing i ever do!
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
