Amsterdam's Coffee Shop

We went to a coffee shop in Amsterdam with some friends from Korea. I was curious to see how those drug houses work, and it was much different than I imagined it would be. We ordered at the bar (I had water, Kristie had cappucinno, just in case you wondered), and ther six of us went upstairs to watch. There were menus around tempting customers with hash or weed with strange names of flavors (Bubble Gum Weed wouldn't sound appealling to me even if I did smoke). We sat and talked, while the guy at the bar bought two mushrooms neatly packaged as casually as one would buy a cheeseburger.

There was no Pink Floyd or Led Zepplin or any other drug-addled rock music coming from the sound system. Rather, "Freeway of Love" by Aretha Franklin serenated the customers, hardly the trippy music one would think would be played. I told this to Carl, and he replied, "I know, but to be honest, I kind of like it." He was high at the time.

Perhaps we should have smoked a joint for true understanding, much like my theory that Pink Floyd's The Wall move would be clearer if I watched it stoned. As Aretha sings, "I'm riding in a freeway of love in a pink cadillac." Maybe she is onto something there.

Please tell me that this song playing is not the Pointer Sisters...

What Would Anne Frank Do?

As we were waiting in line in front of the Anne Frank Museum house, a boat of ten women on some sort of bacholerette party or an escape-from-our-husbands weekend trip floated by as they danced to "Copacabana" by Barry Manilow blasting on the stereo. Another boat with college boys went past. For reasons unknown, one of the guys had a clown wig on.

Juxtaposition.

I quietly hummed that Manilow song as I walked through the cramped hiding spaces.