Culture Clash

As you know, there are moments here in Holland when my new home's culture comes into direct conflict with the norms and values I'm accustomed to in the US. Now... I know what you're thinking... here's comes another naked story... but HA! fooled you. Today's entry is not about random strangers exposing their bits in front of me. (this time)

Remember that freshman psychology/anthropology/sociology course you took where they taught you about different cultures and their needs for "personal space?" Like, if you were to hop on a plane and land in Egypt or Italy or some such place, you've gotta expect that the people are gonna get all up in your face when they're talking to you. And you, my habibe, my amico, WILL feel uncomfortable with people that close to you. You will inch away, little by little, attempting to free yourself from this person's claustrophic orbit. And as you flee, you're new friend will move in on you because he'll be thinking "Well how can I have a proper conversation with this person if they are all the way on the other side of the room!"

I think we Americans/Brits/Australians need something like 12 inches of breathing space from non-intimates (i.e. people who don't get to see our exposed bits) to feel relaxed and at peace in a crowd. (Well, unless, maybe, that crowd is comprised entirely of Calvin Klein underwear models.)

But here it's different. I mean, the Dutch might look like just a taller version of us, but they definately have a different sense of personal space.

In Holland, especially in the grocery store, I get, maybe, 6 inches. TOPS. When I'm in line, patiently awaiting my turn to buy Gouda cheese and Grolsch beer, the people are so uncomfortably close to me I swear I can smell what they had for dinner the night before.

And though I do still find this a bit irritating at times, I've adapted. Really. It's okay. Feel free to cozy up to my behind and poke your carrots in my back. (that's not a euphemism, by the way) I know that you don't know that this is just way to close for my taste. And since I now live in your country, I will deal.

That is, until you start touching me in a rather aggressive sort of way. THEN, I'm gonna get all worked up and rant about you, rude Dutch lady, on my personal blog.

Yesterday at the grocery store, we were all bunched up together as usual, happily prodding each other with our produce. It was a bit busier than usual and so the line I was in had begun to flow back into the aisle. (It was the "personal hygiene" aisle, if memory serves me right.) A woman wheeled her cart up behind me and, upon spying that the line next to us was shorter, decided to aisle jump.

One problem, though. I, pesky thing that I am, was in her way.

To solve her dilemma, she put one hand on my shoulder and started pushing. At first, I thought I was being escorted from the grocery store for... oh I don't know... speaking English too loudly in a twangy American accent... but then I realized: This big Dutch lady here is ACTUALLY SHOVING ME OUT OF HER WAY.

I turned to look at her, giving her the best withering stare I could muster. "Sorry!" she said with a look of suprise, only then realizing that I was not a sack of potatoes but rather a real live human being that she was moving from her path.

I'd like to write here that I came up with some really great line to say to her... something to let her know just how rude I found her. Something witty and profound and hilariously funny. But no... I'm not that quick.

I Walked Right Into It

Yesterday was M's 27th birthday. As we were laying in bed, chatting before sleep, I said...

Me: Happy birthday until next year.

M: Thanks

Me (with tongue firmly planted in cheek): But, of course, living with me is like having your birthday every day, right?

M: Yes, it is. Every day I'm with you makes me feel a year older.

I also want to include the quote below even though it's totally disconnected from the above (or is it?) because I just saw it and like it very much:

"Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely, in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting "Holy shit, what a ride!" - Mavis Leyrer age 83

I'm Not That Cool

While we were in the States, I was on a mission to find the perfect pair of boots. Now, I realize this was an odd task given that our visit was in July, but my shoe-lust misguided me into thinking that maybe, just maybe, I'd find the perfect pair marked way, WAY down from last season. Not only was my shopping unseasonal but the boots had to meet some pretty high standards. They had to be:

1) The perfect biking boots. The heel could not be too high, but also not too low, because...

2) The boots must also be fashionable. I was not looking for a nice, sensible pair of winter boots a la L.L Bean. I do not want to look like I should be chopping wood on a Vermont farm right before I go tap the trees for maple syrup. But...

3) The boots also can't be suede or really delicate leather or anything to namby-pamby because it is as certain as death and taxes that at some point while biking, I will be rained on.

A pretty tall order, believe you me.

So, in downtown Chicago, my mother, aunt, M and I (all coached on my urgent need and the strict guidelines) entered a Nordstrom's and, there, laid out before me, was a HUGE shoe department. I flitted from display to display looking at the boots that, thankfully, were already out for fall. (Though, I admit, I did get a tad off course at times when, totally against my will, pairs of impractical and totally inappropriate high heels trapped me in their tractor beams and pulled me into their orbits.)

It was at one of these displays of boots when a nice salesman came up to me and asked "Can I help you?"

Me: Yes, yes... I really need to find the perfect boots for my bike. They can't be too high-heeled or suede and, preferably, I'd like black.

NSM: Hmmm... okay. (His eye searching for the perfect pair.) Well, how about these?

He takes a few steps and picks something up. His body obscures his choice.

NSM: These would be good for your bike, don't you think?

He turns to reveal a pair of badass, black leather, metal-studded, Harley-appropriate biker boots.

Me: Ummm... sir.

NSM: These are pretty cool.

Me: Uhhh...

NSM: (expectant look)

Me: My bike has a bell. I live in Holland.

(insert sound of my mother, M and my aunt laughing hysterically here.)

I never did find the perfect boot.

Another Wee One!

Congratulations to one of my bestfriends, Bethany, and her husband, Dave, on the birth of Kathleen "Katie" Rose Afshar!

In Beth's own words:

She's here! 6 lb 7 oz, 18 3/4 in. Lots of dark hair and so alert. Took only three pushes. A total breeze!

She had her handheld with her in the hospital and gave us a blow-by-blow via email. Ain't technology great?

But, Beth, next time, I want video, too.

I Be Stayin'

After much weighing of the pros and cons (pro -- I love NY, con -- I love NY and may not want to return to Holland) M and I have decided I should decline my friend's generous offer.

Well, I say "we" but ultimately it was my decision. M had arguments for encouraging me to go, but in the end we decided to employ my friend Tamela's very scientific method for making big decisions:

We flipped a coin.

Heads, I go. Tails, I stay.

When the coin turned up tails, it chrystallized our emotions about me leaving. (or rather staying) We both felt more comfortable with that option.

Autumn in NY?

Well, the Tideman/Daley household has been thrown into a tailspin. (Thanks a lot, Royd)

My bigshot NYC producer buddy has offered me a 4-month job on his new Discovery show. Aside from the distasteful fact that this pipsqueak (he's younger than me and was my co-worker at one time. Damn him and his Harvard degree! :-) would be my boss, M and I have to decide if it's worth it.

Is it worth the money (and experience, of course) for me to live separately from him for four months? I have no clue what decision we should make despite the fact that my brain has been spinning around this question for the past 72 hours.

It's not like this is the first time I've had to make this sort of decision. There were a few times, in the name of furthering my career, that I lived separately from my ex. Um, but let me repeat. MY EX. Now that I've been through the absolute misery of a divorce, I'm wracked with doubts about what's good (and what's not) for a relationship. Did leaving my ex a few times over the course of 10 years hurt our relationship? Did he (as his mother sometimes alluded to) feel abandoned? Was I "too independent" for the good of my relationship? (as someone posted, anonymously of course, on this blog awhile back)

And let me tell you... this is an area where sexism rears it's ugly head most unexpectedly. For instance, I received this indelicate comment the other day: "Well, I guess you'll just have to decide whether you love M or you love working."

Huh? These are my two options? Um, how about I love M AND I love working.

Why is it that when a man gets offered a job that will take him away from home people readily accept it? As in "Oh, well, it's not ideal but that's what he has to do to support his family." But if a woman is offered a good opportunity away from home, it's often met with one of the following:

a) What? But you just got married!? And now you're going to move away for a job!? You know, having children is an option. (I kid you not. A friend's mother-in-law just said this to her.)

b) How is he going to take care of himself? (Said to me before I left to work in DC for 10 weeks when I was married to my ex.)

c) You can't expect he's going to be faithful to you if you're away. (Said by a guy in DC during that same 10 week period.)

Sigh. I don't even have the energy to comment.

We have to make a decision this weekend, so I've decided to post my own Pro/Con list right here.

THE CONS

- living apart and the loneliness that will follow
- living with a roommate in NYC (ugh, what can i say? I'm old. I don't like doing this anymore.)
- M will be working hard on his experiments and I won't be here to support him (That's the June Cleaver part of me. I LIKE cooking for him. I LIKE cuddling him when he's had a tough day.)
- the social pressure (Yup, I'm putting it here because it's a very real part of this, even though I'm not going to let it influence the final decision.)
- the possible, and completely impossible to determine, negative impact on our relationship
- delaying a possible move to Amsterdam in the spring/summer

THE PROS

- mad cash (enough to save a healthy chunk of change despite NYC rents. This is very pertinent given that we have several big life events coming up in the next year.)
- living in a city that I've been trying to get to for a decade (in addition, just getting to be back in my own culture for awhile with my own language.)
- working on a cool show and fleshing out my resume a bit
- missing some of the Dutch winter :)
- um... like... it'll be fun
- M gets to visit me in NYC

And, no, I didn't purposely put 6 items under each heading. I really am plum outta both and they just happen to be even.

Fatter, Poorer, but Ready for Another Dutch Winter

Hello!

As the title suggests, M and I's adventure in the States included inhaling copious amounts of food, excessive spending and a wee spot of clothing shopping as to diminish my whining this winter.

Sorry for the loooooong absence from writing but I was giving my geek injury a much-needed break. In fact, now that I'm back on a computer, I can already feel the pesky pain returning. Luckily, I have a physical therapy appointment today.

Oh, where to start?

I know, let's talk about how much weight M gained as a result of being in my fair country. Oh the cheeseburgers! The beer! The Boston cream doughnuts my father bought us! (twice!)

M, who is normally fatless and in perfect shape (the bastard) packed on 6 pounds in just under 4 weeks. While I'd be hyperventilating if is this happened to me, he actually turned the process into a sport. He ate what he wanted, when he wanted it, just to see what would happen. Think of it as his own personal Supersize Me.

Normally, when we're in our Calvinistic country of bread lunches (oh yes indeedy, most Dutch people only have some bread with jam or such for lunch), M would not snack between meals and consume only as much food as he thinks he needs for the day. (Huh? What? Food is meant to be burned off for energy? I don't get it... pass the BBQ chips...) But in America, he said no to nothing.

My Mother: "Oh, M's hungry, I bet. Let's stop and get him some food. M, what do you want? Wendys??"

M: Sure!

My Father: "Which one do you want? The single cheeseburger, the double or the colossal three-quarter pound slab of cow on a roll?"

M: Let's go with the slab. Oh and a large fry. And a vanilla milkshake.

Repeat, repeat, repeat. (Though we did mix it up with visits to different fastfood restaurants.)

I'm not sure what prompted this absolute 180 from his previous habits. Yes, it's partly that he was in holiday mode, but I also think he was trying to see just exactly what it would take to look like an American. (Let's face it. We're shocking to behold for a first-time visitor to the States.)

But despite the fact that he tried his darndest to eat like us, he did still exercise. Hence, he only gained 6 pounds and 2% body fat.

Amateur.