Mario & Luigi Superstar Saga, the saga

Oh. My. God. Last night I when I returned from the airport (see next post), I decided finally that I would play Mario & Luigi Superstar Saga, for Gameboy Advance.

This game and I go way back.

It was winter break of my senior year of college, the border between 2003 and 2004, and everyone and his mom was raving about this game. Possibly it was only Joey Lutz, but I seem to recall at least two people saying it was great at the time. Not only that, but EB Games was selling it for 20 bucks, unheard of for a new release. So I took the plunge, and bought the game.

However, I didn't get a chance to play it that break; I was busy with what I then considered more important things, like applying to grad schools. Sigh. What's more, I didn't take the game back with me to college, because I thought it might be a good idea to take 8.5 units --or 34 units, for those of you on the academic metric system-- that winter, and (correctly) figured I wouldn't have time for a life, much less video games. Sigh.

And what happened when I returned home, a triumphant Northwestern graduate, the following summer? My room had been rearranged, and the game was gone. Gone. To add insult to injury, the next fall I went to UCSC, where I had Joey Lutz and Justin Nuger pounding me hard from both sides, telling me how great the game was. It was like a bukkake-fest, with praise for Mario & Luigi Superstar Saga as the main ingredient.

This past summer, I did a full cleaning of my room, and I found the game. And in a bizarre act of hedonism, I even took it and my Gameboy Advance with me to the Netherlands. And that brings us, two months later, to now.

Well, the game is fucking fantastic. OMG.

+j

Albert Heijn adventures.

Foreword: Albert Heijn is a huge grocery chain in the Netherlands.
(End of Foreword.)

This post is a little late, but I figured it would be nice to get it in print.

The other day I had two amazing experiences at Albert Heijn. They made me question everything I think about humanity.

First. I gather that in most Albert Heijns there is a little coffee machine. You can have a cup gratis, even with sugar or creamer if you would like. Well, the homeless and the elderly certainly do like! And me of course, because I plan on being homeless and elderly or either some day.

Now, another strand of this story is that the Dutch are rather unfriendly. I'm the kind of guy who likes to wave to people on the street, smile, say hello, etc. I don't get much of a response from people, except the occasional irritated expression that implies: "Would you like something of me my clearly foreign friend? I say you are clearly foreign because you are greeting me, and the Dutch do not greet strangers: we are rather unfriendly." .

Anyway, so I am getting my cup of coffee, and look to the "old person bench" . And there is an ENORMOUSLY old lady. Like at least 80, maybe 90. Very small, very frail, very almost dead. But I raise my cup to her and smile, and what does she do? She winks at me. A huge, full-on, sexy wink. This was not, contrary to what some of you might be thinking, the grossest thing I've ever experienced. That's not to say it got me hard, but it was fascinating. For a second, this woman was so young again in my eyes.

* * *

Second. After the coffee experience, I walked over to the licorice aisle, to get my beloved sugar-free licorices. I was inspecting two bags that looked good, and thought that they both said "hard/zout" , which means "hard/salty" . But on closer inspection, one of them said "hard/zoet" . Well, I assumed 'zoet' meant sweet, and so I hailed an Albert Heijn worker to investigate further.

I asked him the difference between 'zout' and 'zoet' . He raised his eyes, struggling to put his thoughts into words, so I helped him by saying I knew the former, but not the latter, and asked him if 'zoet' meant sweet. This man immediately became the ultimate connoisseur of licorice, capable of making the finest, subtlest distinctions between flavors. I can only approximate for you the deliciousness of his reply, but it was something like this:

Yes, sweet. But... no, not exactly sweet. It is sort of like a sweet, but with a little... [and here he made a gesture that involved scrunching his shoulders, squinting his eyes, pursing his lips, putting his thumbs to his index fingers in a pinching gesture and rotating them ever so slightly as if he was giving someone a slow-motion titty-twister] ... with a little 'mmm' .

I am in love with this man. A day later he helped me not find baking soda.

+j

Saturday sundry health musings.

Let's just establish first of all that regardless of my weight, I'm a small guy, and I always have been. But lately I'd started putting on a few pounds. I think junior year at Northwestern (2001-2002) was the first time I started noticing that my body wasn't just naturally staying slim. The next year abroad in Budapest helped a bit, thanks to all the paprika (peppers) and push-up game. But back at Northwestern for my senior year, I got real fat real quick, thanks to very unhealthy eating, and nary a push-up, let alone an entire game of them. (See previous post.) Though that didn't stop me from hooking up with nine people that year. My first year at UCSC was even worse, because I had so much money that I could afford to eat shit for every meal, and so I did. I got nice and lardy there, not that it prevented me from hooking up with seven people there. (Though you can see how the extra weight was cramping my style.)

So it's been quite nice to watch my weight drop so rapidly since arriving in the Netherlands. I don't know what it is. I'm exercising only so often, but I think it's probably my diet. Almost strictly meats, fishes, fruits, and vegetables, with a snack here and there to spice things up. Actually, the speed with which I lost this weight was rather frightening. Almost within a week, pants that were tight became baggy. The belt which had barely made it past the first pants loop now went past the second loop. Et cetera. For health reasons alone, it would be nice to stay here forever!

* * *

On the other hand, there is acne. My acne started late compared to many of my friends, probably around 15 or so. I started seeing a dermatologist, and we tried one thing after another, but nothing worked. Finally Accutane did the trick; I was clear for maybe a year or so. But it came back, and I went on Accutane for a second time. Again that worked for awhile, but it came back again. Finally I started "The Regimen" (www.acne.org), which kept my face in check for an amazing year. But then that failed, and that brings me to now.

When I arrived in the Netherlands, I developed a huge pimple by my left eye (which was more like a welt, really), that lasted for like three weeks. You can still see the scar. (It never popped.) But soon after arriving, my face just exploded with acne. It was terrible. It was freakishly uncontrollable. Until finally I decided something had to be done, so I went to the local Kruidvat and bought some --get this!-- Clearasil face wash. Within about three days, my face was remarkably better. Within about a week, I was practically clear, except for some scars.

Then, I'm not too sure what happened. Maybe I was washing my face too hard, not using enough moisturizer. But it all came back within a day or two, just as terribly as before. But I kept at it, bought some new moisturizer, and as of today it is pretty much under control again. I'm washing gently but thoroughly, moisturizing well, trying to avoid touching my face at all times.

This Clearasil stuff is freaky and wonderful; it's excavating my pores for everything it can find. Every day, new clogged pores have "risen" to the surface in the form of little hard nodes that basically fall out of my face on the slightest touch, revealing a beautiful open pore. I think it's very possible that this process is provoking some new acne; perhaps that's the reason for the second flareup. But I can definitely see that my face is improving, despite the occasional pimple, so maybe this is a step towards a more permanent solution to my acne problems.

Funny anecdote, though: When I ran out of moisturizer the first time, I went to buy some (from Kruidvat, duh), but because I couldn't read the bottles, I ended up buying soap. So I went to sleep with soap on my face. But they were nice, and let me return it and get some real moisturizer. It seems to be working well.

My kingdom for some unscented Speed Stick, though.

* * *

Well, that's it for today. I bought my fruits and vegetables, and am thrilled to be eating them. Now it's time for "mental" health: I'm going to the library to renew some books and play through Claude Debussy's En Blanc et Noir.

+j

Veggie love.

Just over a month ago I contracted what I think was sinusitis. It was terrible. It took a long time to develop; for awhile it was just the suspicion of illness. But once it did, it was two straight weeks of sinus pain, stuffiness, achiness, etc. Finally when I found out what I thought it was, thanks to Wikipedia, I tried steaming myself, and very quickly my sinuses drained. I still had a stuffy nose for another week, but the congestion and pain was gone.

Well, yesterday I woke up, to my horror and surprise, which a slight twinge of sickness again. Now, that's not so surprising, because some of my advisors recently got sick again, and I'm around them all the time. But it did suck. Anyway, by the time I started moving around, it had gone, but this morning, it struck me again. This time it's a little worse: my body feels quite tired.

So, it may or may not be relevant, but last Saturday I was playing games at Bagels and Beans with this local "Meet in Eindhoven" group, and so I didn't end up buying my usual supply of fruit and vegetables from the Saturday market. This entire week I've had I think one piece of fruit, a little bit of spinach, and a tomato or two. Normally I have at least two fruits a day, and plenty of vegetables. (Note that I, like normal humans, consider tomatoes to be vegetables. Thank you.)

It's worth considering whether this may have some link to my new illness, because senior year, at Northwestern, I think I had 10 or so pieces of fruit the entire year (unfortunately not an exaggeration!), and almost nothing in the way of vegetables. And that year, as some of you may remember, I got sick probably every three weeks. My immune system was nonexistent.

Is there a link? Who knows, but it's certainly an incentive to get out of the house today and go to the market.

+j

PS. This post is dedicated to Marc Gelfo.

Wendy.

I don't know if you're familiar with European toilets. But I just had one of those... you knows... that wouldn't budge. I had to slide it off the ledge using some toilet paper. It was so warm. I felt like Timothy Treadwell.

My daughters are going to be the coolest girls ever made.

+j

Gyere már!

It seems that whenever I encounter a new language, I always fall back on the language I learned previously. When I learned Hungarian a few years ago, I kept thinking of everything in Spanish. And now that I'm in the Netherlands, I always think of saying everything in Hungarian, which is truly bizarre, since until I came here, I thought I had forgotten all the Hungarian I knew.

So after a nice day on the town, having dreamed of speaking in Hungarian the entire time ("túl drága!", "kérek szépen egyet ebből", etc), I stepped into Schoenen Reus to buy some new (!) slippers. All of a sudden, out of the corner of my ear, I hear a middle-aged woman snap at her daughter: "Gyere már!" . I stood to attention. A magyar nyelv, jajj! Olyan szép!

And yet just as suddenly I could not speak Hungarian anymore. The best I could manage was to sheepishly plod over to her and say: "Szia, hogy vagy?" . She almost blushed, and then I heard the familiar reply: "Jó, köszönöm szépen." .

The whole experience reminded me of how Heléna and I would walk the streets of Budapest, and how she would always dally by store windows. Usually unimpressed by whatever she was looking at, I would say drily: "Gyönyörű, gyere." . Occasionally I would reverse it: "Gyere gyönyörű." . Yes, I was a pretty witty guy in those days.

I'm looking forward to teaching Sarah some Hungarian in preparation for our visit to Hungary this winter.

A simpler time. A Mahler time.

Lately I've been involved in the conscious, careful, explicit design of mathematical arguments. Also lately I've been listening to a lot of Mahler, which is kind of funny, because I think Mahler is a composer who could have benefitted from a little more conscious design in his compositions.

Well, I'm taking this opportunity to be a little Mahlerian, a little more relaxed. Basically, I'm just going to give some opinions, and not even pretend to justify them. And what will I give opinions about? Well naturally, Mahler.

Below I'm just going to list what I think about Mahler's nine symphonies, and few song cycles. The purpose of this list is just to provide a snapshot of my feelings for Mahler, right now.

Symphony no. 1

Overall, I think a strong symphony, and a young symphony, compared to all the rest. I think without question the middle two movements are the most successful for me. The first movement is ranked slightly below in my mind, simply because I don't think the dramatic flow holds up well over such a long movement. The fourth movement is the worst in this respect, as it is even longer and even less coherent. This last movement is one of the quintessential examples in my mind of the "Mahler long-form" . I think he was successful in constructing these forms very infrequently.

Symphony no. 2

Possibly his strongest symphony, taken as a whole, with the exception of Symphony no. 9 (see below). Again, the middle, more "characteristic" movements are the strongest. The third and fourth movements are basically songs from Des Knaben Wunderhorn. The fourth, Urlicht, is the most beautiful and most successful. The third is pretty sprawling, and I think I prefer the original song. The first movement is a long-form, but I think one of his most successful; very cohesive. On the other hand, the last movement is powerful, but too rambling for my tastes. Though the final chorus has brought me to tears on a number of occasions.

Symphony no. 3

Overall, not a very cohesive effort, in my opinion. The second and third movements are the most successful; the first hundred bars or so of the second movement are breathtakingly orchestrated. The first movement is a disappointment: it has tremendous musical content, but fails to be dramatically effective. The fourth is too static for my tastes. I am reminded of Der Einsame im Herbst from Das Lied von der Erde, but not yet matured. The fifth movement is too simple to be effective. It sounds pleasant enough, but is not engaging. And the last movement, which everyone just cums their pants over, is, like the fourth movement, an example of an immature effort. It's like the last movement of Symphony no. 9, without the weight.

Symphony no. 4

People call the first movement very "classical". I like its ideas, but I find it to be long-winded. I am not very familiar with the middle two movements, as I have only heard them a handful of times, but they don't grab me in any particular way. The last movement is like a rewrite of parts of Symphony No. 3! It is charming, but again, hasn't grabbed me.

Symphony no. 5

This is another one of those "Mahler favorites". I'm not very familiar with this symphony, but I have been rather unimpressed by each of its movements every time I hear them.

Symphony no. 6

The first movement is one of Mahler's most effective long-forms. It is brutal and gentle in turns, but very coherent nonetheless. The fourth movement on the other hand is one of his sprawling, less effective long-forms. As for the middle movements, the Scherzo is nice, but I have never had any special connection to it. The Andante moderato is one of the most glorious symphonic works I have ever heard.

Symphony no. 7

Another symphony I am not very familiar with. Its opening bars are very effective, but honestly beyond that nothing else has made an impression on me.

Symphony no. 8

I have listened to this symphony many many times, yet due to its sheer size I am still not very familiar with it. Perhaps also for this reason I have had a real problem connecting to it. It doesn't really feel coherent at any part, and is not dramatically effective for me. But really, with a symphony of this size, how can I tell?

Das Lied von der Erde

Probably my favorite composition by Mahler. Yet I don't even know what to say about it. I loved it the first time I listened to it --after struggling hard with Symphony no. 2-- , and I have loved it ever since.

Symphony no. 9

Mahler's finest symphony, not counting Das Lied von der Erde, hands down. It is musically the most beautiful, coherent, dramatic, effective, and innovative. There really is nothing much more to say about it: The first movement is his finest long-form, as if Mahler had finally learned that you don't need to yoke together drastically different material to make a long movement interesting. The middle two movements are rhythmically and harmonically exhilarating. And the final movement is sublime.

Symphony no. 10, first movement

Honestly, I don't even think I've heard the whole movement once through. It sounds nice though, like basically another movement of Symphony no. 9.

Des Knaben Wunderhorn

This is hands down my favorite Mahler song cycle, not counting Das Lied von der Erde. It's youthful, but each of the songs is particularly rich. Marc Gelfo and I planned to play these in transcription for harpischord and melodica. It'll happen.

Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen

Nice, youthful, but not particularly rich. I prefer the second song in its "reincarnation" as the first movement of Symphony no. 1. The last song, Die zwei blauen Augen, is pretty great.

Ruckertlieder; Kindertotenlieder

I'm less familiar with these, although I've listened to the former quite a bit without enjoying them.

Well, that was fun!

Kiss and Love?

The title for this posting is something that I wrote down a while ago. But now I can't remember what it meant to me. I think that sums up the feelings and thoughts to be set forth here -->

Mz. Stonehill, my darling 12th grade Engligh teach, focused endlessly on Romantic poets contra Classical ones. All I know on the subject is what she's told me. Which is: the Romantics appreciate the high highs, the low lows, and nature, while the Classicals are balanced, intellectual, and witty. Now, pay close attention wording here: Bard makes me think I feel like a Romantic. I came here intending to bolster my Classicism and creativity, but I'm starting to think that this environment, or the atmosphere I've created out of this environment, isn't condusive to that. Or maybe those two things aren't condusive to each other. The kind of creative ideas I want don't come from thinking, they just come. The kind of Classical ideas I want need time for me to sit down and seriously think. Both of these ideas need freedom from homework concerns, useless distractions, and general laziness. There are times when I feel the high of finding that freedom and others when I feel the opposite. I want to appreciate art, read poetry, write poetry, watch movies, write movies, make movies, hang out with friends, play games, get high, get girls, do well in school so I can have the option of transferring. They all conflict. I think. The problem is time. I think.

so this is civilization

some chubby guy being chubby,
throwing his cigarette in the grass
and
flies and tree and cloud
layered and individually societizing
or
wanting to be known and
the simultaneous subject of a poem
and slash or
"that guy is looking at me"
or at everything but me, intentionally
ampersand slash or
questions and answers
progressively, digressively, aggressively vaguer
& slash or
a calendar, a religion, a government
rules for rulemakers, like ingredients in a recipe!?
&/
like nothing else
like thinking you want to know what it's like
to feel what another person is thinking they want
&

Holy god, it's that time again.

A simpler time. A checkers time. Or rather, a snooker time. I am officially geobsedeerd. Watching snooker on Eurosport almost brings a tear to my eyes, because it reminds me of that poignant spring in Budapest about two and a half years ago. It's so much fun to watch the players all done up nicely with their styled hair and their vests. Guys look tremendously hot in vests, don't ask me why. Eh, I'm an exoticism whore probably.

Meanwhile, I'm writing JAWs at a breakneck pace, which is lovely, although I am growing ever more slothy at a breakneck pace as well. The last few days I've been going to bed at 6 or 7 AM, waking up at around 2 PM. Ugh.

Last night: Morocco versus Tunisia. Oh. My. God. I never realized how much fun watching blatant violence can be. Some guy will have the ball, then you'll see a player from the other team come from the corner of the screen and just charge the guy, slam his elbow into the other guy's mouth, knocking out teeth in one case. And the best part? As soon as he makes contact, or sometimes even before, the guy will raise his hands up as if to say: "What, me? I didn't do that!" . If someone knows how I can get a video copy of this game, please let me know.

+j

What I Live For

Sugarfree liquorice, salt or double salt.

+j

Mr Smith

The Netherlands has a way of making things work out all right. The first bad experience I ever had here was when I was locked out of my room. I waited two hours for a handyman to come; he never did, and if he had I would have been out 100 euros. So I kicked my door in. That night uneasiness crept in for the first time since being here. I was uneasy, because I knew the next day I was going to have to fix my door, I was going to have to do something I didn't want to do. But the next day I did, and it was a thrill. I even met a girl on the way to get the supplies. The Netherlands has a way of making things work out all right.

I've been in the Netherlands for a month now. A month... I can't even believe it. I've been here for a substantial amount of time now, even though it still feels like I just got here. I've done things. I've made friends. I've made discoveries. I've eaten.

Today as I was walking back to my apartment, carrying some seemingly delicious Surinamese/Indonesian food, I saw Mr Smith coming the other way. I pet his dog, and we exchanged hellos. He told me that many of his family and friends had "gone away" this year. "That's getting old." he said. But he could smile and laugh about it, as well as an old man can smile and laugh about having buried two of his brothers. "Weissmann? That's... that's..." -- "Jewish/German." -- "Jewish... yes... yes, I thought so." He looked away, and put his hands in his pockets cryptically.

Jiri Bukovsky is Czech, but working in Eindhoven for the year. Last week when we met on the soccer field, we sat and talked about our first impressions of the Dutch as being cold and unfriendly. It's nice to know that despite great differences between cultures, bitching is universal. Jiri was excited about the possibility of playing frisbee, and we exchanged email addresses. But when I tried to send him an email, it bounced back. The address was wrong.

So I wondered how it was all going to work out. I wondered that as I walked past the soccer field today on the way to get my Surinamese/Indonesian food. I looked for Jiri on the field, but neither he nor his Czech crony were to be seen. Bummer. But then, on the way out of the restaurant, who did I see coming straight towards me but Mr Bukovsky himself. He gave me a business card; apparently he had mixed up dots and underscores between his two email addresses. Now I'll be able to get in touch with him, and frisbee is on the horizon. The Netherlands has a way of making things work out all right.

The first time I met Mr Smith was the day I locked myself out. It was raining, and I was standing outside my apartment building, yelling up to my next door neighbor to let me in. Mr Smith came by and said hello. "Locked out? He he he!" . The man can laugh about anything. He told me he had worked in the school gym, and then as a barber on campus. Students recognize him wherever he goes. Today, after he turned back to face me, he took his hands out of his pockets to pull back on the leash of his tiny dog, which was now lurched forward, suspended on the tips of his paws. "I had a student over last night. A girl from China. You know, I haven't worked as a barber for years, but the kids keep coming to me. What can I do? He he he!"

According to his self-diagnosis, Mr Smith is quite healthy, and will probably the last Smith to die. I can think of no better reason to toast this glass of fine Jameson whiskey. So bottom's up, and it's time for dinner.

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