Belgium - A First Impression

One of the benefits of being a socially awkward (but lovable) tech geek is the opportunity to travel to far away lands. While the majority of my traveling in the past has been to locations that would rank very low on the awesomeness scale - Montgomery, AL and Mechanicsburg, PA spring to mind - cities of much higher caliber will occasionally sneak into the mix. Gems like San Francisco and New York are thrown my way with a frequency that earns my current employer just enough goodwill to guarantee I will be one of their cash cows for at least a few more months, but infrequently enough to keep me from whining about the abundance of plane and train seats I must squeeze in to.

So, after far too many months in Merrimack, NH, it was with much joy that I was informed of my next assignment location - Brussels, Belgium! Better yet, the assignment required an odd Wednesday to Wednesday schedule, meaning I would have to be tortured by a European weekend on my company’s dime.

Being the dedicated, subservient employee I am, I forewent obvious questions like “Don’t we have a European office just for situations like this?” and “Don’t you realize a two hour train ride is cheaper than a transatlantic flight?”, assumed there was some advanced staffing logic beyond my grasp and quickly booked a direct flight to the capital of the European Union. (Yup, that was news to me too).

After a few days of work, exploring the city at night and avoiding my sleeper sofa in any way possible, I came to the following conclusion - Brussels is to Europe as Nashua, NH is to the United States. A great place to raise a family and live, but not the most exciting spot to visit. What better way to demonstrate this than through factors upon which all civilized cultures should be judged: Food, Bathrooms and Ladies.

The Food

There are three things that I think of when Belgium is mentioned: waffles, chocolate and beer (in that order). While this sounds like a simple night of gastronomic indulgence for a normal person, it excites formerly fat children the world over into outbreaks of week long buffet sweats. I must say, my preconceived notions did not disappoint.

Unsurprisingly, the beer was delicious and exactly what I expected. While Stella is readily available in the States, I had yet to experience the deliciousness of Jupiler. Hoegaarden comes in a close 3rd, but only because I’m not into Belgian wheats all that much.

The waffles are crisp but chewy - glazed with any combination of chocolate, powder, honey and fruit based preserves that one's cholesterol clogged arteries may desire. Your hands are sticky and stomach heavy for hours after eating them, but it only takes seconds after the digestive cycle is complete before you are contemplating another trip to the waffle stand. There’s a reason I’m fat, deal with it.

In no way did I think anything could live up to the quality of the waffles or beer, but alas, I was wrong. I’ll explain the chocolate with this little tale from a Saturday afternoon stroll:

I entered a chocolate shop just for a treat - 4 pieces of chocolate (2 dark walnut, 2 dark caramel) at a cost of 6 Euros, or about $7.50. Now, the number of motivations that override my cheapness is comparable only with the number of ladies I’ve made lucky in my life, but of those, gluttony easily takes the cake. The chocolate was gone in a matter of minutes and I quickly found myself dropping another 5 Euros on several more pieces. I’m proud to say that every piece of my 58% cocoa-based lunch was one of the best I've ever consumed, even with the $1.50/piece price tag added in.

Much to my surprise, this is the limit of Belgian food (other than French Fries) that I would consider edible in any way. Based on the list of native dishes (including black pudding, horse steak and tongue set in gelatine) in my Lonely Planet guide book, I forewent the search for a Belgian restaurant and stuck with Irish, Chinese and Indian. While they may still make me sick, at least I'll know exactly why.

The Bathrooms

Take every preconception you've ever had about European bathrooms and throw them out the window. Despite having watched European Vacation to no end, only once have I had to share a bathroom while traveling in Europe. For the most part, they've been completely private, perfectly clean and up to the standards of someone hailing from rural Maine (I figure the Europeans should get the benefit of the doubt on this one).

The bathrooms in Belgium have actually been quite pleasant. They often have very stylish fixtures, great color schemes and lots of tile and mirrors. It's like walking around nude in an Ikea showroom without the threat of security chasing you out.

Now the bad part: I'm an American. A large one at that. Even without my soft outer shell, I tend to have a very wide stance. Like certain politicians, I prefer bathrooms where sitting on the toilet doesn't require my knees to touch the stall door, or each other for that matter. No one should ever bump their head on a door when standing up after sitting on a toilet to cry. Nor at any time during the number 2 process should one have to tuck body parts in a way that results in a "mangina" because the side walls are too close. It's just not natural, and actually a little disturbing.

So to all European landlords out there - keep up the good work! Keep the water hot and the style cool, but please widen those stalls by 6 inches on all sides.

The Ladies

Remember that dude from college that went to Europe for a summer and came back bragging about how hot Italian women are? Or Spanish women. Or Swiss. Or Polish. Or even the German ladies in their own "I want to be emasculated when I make love" kind of way. Think real hard. Did that kid ever mention a Belgian woman?

Let me help you with the answer - NO! There is a reason Belgium is known for beer, waffles and chocolate - because the women are incredibly average. Not fugly, just not anything worth looking twice (or even once) at. Not to get too self deprecating (riiiiggghhhttt....), but Belgium is to hot women as I am to attractiveness, grooming, personal appearance, common sense, casual conversation, athletic ability, bedroom adventures and anything else not involving a keyboard. (For the record, my bedroom adventures involving keyboards fall more into my tech strengths than love weaknesses.)

It kind of baffles me. I have walked everywhere possible - malls, tourist areas, universities, even the red light district in Antwerp (seriously), and not once have I been wowed by a woman. Hell, the whole red light district only had two women I'd even consider allowing to see me nude in real life, and never would I pay them for that honor.

The girls aren't hideous, they are just consistently fours, fives and sixes. There are too many buck teeth, overly plump behinds, crossed eyes and missing limbs on each one to put them in a category even approaching hot. Belgium is the place where women should send their fiancees for bachelor parties - I promise you that the guys will come back thankful for finding a hottie to take him after being totally immersed in such averageness.

While I'm hoping my opinion of Belgium, and Brussels in particular, change over the next few days, my hopes are not high. It is going to take a massive beer garden with killer sausages, live sports on big screen tvs and girls of Oktoberfest proportions to elevate my opinion above "Eh, it's worth seeing for an afternoon".

The Greatest Game Ever Played

The recent move to New York has marked many changes in my life - most notably the official status update to "living in sin" (which has been pointed out by at least 2 of Mia Manda's relatives - one of which told her to "be careful" so as not to get "sent away").

Such sharing of space requires patience and consideration, both of which I greatly lack:

• Wall hangings must be agreed upon
  
• Furniture must be laid out in mutually agreeable locations
  
• DVR recordings must be scheduled so as not to accidentally delete shows slandering men while reassuring women that fat asses are too be cherished, not pointed and laughed at.

For the most part, major arguments have been avoided. The girl has great taste, I have none. Our TV shows don't overlap. We enjoy each others' wall hangings. So far, so good.

Through all this harmony and bliss, one major point of contention has emerged. An issue of such magnitude that I am willing to fight to the death before bowing in defeat. An issue that can not only ruin evenings, but friendships, relationships, and possibly even legacies.

An issue that is second only to life and death: How prominently to display Catch Phrase.

For those who may not be familiar, Catch Phrase is a simple game played between two teams. A little plastic disc displays a phrase that needs to be guessed by your teammates without giving the actual phrase as a clue. Overall, it's a pretty simple concept, although phrases like "Gryffindor House", "Shroud of Turin" and "Muslin" (not "Muslim") can prove to be problematic.Fortunately, I'm a world class Catch Phrase player with skills rivaled only by my brothers, and quite honestly, no one else. Many a night have been spent giving clues like "Remember that time..." or "4th place AL East team's AAA affiliate" and hearing the answer echoed in milliseconds. Add to this the fact that many of our competitors give clues like "Uhhhhh...", "Ummmm...", "Come on, you know..." and "Shiiiittt...", and I dare say we would make the best 3 person Catch Phrase team to ever roam the earth. Needless to say, it is all good fun.

Naturally, any game that brings such joy to a household should be prominently displayed - upon a mantle, atop a bookshelf or even encompassed in an air tight case to ensure a lack of tampering with the circuits and integrity of the game.

For some reason, the girl vehemently disagrees.

Apparently, having been crushed by one too many Holmes-rich teams has altered her mental state. Despite my continued attempts to perch the beautifully polished blue and white plastic upon the entertainment center or the dining room table, it is continuously found in easily missed locations. Some may even call them hidden.

While I can only hope that this is a conspiracy between the girl, Hasbro and other Catch Phrasers who feel threatened by my dominance, the thought occurs that she may be the sole driver behind such horrendous suppression. With that being said, if there is a sudden facebook relationship status update with no witty message, feel free to assume that "Emasculate" popped up on Catch Phrase, leading to voices being raised, plastic being smashed and my saying something stupid.

If instead, I disappear and Mia Manda sheds real tears, please conduct a full investigation of the Hasbro word games division.

A Summer in Limericks

"Oh where, oh where have you been?

You dude with the double stuffed chin.

Last time you did write,

I thought I just might

Cry for you and your corpulent kin."

"Well, the summer vacation was great

Despite the new excess weight

From the Cabot factory store

Plus a Ben & Jerry's tour

During a weekend-long Vermont date

Next was the Hall of Fame,

To see the best who have played the game.

Both Rickey and Rice

Delivered quite nice,

But Pete Rose was old, fat and lame.

Let's not forget Carrie and Tim

And her poor judgement in choosing him.

The rain was unplanned,

But Greystone Manor was grand

To prove they are more than a whim."

"But what of this move to New York?

You socially awkward dork.

With a great deal of fear,

The last I did hear,

Is you partied with Jay-Z and Bjork!"

"To believe that you'd have to be dim,

For I'm not rich, smart or slim.

But my college friend Joe,

Was on the Letterman show

Which must be more fun than IBM*

And for my birthday I did get to see

Accompanied by a symphony

My man crush Ben Folds

Whose voice is like gold

And nearly makes me go pee.

So I will, with all of my might

Try much, much harder to write

On a regular basis

About far away places

Or maybe just more nonsensical shite"

*Give me a break - it almost rhymes

Fat Child Eating

Not to alarm any of the Fat Man Running fans, but I have a revelation to make - I was a fat child. I know, it's shocking. Don't kick yourself for not realizing it earlier - it's easy to miss my self deprecating "humor" brought about by being a 230 lb 14 year old, as well as my current ability to chase a half marathon with a gallon and a half of ice cream. There are a handful of little clues, but you may have missed them if you're blind, have never spoken to me for more than 17 seconds or live in the state of denial that some of my relatives call "motherhood".
Luckily, my childhood is rife with stories of husky sweatpants, little league jerseys that must be mounted over a La-Z-Boy (aka - the "Shirt Stretcher") before they fit, or being thought to be of Asian descent due to excessive forehead fat hanging over your eyelids.

A perfect example of the joys of childhood obesity is the following gem that recently popped up to the delight of MiaManda:

It's 1992. Slick Willie is getting ready to enter the White House, the MLB Player's Union has yet to strike, and a waddling pile of blubber is breaking hearts and taking names while getting straight-As at Skowhegan Area Middle School. The day after receiving his perfect marks, Mrs. F, the social studies teacher, approaches yours truly about his report card.

Mrs. F: "Congrats on the great grades Chad! Did you get a reward from your parents?"
Chad (emitting a distinct smell of onions and obesity): "Yup! I got the best gift a growing boy could ever ask for!"
Mrs. F: "Really? Did your parents give you money? Take you to the movies? Maybe even take you to Walmart without putting you in the harness?"
Chad (glowing with memories of the previous night): "Nope. Even better! We went to Subway and they let me get 2 foot long meatball subs!!!"
Mrs. F: Stunned Silence
Chad: "That's right. Maybe the best gift I have ever had. I scarfed them down in about 2 minutes flat and even had some room left over for extra chips!"

Now, I'm not sure if Mrs. F contemplated calling child services, slapping the smirk off my face, or just crying for humanity, but I can only now understand her shocked silence that spoke volumes.

Weird Al Yankovic - Fat
Uploaded by GuyanaMike.

San Fran: After The Parade

As much fun as I had at the Pride parade, there is only so much over-the-top flamboyance I can tolerate before needing some down time. So in order to get away from grown men running around in spandex, slapping each other on the asses and swearing at every possible chance, I headed to Oakland Coliseum for some good, old-fashioned, heterosexual baseball.

It's often easy to forget that most stadiums don't require dropping $50 with a scalper for the cheap seats. While Fenway is great a couple times a season, it can quickly send you to the poor house. Luckily, Billy Beane has put a team together that rarely draws more than 25,000 fans. While the players must hate it, tourists like myself love the $48 seats that are less than 5 feet from the dugout, first base foul area and photographers.


I also had the added bonus of being able to see one of the more entertaining traditions of organized sports - hazing of the rookies. While I wasn't able to see anyone's face painted with permanent markers or an atomic wedgie, watching Matt Daley head to the bullpen wearing a pink backpack was entertaining enough for me.

To end the day, I followed the lead of nearly every other lard-ass of a tourist by gorging myself on sweets, burgers and entertainment. This town is definitely worth many more return appearances.

San Francisco is FAB-U-LOUS

In what is quickly becoming a periodic pilgrimage to escape the drudgery of every day life, I made my annual journey to the mean streets of the Bay Area for some sun, fun and baseball. Unlike past visits, I wasn't content with the tame combination of Charlie's Taqueria, a drive through Silicon Valley and some poorly played baseball. No, this escape had to be, shall we say, interesting.

With that requirement in mind, it was with great joy that I was able to bum a room from the ever hospitable duo of Dwight and Carol, grab a free plane ticket thanks to frequent flier miles and find a cheap rental car during San Fran's busiest weekend of the year. No, there were no wine festival, or a bunch of techies trekking to Cupertino. Instead, it was Pride weekend, and what a weekend it was.

(Now that you've clicked on the above link, please use this time to utter an oft used expression correctly for maybe the first time ever - "That is so gay...")

While I could ramble on about topless lesbians on Harleys that easily outweighed myself, small Asian men dressed as cupid, or people with breasts and an underwear bulge, I will just let the pictures do the talking...

One other note - It's great to know that even in this "difficult economic climate", there are still jobs to be had.

Turning Lemons Into Lemonade

Like many others that a court of law would consider sane (or at least competent to stand trial), I'm not a big fan of arguments. Unfortunately, any time you spend copious amounts of time with someone that is fun, nice and lets you see them naked, they occasionally arise. Now I'm not one to make light of a serious situation, but every now and then a comedic gem rolls off the tongue of MiaManda that really should be shared with the world.

While I'm 99% sure this is going to get me in some deep crap, I've enjoyed it too much not to share with my loyal stalkers. So without further ado, I present:

The List of Stuff Perceived To Be More Important Than My Girlfriend

• My job (not really)
• My car (it is pretty awesome)
• Golf with my family (depends on the course and which family members)
• My house (um, no)
• And last, but certainly not least...my gas grill (still on the fence about this one)

While she got the list pretty accurate, she neglected to mention the Red Sox, a visit to the Harp at least once a season and hummus. All in all, she knows her place pretty well though.