Thursday, September 15, 2005

Wet dog, damp human.

Rainy season has started, killing any hope of an indian summer in one fell swoop.

Yes, I realize that we are not somewhere around or south of the equator, so technically speaking, we do not have a rainy season. But bear with me here. Global warming will eventually level out any different types of weather we have, I suppose. Already our winters aren't any real winters anymore, only perpetual rain and wind from September until March. And no, the whole rise in temperate also doesn't seem to affect us. Summers are just getting wetter and wetter.

Who knows? Maybe in the future, we will not have any seasons anymore. Only lands with different weather. "And here, children, lies Summer. This used to be known as Egypt, but we stepped away from nationalities like that back in the late 21st century. Now, can anyone tell me where Spring lies?" And so on.

Normally, I wouldn't be so bothered by such trivialities as weather, but today, it seemed to have a devastating effect on society.

Traveling from Amsterdam to Den Haag, door to door, I haven't seen a single smiling face. It started already while waiting for the tram around my corner. A drunk bum started ranting to this girl. As usual, I didn't pay any attention, but when his volume started to rise to levels that interfered with my MP3-player, I hit the "pause"-button to eavesdrop. Apparently, the poor girl was to blame for this man's current habitat. Truly, it all was entirely her fault. I shuffled closer, still under the snug cover of my headphones, even bobbing my head a little to keep up appearances that yes, I was just listening to Radiohead, and no, I wasn't eavesdropping. The man started getting rowdier and rowdier. The girl, by now, had switched to ignoramode, which didn't help at all. Scenarios of silly heroics started flying through my head, should this spin out of control. Me jumping in (no, I'm not that much of a macho, but I daresay that youthfulness could hold a candle against drunk homelessness. Come to think of it, this assumption might well prove to be my undoing someday), saving the girl, glory, fame, pats on the shoulder etcetera. Luckily, the tram arrived, leaving the man raving against a trash can and an empty bottle.

Then, in the tram itself, things didn't improve much. Aside from that curious smell that you get in a tramful of rainy people (wet dog, damp human, foggy windows, squeaky rubber etc.), the damn thing was just too full. Same for the train. Sad faces, sad (but beautiful) music, and the current state of the world all piled up to make me as gloomy as possible.

Anyhow. My sincerest apologies. I didn't plan on posting a rant like this, and I do not plan to make a habit out of it. Really. There are enough "Dear diary"-blogs out there as it is, and I like none of them.

So, I promise, next time around, only urban peculiarities and music and such again.


P.S.: Yes, the whole Katrina-aftermath is terrible and devastating (really! no irony or sarcasm here, dammit. I live in a country below sea level; the chance that this happens here is too big to make jokes about it.). But don't tell me that there are no European leftishists secretly gloating over yet another failure of the Bush administration.

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