4 february 2005
I am in the midst of the International Student Network’s introduction period for new arrivals. UGH.
As it turns out, some time in the past five years I have become old and bitter. This has come as quite a surprise to me, and I resent the ISN intro days for bringing it to my attention. But don’t get me wrong. There’s lots of other stuff I resent about the ISN intro days too.
The average age of the 150 students doing the intro seems to be about 21, and the general range is 19 to 23. There are exceptions, of course… a handful of over-25ers. But the organizers – Dutch students in the 19-to-23 range themselves – assigned groups randomly. So our ten-student groups are entirely arbitrary: nine women, or six Italians, or one master’s student.
To be fair my group is made up of nice people. They all think I am really old. And, although at this point in my life I think of “old” as “over seventy,” relative to my group I am old. They really like to get drunk. (Not in a dark way.) They think of everything as flirting: if a guy and a girl talk or dance, everyone is like oooo! a couple! And they don’t have much patience for things that don’t involve either drinking or flirting. They are friendly, funny, and… did I say nice already?
I’m not such a fan of “nice” anymore. I appreciate many qualities that get confused with nice: polite, generous, punctual, open, helpful, enthusiastic, etc. But just nice? Nice creeps me out.
Additionally I don’t respond well to anything that involves a group of 150 people doing the same thing. I am constantly thinking, “Baaaahhhh.”
We all met Thursday morning. We got in our groups, drank weak coffee, and introduced ourselves. We did the what’syournamewhereareyoufromwhatareyoustudying thing. At this point I was about ready to go, but I decided to stick out the day, mostly out of bitter curiosity. We had a tour of the city, which I am by now familiar with, and drank a beer in a bland bar. In the evening we had drinks at the Atrium, a centrally located university bar / cafeteria that serves as a main student meeting place.
Some of my friends arrived after a while – international students who have been here since September. They wanted to come check out the fresh meat. I sat on a table drinking my beer, scanning the room for anyone who looked like they didn’t want to be there. I really wanted to meet anyone else who thought this was annoying. But even the meaner looking characters just seemed like kids dressed angry.
Around two we finally took off for Paradiso, a dance club in an old church. I love dance clubs here: the crowd is almost always an interesting mix of very different people. Regardless of the venue, there are guys who look like they’re in a motorcycle gang and girls who look like they’re at a beach party, vice versa, and everything in between. And the music is similarly varied. Though the bigger clubs are house on most nights, it is common to hear a 70s disco hit or a salsa number thrown in every ten minutes. The crowd pauses for a second, reorients, and continues dancing.
Amsterdam clubs are also surprisingly unintimidating. Most of them don’t do the whole look-you-over-at-the-door thing, which is probably one reason the crowds are so diverse. I really hate that shit, and it kept me from going out to clubs during the seven years I lived in NYC, where, rumor has it, there are some pretty good places to dance. Dancing in Amsterdam is more like dancing in Eugene: if you show up and you move, people will smile and give you space.
Paradiso is great because the main dance floor is in the former church sanctuary, so the ceiling is miles overhead. The stained glass windows have been incorporated in the lighting effects, so they flash on and off with the beat. It is a very celebratory atmosphere. And no one asked me what my major was.
As it turns out, some time in the past five years I have become old and bitter. This has come as quite a surprise to me, and I resent the ISN intro days for bringing it to my attention. But don’t get me wrong. There’s lots of other stuff I resent about the ISN intro days too.
The average age of the 150 students doing the intro seems to be about 21, and the general range is 19 to 23. There are exceptions, of course… a handful of over-25ers. But the organizers – Dutch students in the 19-to-23 range themselves – assigned groups randomly. So our ten-student groups are entirely arbitrary: nine women, or six Italians, or one master’s student.
To be fair my group is made up of nice people. They all think I am really old. And, although at this point in my life I think of “old” as “over seventy,” relative to my group I am old. They really like to get drunk. (Not in a dark way.) They think of everything as flirting: if a guy and a girl talk or dance, everyone is like oooo! a couple! And they don’t have much patience for things that don’t involve either drinking or flirting. They are friendly, funny, and… did I say nice already?
I’m not such a fan of “nice” anymore. I appreciate many qualities that get confused with nice: polite, generous, punctual, open, helpful, enthusiastic, etc. But just nice? Nice creeps me out.
Additionally I don’t respond well to anything that involves a group of 150 people doing the same thing. I am constantly thinking, “Baaaahhhh.”
We all met Thursday morning. We got in our groups, drank weak coffee, and introduced ourselves. We did the what’syournamewhereareyoufromwhatareyoustudying thing. At this point I was about ready to go, but I decided to stick out the day, mostly out of bitter curiosity. We had a tour of the city, which I am by now familiar with, and drank a beer in a bland bar. In the evening we had drinks at the Atrium, a centrally located university bar / cafeteria that serves as a main student meeting place.
Some of my friends arrived after a while – international students who have been here since September. They wanted to come check out the fresh meat. I sat on a table drinking my beer, scanning the room for anyone who looked like they didn’t want to be there. I really wanted to meet anyone else who thought this was annoying. But even the meaner looking characters just seemed like kids dressed angry.
Around two we finally took off for Paradiso, a dance club in an old church. I love dance clubs here: the crowd is almost always an interesting mix of very different people. Regardless of the venue, there are guys who look like they’re in a motorcycle gang and girls who look like they’re at a beach party, vice versa, and everything in between. And the music is similarly varied. Though the bigger clubs are house on most nights, it is common to hear a 70s disco hit or a salsa number thrown in every ten minutes. The crowd pauses for a second, reorients, and continues dancing.
Amsterdam clubs are also surprisingly unintimidating. Most of them don’t do the whole look-you-over-at-the-door thing, which is probably one reason the crowds are so diverse. I really hate that shit, and it kept me from going out to clubs during the seven years I lived in NYC, where, rumor has it, there are some pretty good places to dance. Dancing in Amsterdam is more like dancing in Eugene: if you show up and you move, people will smile and give you space.
Paradiso is great because the main dance floor is in the former church sanctuary, so the ceiling is miles overhead. The stained glass windows have been incorporated in the lighting effects, so they flash on and off with the beat. It is a very celebratory atmosphere. And no one asked me what my major was.
posted by tortaluga at 9:16 AM
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