What I Learned in Holland
Rein Jr. can still drink me under the table, and his time in Australia has only strengthened his endurance. I did not represent the middle-aged with style or grace.

Holland has extremely rich people who live in large mansions with expansive lots. You don't know this because they hide them in forests to maintain the illusion that they've crafted a classless society. Many of these homes have Roman pillars, which confirms for me that the anti-Americanism seeping through the veins of 98% of Dutchies under the age of 40 stems from a latent desire to be the empire-builder. This is not insightful, I'll grant you, but doric columns were the hard evidence I needed.

I was sitting in Nicole's parents backyard sweating out the previous night's 9 percenters when I noticed two teenage girls laughing hysterically as they strutted up the street. I pulled myself out of the lounger and waddled out to the driveway to see Lars in all his circumcised glory, posing nude for all comers. Actually, I'm surprised those girls weren't screaming in shock and awe.

How far are we going to take the theory that a national football team's style of play is an illustration of national character? The Italians play disciplined defense for god's sake- shouldn't that end the discussion?

Belgian beer is still really fucking good.

Running through the sprinklers is still a source of unfettered joy, especially when god turns the fuck-you oven on the continent.

Apparently, United Airlines is now staffed by every bitter, middle-aged secretary whose father never loved her enough and whose every utterance is ridden with self-pity and indignation.

And one final question: how did Ken Lay do it?